Out of the frying pan, into the fire, they say. The unfortunate part is that, when you’re in the Abyss, everywhere you go is a fiery pit. I left the Council behind in the Underworld, and when I planned to come to Berith for transport, I did not expect he would have a hellish celebration in his own house.
With a flick of my wrist, I’m back in formal-ish clothes. The black slacks hug my legs once more, but I keep the boots on. A shirt so dark it’s like I draped shadows on my shoulders completes the look, but I leave it halfway unbuttoned, and no suits, thank you very much. A couple of hours wearing one was enough for a hundred years.
Digging my hands into my pockets, I amble into the ballroom, letting all the boredom bleed into my face. I don’t want to be in this freaky place. All I want is a transport so I can take Cassandra out of here and escape my father’s clutches as fast as possible. With our deal, I can sneak into earth and away from my father’s prying eyes for the first time in my life, and every second I spend here is a moment I can’t take back.
The lights pulse, a soft orange like that of a fireplace. The crowded space smells like sex and magic, a fragrance I’m too used to. Succubi dance around one another, swaying their hips sensually, while incubi and ifrits run their hands up and down their curves. I walk past two succubi making out under the lights, two ifrits kissing, fire escaping their lips. The farther I get into the room, the kinkier things get. Soon, I reach the tables where demons fuck unabashedly. There are few humans here today—all slaves, one way or another. None of them look too sad to be in this place.
At the center of it all, underneath a glittering chandelier made of blood jewels and crystal tears, sits Berith in what I can only describe as a throne. Every demon has ambition, grander ambitions than their births allow, and it’s no secret everyone in this place would die for a chance at becoming royalty. I lock eyes with the host and pull the corner of my lip up in a smile.
“Berith,” I greet as he shoots to his feet.
“My prince!” He chuckles, bowing at the waist. His greeting makes other demons turn to gape at us. Not that I would’ve managed to hide for long. “I could barely believe it when my servant told me about your presence. I thought you’d be at the Council.” Berith raises a hand, snapping his fingers at a passing servant. “Bring the prince some wine.”
I slide a glance at Berith’s clothes—or the lack thereof—the long tunic open, revealing his shriveled form, his sad cock. “The Devil knows not how to host a party, Berith,” I tell him. “I got bored. It’s a pleasant surprise to see you’re hosting one yourself.”
His expression brightens. “Oh, my prince, I don’t deserve such high praise.”
Indeed, he doesn’t, but I need the transport. “I won’t stay long, though,” I go on, accepting the glass of wine his servant brings me. “Could you get me transport? I might have to ride back soon.”
“Of course, my prince. Anything.” He bows at the waist again, then turns to his servant. I whirl around and leave him before he decides to ask more. That was all the flattery I could do in a day.
Like magic, the mention of my title brings everybody closer to me. I ignore the calls of both incubi and succubi, some I’ve slept with before, others I don’t know. Keeping myself to the walls, I make my way back to the entrance. Fire flickers along the edges of the room, tall flames creating the pulsing atmosphere, but I don’t pay attention to anything else. Now that the transport is settled, I need to get to Cassandra and keep her close. The Devil knows she’s a snack in a place like this.
By the ballroom’s entrance, I see a small gathering of male demons. A couple I recognize—incubi previously present in the orgies I attended. They gather in a circle, snickering among themselves, and there’s no reason to find that odd, but my body responds differently. A shiver of apprehension slides down my spine like a warning. Two of them move, opening a space between their shoulders, and I glimpse black hair, pale skin, big dark eyes.
Something burns inside me. I don’t know what, and I’ve never felt it before, but the flame is a roaring fire in my chest as I stride toward them. Heat makes my eyes water with pure rage, a kind of wrath I’ve never felt. I bare my teeth, my blood burning with magic as I reach the circle and shove two of the demons away.
Cassandra stands in the middle of it, her cheeks flushed, her eyes veiled. Magic. They were using magic on her to force her to go with them. My blood sizzles in my veins so hard the others must notice. They step away, wide eyes betraying their sudden panic.
“My prince,” one of the demons stutters out. “We didn’t know she was yours.”
I close a hand around an arm, jerk one of them back at me. My hand shakes with vicious wrath. I let the glass of wine slip from my fingers, hear it crashing to the ground. My free hand closes around his throat. How fucking dare they?
“Your Majesty, please,” the man in my hold begs, tears racing down the sides of his face. Pathetic. Utterly pathetic.
Whispers reach my ears. A small voice in the back of my head tells me this is the opposite of discreet. I’ve killed demons for less, but deaths always have to be reported, and I would like to keep my father away for a while longer. With the greatest of efforts, I pry my hands from the demon, but stare at him until I’m sure I won’t forget his face.
Demons live long lives. I will have another opportunity.
Turning to Cassandra, I circle her waist with my arm and lead her into the crowd to the opposite end of the room. She blinks slowly, still under the effect of the magic. I find an empty spot near a wall and fold my hands around her face.
“Cassandra,” I call, but she’s still slow. Thumbs brushing along her cheeks, I bring her closer to me. I reach out with my magic, willing her to feel it, to anchor into it. She has to snap out of it soon, or we won’t be able to ride away.
I stare at her, soaking in her beauty. Her pale face between my tanned hands, how her black hair and dark eyes glint in the dusk. Just like me, she looks like she’s draped in darkness all the time. Like she was born into it, loved by it. Cassandra is the beauty in the dark, a light burning in the shadows. I watch her full lashes batting along her cheekbones, like the wings of a pretty insect. She’s both dark and beautiful.
Pressing my forehead to hers, I breathe her in. “Wake up, little moth,” I whisper, the pet name rolling past my lips before I can stop it.
Cassandra closes her eyes. Her orbits move beneath her eyelids, and then she stares at me with those deep pools of darkness. She shakes herself back to reality, licking along her lips. “What happened?” she asks, her voice weak. Her hands come up to my hips, the pressure of her fingers against the fabric of my shirt grounding me.
“Some fuckers found you first. They spelled you.”
She blinks a couple of times. “Why?” I stare at her until her mouth goes round with understanding. “Oh, of course. Of course, there’s assault in the Abyss, too.”
“Some demons like to use our nature to justify it,” I tell her, “but you’re mine for as long as you’re in the Abyss. And they should know not to touch what’s mine.”
Cassandra swallows, her brow furrowing. “Notyoursyours. You mean I’m your slave, right?”
“Of course,” I reply without missing a beat.