I understood every syllable of his homeland’s language.
I rammed my rainbow fire into the orb again and again. It was weakening now under my fierce, desperate assault. I just needed a bit more time.
But I might not have it.
The mages frenetically hurled fire, explosions, and other nasty stuff at Paxton, driving the demigod back. Loki extracted himself from the fight and lunged toward me.
The orb entrapped me, but it opened a path for him. Once he grabbed me, he could teleport us directly to Hell.
I wouldn’t let him take me captive.
I roared, calling my magic, demanding it give its all.
Magic churned under my skin, cold and heat surging through me.
I unleashed all my fires—the hellfire and the heavenly one, possibly from a Titan. Twists of flame in all colors blasted out of me, tearing through the barrier.
Loki missed my arm by an inch as the bubble around me shattered. He widened his coal-black eyes at my inferno.
“The Living Flame,” he murmured in an ancient demonic tongue, “is you, Celeste.”
I understood the tongue yet again and knew it was so ancient that only the royal demons could speak and understand it. A fragmented memory hit me, and I heard myself speak it as a child.
The realization sent unquenchable chills and deep dismay to my very marrow.
Paxton bellowed. A new wave of energy hurled out of him and pelted half of the mages until they were bits of human pieces.
He lurched at Loki and planted himself between me and the demon prince.
Shouts from Dominion sentinels drifted near. They were running toward us.
“Pull back,” Loki called.
The air thinned, swirled, and crackled, and a portal opened, showing jagged black mountains spewing lava in the background.
Loki stepped through it, then lingered in the doorway, stretching a hand toward me as his four surviving dark mages ran through the gateway.
“Come with me, Celeste,” he spoke in that ancient tongue again. “The demigod has learned who you are. You won’t be safe in the Academy or anywhere else in their realm. They won’t just kill you—they’ll do much worse. Even if the demigods let you live for the moment, Ares, the God of War, will never allow your existence. You’ll only be safe with your own kind. Come, cousin.”
“Don’t, Marigold!” Paxton warned.
He might not understand what Loki had said—I wasn’t sure if the demigods were trained in the ancient demonic tongue that was a privilege of Hell’s royalty—but he’d seen the devil’s heir extend his hand toward me in invitation.
The Demigod of Sea flung a deluge of ice spears toward Loki, and the dark prince raised his hellfire. The two opposing forces cancelled each other out, yet ripped apart the fabric of the air.
Paxton shielded me with walls of ice, which also prevented me from taking the hand of Lucifer’s heir.
I’d felt the pull of Hell, something deep within me vibrating with a strange need, urging me to enter the realm. But I knew exactly what Loki wanted me for—his powerful pawn, weapon, companion, and possibly a test subject.
I wasn’t desperate or crazy enough to go with him.
“No, thanks, dude. I’m not interested,” I said, my voice icy and hollow. “And don’t come back for me.”
Loki’s face morphed in rage at my rejection, and swirling darkness emitted from his pitiless eyes.
He wouldn’t let me go now that he’d confirmed I was what he wanted. He’d return for me. And when he came, he’d bring Hell’s army—or worse.
I shivered as black fear soaked my every cell and a chill haunted my soul.