Erion hadn't burned.
In fact, for ten seconds he wondered if he'd been sent home to his castle in France, and more specifically to the dungeon. The room he was in looked exactly like the one he had kept Hellen in. Circular stone walls, a small window beyond the staircase, and he was certain that if he turned around he would see doors leading into three dank, dusty rooms.
He ventured to move, to turn, but he was virtually immobile, held to the stone wall at his back by the very shackles he'd used on the demon female.
It was his dungeon-and yet it was not. His nostrils spread and he inhaled deeply. Empty, fragranceless air.
"Comfortable, I hope."
No, he was definitely not at home. This was the Underworld, and the thing that had just materialized in the room and was floating toward him with commanding purpose was something out of a nightmare. Over ten feet tall with scaly, thin skin the color of blood and eyes the color of snow, Hellen's father came to stand within a foot of him. He was a terrifying creature, a true devil demon, and as much as Erion wanted to attack and kill him, there was another part of him that pinged to life. For in some bizarre and unholy way, he belonged to this creature.
"I am Abbadon," the male said, his voice nearly painful on the ears, like steel grinding against steel. "Ruler of the Underworld."
"So the Devil has a name?" Erion said calmly, covertly pressing against his bindings, testing them. They were impenetrable.
"And you are Erion." Abbadon looked him over, inspected him. "So this is what we get when we put vampire and demon together."
"No. This is what we get." Erion opened his mouth, flashed his razor-sharp fangs.
The demon's lip curled. "I don't like it."
"Good. Then release me." Erion refused to feel fear, trepidation, or curiosity about the one who had given life to all demons. It was too much power to grant this asshole.
Abbadon moved closer, his neck working from side to side like a snake, as he studied Erion. "Show me your demon, Male."
"Show me the balas," Erion returned.
The male laughed. "Caring for one's offspring is not a trait of your demon side. I guarantee you."
With such an admonition, Erion could not help but feel sorry for Hellen, having had that as a father. Maybe Cruen wasn't the worst parent a child could have . . . He sniffed with disgust. Maybe he and Hellen had more in common than just the demon running through them.
"You will get nothing from me until you tell me where my balas is," Erion informed him, relaxing against his bindings in a show of ease.
"Your balas," Abbadon repeated with censure. "My daughters care for him. For now." His face split into a terrible grin. "The little demon fought like a hell dog on our journey here. If I didn't find some respect in his temper, I may have been tempted to kill him."
All pretense of calm and ease disintegrated, and Erion roared. Oh, this bastard was begging for it, for his demon blood to spill, for it to run like rancid oil all over the stone floor.
Abbadon laughed, brushed his long, scaly fingertips across Erion's face. "There it is. A fine beast you have. The kind of brutal strength and feral spirit I enjoy."
"Fuck you," Erion snarled.
The demon clucked his forked tongue. "Not me. I need a foothold on the Earth, but if that was not the case, I might be tempted to let you fuck Hellen. Alas, she has been promised to your savior."
The Demon King's callous, contemptible words sent a tornado of fury through Erion. He could no longer pretend to be cavalier. That the male could speak in such a way of his daughter, his blood. There was nothing Erion wanted more than to extinguish him right then and there.
"I want the boy and a one-way ticket back upstairs," he said, his tone dripping with contempt. "Your daughter is no concern of mine."
It took all Erion's will to force out the words. Especially after hearing how her father spoke of her, her future. But he had to think of Ladd first. Hellen had wanted to return home-she'd wanted to return to Cruen.
The strange, scaly ridge that represented Abbadon's brow line had lifted a fraction and he was studying Erion. "You did not think her so uninteresting when you were between her legs, Male."
Erion stilled, his entire body ringing with the blow he'd just been dealt. Clearly, the demon knew about Erion's dungeon and that something had happened between him and Hellen. But how? Had he sent someone to spy? Had he interviewed Erion's staff? No . . . Neither of those theories felt plausible. He could have rescued her if he'd been inside the castle.
Another thought snaked through his mind, one that made his guts twist, made him want to spill the blood of another member of the Demon King's family.
Hellen.
Had she told her father? Had she complained about Erion's savage treatment? Had she bragged about what she'd done with him-what she'd gotten him to do?
Erion sniffed the odorless air. His ire at the idea was only quashed by the fair play reasoning in it. He had stolen an innocent too. Hellen. Could he truly blame her for running home to Daddy and telling him everything? Even if the father in question cared so little for her?
Abbadon was studying him again, an ugly grin playing about his lips. "Yes, I know it all." His grin widened, showing off his thin, pinprick teeth. "Be glad you didn't take her virginity, demon beast. I would have most happily killed the boy . . . after he had watched you die first, of course."
Erion pushed back the horror in that threat. He wouldn't think of Ladd as anything but alive and well. "What do you want?" he asked in a deadly voice.
All humor melted from Abbadon's expression. "You took something that didn't belong to you."
"As did you," Erion reminded him. "As did Cruen."
"Cruen has received punishment."
What did that mean? Erion wondered. Was Cruen dead? Was that part of his nightmare over?
"And you?" Erion said, his gaze locking with the Devil. "What punishment have you been given?"
Abbadon hissed, a sound that resembled a dozen snakes attacking their prey. "An asinine query. Who would dare to punish me?"
"Release me, and I would be more than happy to show you," Erion returned with a thick strain of his own venom.
"Oh, I will release you. Just in time for the festivities."
"No, thanks."
Abbadon's voice lowered. "You will be my guest of honor at the celebration, demon beast, or you will be leaving Hell with a bag of bones over your shoulder." He eased back from Erion, his nostrils flaring with delight. "A child's bones, licked clean."
With a guttural battle cry, Erion dove at him, but didn't get far. "You touch that balas, and I will never let you rest for as long as you live."
"I would look forward to seeing you try." He raked Erion with his gaze. "I will need to praise Cruen on his creation. Perhaps you are a worthy sample of our worlds' fusing."
Erion wasn't interested in bullshit compliments. "When can I see the boy?"
"Tomorrow eve you will be my honored guest," Abbadon said, ignoring the query. "To witness my creation: the first child of hell conceived."
"The only child I care about is my own."
"And you will see him." Abbadon smiled. "After that glorious event."
"Can't wait," Erion said through gritted teeth.
Abbadon turned to go, though he continued to speak. "Have you no curiosity as to who will be joined together before you, both in union and in body?"
"No." Erion sounded bored. Live sex held no interest for him, but he'd watch, wait. He wanted the boy out without a scratch on him. He wanted to take him home. Wanted him away from this kind of evil, a mad demon who would sell his daughter off to-
Erion's head came up and his fangs descended.
Fuck, no.
No!
Abbadon turned, caught the look on Erion's face, and laughed. "It is a good thing you don't care for my daughter, or this would be a true punishment indeed."
With that, the Demon King evaporated, leaving behind the only scent Erion had caught since he'd been in the Underworld. It was a scent he felt a kinship toward, a scent he would pull into his nostrils, his lungs, and get drunk on.
Misery.
To get Ladd back he would have to witness Hellen not only being bound to Cruen, but having sex with him.
His eyes closed, and he pulled that misery into his lungs to fill himself completely.
There was nothing for it but to accept fate. He would watch. He would endure anything to get to Ladd. He was a good father.
"Alexander Roman. What are you doing here?"
Alex granted his friend and the mother of his true mate a sharp smile as he ascended the porch steps of her cottage.
Celestine Donohue no longer lived in her quaint house in Minnesota. After her run-in with the Order over her son Gray's mating with the mutore, Dillon, Cellie had moved into a secure house in the Impure credenti. There weren't many who knew of her change of address, and she wished to keep it that way.
"Is it Sara?" she asked, pushing forward in her chair. "The balas? Are they all right?"
"Sara's fine," Alexander assured her. He dropped into a chair beside her. "Her swell is progressing perfectly."
Relief colored her pale cheeks. "Thank goodness. She is coming to see me at the end of the week. When I saw you, I-"
"Cellie."
"What?"
"We need to talk."
"Something has happened. Did they find the boy? Ladd?"
"No. Not yet." His eyes connected with hers and held. "Cruen still holds him."
The quick flicker of fear would have been imperceptible to anyone who didn't know her as Alex did. After all, they had run from their credenti together long ago. She had cared for him, mothered him, and he had protected her. As he wanted to do now.
"Then what is it?" she said, concern holding her expression now.
"I never wanted to speak of this again," he said, knowing his tone bordered on disgust. "I wanted to forget what I knew, what I saw. What I believed. But that's become impossible."
Her face had turned ashen. "Alexander . . . please don't . . ."
"The painting Lucian and I saw at Cruen's hideout-"
"You told Sara and Gray."
"No. As I said, I never wanted to have to say anything."
"Then don't." Her eyes implored him. "My children and I are in such a good place. They know about their pasts now. They don't need any more grand waves knocking them down."
It had been only a week or so ago when he'd listened to Celestine reveal her past to Sara and Gray, and tell them about their father, Jeremy, and his work leading the Impure Resistance and how he'd returned home a changed man. She'd told them how she and Jeremy had kept them hidden from the Order by feeding them blood. That they'd done all of this to keep them safe.
It had been nearly the entire truth.
"Alex, please," she begged, taking his hands in hers. "That was a mistake, a few nights of foolishness in that mad paven's bed." She shook her head, her voice cracking as she continued. "It was over so long ago it matters not. There is no reason they need to know about a mistake that doesn't affect them-that has nothing to do with them."
"Even if it granted them a sibling?"
She closed her eyes, let her head drop to her chest. "There is no sibling."
"I saw the picture of you in swell over the paven's mantelpiece, Cellie."
"Oh, gods, Alex. This is so cruel." Her voice broke. "She didn't live. The balas didn't live."
"How do you know?"
Her eyes, heavy with tears, lifted to him. "How do I know? Why do you torment me with something so painful? It is unnecessary."
She reminded him so much of Sara in that moment. "I'm sorry, Cellie, but I don't think it is."
"Alex, the balas I gave birth to never even took a breath." Her own breath hitched.
He hated to press on-shit, he hated the whole vile subject-but it couldn't be helped anymore.
"After you gave birth, did you see the balas at every moment?"
She dropped his hands, and before his eyes, Celestine Donohue broke. Tears streamed down her face and she began to shake. She gripped the porch railing with one hand and pointed her index finger accusingly with the other. "Why . . . why would you torment me in this way?" She moaned softly. "I have only ever wanted to forget that day-that hellish day when I had to say good-bye . . ."
Her words, her pain, were like nails being driven into his skin, one tear after the next. But Alexander couldn't relent. If there was even the remotest possibility . . .
"Cellie," he said, his voice a mere whisper. "Was Cruen beside you when you birthed the child?"
"Yes!" she shouted, then covered her face with her hands.
"Then you can never be sure of anything."
"Alex . . ." she whimpered.
This was his mate's mother, his friend. He stood and gathered her in his arms. She let him; cried softly on his shoulder.
"Cellie, I must know," he whispered. "Did you see the balas given over to the sun?"
He felt Celestine grow rigid against him. Then she pulled back. "No." Her eyes clouded as if she'd just remembered something she'd wanted more than anything to forget. "Cruen didn't want me to suffer that. After I named her, he took her from me."
Alexander's chest tightened. "You named her."
Cellie nodded. "Petra." Her eyes lowered. "After Cruen's mother."
Seated at her black stone desk inside the bedchamber that had been hers for as long as she could remember, Hellen uncapped another vial and drank deep. Once again, the familiar coolness of the draft hit her tongue and slithered down her throat in a race to get to all the bits and pieces it had once protected. It was truly the long-awaited thunderstorm in an eternity of field fires, and she smiled in appreciation as she drained the second vial.
Finally, she could breathe again without moaning in desire-filled agony. She could sit down, as she was now, without wishing there was a male beneath her.
She placed the empty vial back in her drawer and locked it with the key she had hidden in her mattress, the key her mother had given her so long ago after hours of explaining what would most likely befall her in the future and how she must secretly care for it. There wasn't a great deal of the potion remaining; it was only her reserve supply. She would need to obtain more before she left with Cruen.
She shifted on the chair. Cruen. Just his name made her snarl. He was not only mating her to gain power, but he had actually abducted an innocent child. In any sane, rational situation, either one of these truths should've made a female promised to him run in the other direction.
But here she was, ready to leave with him when he called for her.
Clearly she was neither sane nor rational.
As the second vial of draft spread through her like cold water inside her veins, she closed her eyes and sighed. The magical potion was attacking every aching muscle, every desperate nerve, every inch that had played host to Erion's wicked, skilled mouth, and yet . . .
She opened her eyes.
It wasn't attacking them fast enough. Or strong enough.
It wasn't like before.
Though her body was cooling down, her breathing remained slightly labored. And her mouth filled with saliva at the very thought of a male's kiss. She touched her breasts. They were sensitive, beaded. What was going on?
She slipped her hand down between her legs and felt heat. Panic slowly licked at the edges of her mind. This was impossible. She hadn't just taken one vial; she'd taken two. She should be stone-cold inside. Was it because she'd gone so long without the draft? Her body had to grow accustomed to it again? Or, she thought weakly, has my experience with Erion altered me somehow?
Erion . . .
She'd promised herself she wasn't going to think of him-for her own good and for his. Her father had met her as she'd fallen into the Underworld, told her he'd taken and housed Erion, warned her to leave the male alone and not go searching for him if she valued his life and the life of his son.
Her father's threats were always promises.
She got up from her desk and grabbed her sweater. She shivered both on the inside and the outside now. Whatever the reason for this change in the draft's power, she had to remain the same Hellen before her family. Her father could never suspect she'd been touched by Erion. She had to protect him and the boy.
The balas.
Her sisters were watching over Erion's son, and the agreement was that he would be released into Erion's custody as soon as Hellen's mating ritual to Cruen was over.
As the draft made her stomach curl with momentary nausea, she left her room and made her way through the tunnels. Their compound sat ten feet below the ground. Hell itself hadn't been deep enough for Abbadon. He'd had his home constructed at the Underworld's lowest point. Hellen had never minded the molelike existence. She and her sisters had always had fun, invented games, and hid from one another, then used magic and projection to find one another again. It had been a good growing period, and frankly all she knew. She'd never yearned for the sunshine she'd experienced aboveground. In fact, she'd never allowed herself to yearn, period.
Until that demon vampire male had touched her.
Looked at her and called her beautiful.
Broke her resolve and made her yearn for more of something she could never have again.
A deep, woeful frown threatened, but she forced herself to smile as she entered a large, rectangular room. Her sisters, Levia and Polly, stood before a wall of glass surrounded by gray stone, laughing and gesturing.
"Is he all right?" Hellen asked as she walked over to stand beside them.
"We have made sure of it," Levia told her.
Polly nodded, her smile broad and appreciative. "He is so sweet, sister. Such a charming boy."
Turning to face the glass, Hellen saw the setup of Ladd's chamber for the first time. It was a good-sized room, and her sisters had clearly designed and furnished it so the boy would feel at home. There were pictures on the pale-blue-painted walls of fierce dragons and bumbling dinosaurs. An armoire stood open in one corner of the room, several pieces of clothing inside, while a small yellow desk sat opposite. The stone floors were covered by brightly colored rugs, and the bed the boy was now sleeping on had coverings that looked new and fresh and young. Toys littered the floor.
"Is he scared?" Hellen asked, her concerned tone obvious.
Levia touched her shoulder. "There are times, but we have comforted him."
"We aren't sure if Father would allow it," Polly added demurely.
"We forgot to ask," Levia said, her gaze flicking downward. "Is that wrong?"
Hellen couldn't help smiling at the pair.
"He did say we could keep watch over the boy," Polly said. "That is the same. Is it not, Hellen?"
"I think you are both good and fine, and he is lucky to have you." Hellen glanced back at the world beyond the glass and sighed. "But he needs to go home."
The boy stirred, rustling his covers.
He needs to go home with his father.
Suddenly the boy sat up and his eyes opened. Sleep weary, he glanced around the room, no doubt wondering where he was. Hellen moved closer to the glass. She was about to ask her sisters something when the boy looked up, straight at the glass-and directly at her. Hellen's breath caught in her throat. She'd never seen the boy before, but as she stared into his beautiful, strong, angled face, she realized just how much of Erion was within him.
Their eyes remained locked on each other until the boy did the strangest thing. He grinned. Wide. At her. And his eyes-his diamond eyes-flashed with happy recognition.
Hellen stepped back, her brow furrowed and her insides humming. She'd never seen the boy before, and yet he was looking at her as if they were old friends.
"How very odd," Polly remarked.
"Have you ever seen him, sister?" Levia asked, glancing over her shoulder at Hellen.
"No," Hellen breathed, not able to take her eyes off the small version of Erion.
The boy jumped to his feet on the bed and started waving at her.
"Well," Levia said, her voice a thin strand of confusion. "It seems as though he has seen you."
