Wicked Abyss
Page 89
Roaring with frustration, he rammed his horns against the shield. His bellows reverberated off it. Get to her.
With her shoulders squared, she picked up the skirt of her gown and turned her back on him.
Just like the last time he was in Sylvan. His breath shuddered from his lungs. Noooo!
While blood ran down his face, he willed her to turn back and see him. To comprehend that he would do anything for her.
Turn around, Calliope. Look—at—me!
And then . . .
She did.
Lila needed to keep her focus on Saetth, but she couldn’t drag her gaze from Abyssian.
He was fighting off hundreds. He used his battle-ax—but only to hack at the barrier and ward off attacks. The blade didn’t have a drop of blood on it.
His wings knocked swordsmen over like bowling pins and deflected spears. Yet he never beheaded a single fey.
She watched his wing claw stop short at one soldier’s throat. Abyssian could have decapitated the male easily. Instead, he took blow after blow without killing. His blood poured as he proved himself.
The lesson of the pomegranate. He’d yearned for carnage against the fey, but he’d surrendered his need—and the look in his eyes said he expected to get her back.
That demon was so totally in love with her.
Didn’t mean she wouldn’t kick his ass.
In Demonish, he yelled, “Hold on!” His bloodied horns were straightened, his muscles bulging. He was magnificent. Power incarnate. His gashed skin sheened under the torch flames.
Firelight loved Abyssian.
The soldiers had regrouped. Even a Møriør couldn’t fend off onslaught after onslaught—not without thinning those numbers.
Multiple spears sank into his torso. He gnashed his fangs from the pain.
She yelled in Demonish, “Fight back, you idiot!”
That could not have been a hint of a grin on his face.
It disappeared when swords sliced his wings apart.
“Trace away!” Lightning flared outside, and rain started to fall. It strengthened until blood washed away from him, revealing the extent of his wounds. Dear gods.
“Behind you, Lila!”
She whirled around. The crowd was parting for Saetth and his courtiers to close in on her.
Abyssian yelled, “Do not challenge him! Get the fuck away from him!”
Uthyr must’ve told the demon her intentions—and Abyssian believed she was about to be lost once again. He battered the barrier with his horns, his blood smearing the surface.
Saetth said, “You did bring a friend, cousin. Surely that can’t be the handsome hell king.”
She held her ground. “I don’t need help defeating you. I have this.” She gestured to her scepter.
Saetth’s gaze followed her every movement.
“Oh, cousin, if you try to take this from me, I vow to the Lore I will use my darkest powers to smite you down—”
He snatched the scepter from her.
The bait.
She could hear Abyssian frenziedly grappling to reach her. While Saetth laughed and gloated with his courtiers, she peered over her shoulder at Abyssian. As if in slow motion, the demon swung that ax overhead, rotating it, building momentum with all the strength in his primordial body.
Yelling, “Aim true!” he whaled the ax into the barrier. The blade ruptured it. A shock wave blasted out from the impact, leveling trees and sending fey flying.
The shield was no more.
He traced inside a split second later, weapon at the ready, drenched in rain and blood. “Lila!”
Before she could blink, Saetth had unsheathed his sword and raised it against her throat.
FIFTY-NINE
Sian quickly holstered his ax, raising his palms. That fuck was the fastest of his kind; Sian couldn’t even trace to intervene. Saetth beheaded his victims with such speed they could still be talking after the deathblow.
Calliope held herself motionless, but she didn’t look afraid.
In a menacing tone, Sian said, “If you hurt her, I will snatch your godsdamned spine from your body. I’ll take your throat with my teeth!”
She blasted out a thought: —I have this under control.—
Sian drew his head back in confusion.
“You are the demon husband?” Saetth said with a sneer. “Not quite the ladies’ man I was expecting. Really, Calliope, there’s no accounting for taste.” His courtiers laughed. “I didn’t think I’d get to end the king of hell today as well.” Without lowering his blade, Saetth twirled a scepter. The one I gave Calliope? Voice dripping with arrogance, he said, “Tsk, cousin, was this the source of your power?”
“My source of power is my wits. Always has been.” What is her plan? “Do you remember what you told me the day you exiled me?”
“Ah, I remember that day vividly. I told you I wanted to see if my hothouse rose could survive.”
Did I actually believe she could still love this prick?
“And I said, ‘Careful, cousin, this hothouse rose intends to flourish and grow sharp thorns.’ Saetth, you’ve run afoul of them, and you don’t even realize it.”
From his experiences with her, Sian knew two things.
Calliope had laid a trap. She’d already struck.
How? He could only imagine. But he needed to trust that she knew what she was doing. Which meant . . . Do not take Saetth’s throat with your teeth.
“I admire your unfounded optimism,” Saetth said. “In reality, you’re about to share your parents’ fate. You’ll die like them, your body burned like a traitor’s. After I behead this Møriør.” To Sian, he said, “If you don’t kneel before me and surrender your life, I’ll take Calliope’s pretty . . .” He trailed off, clearing his throat.
Sian bit back a growl, claws sinking into his palms.
“With one flick of my wrist, I’ll cut off her . . .” Saetth coughed, his brows drawing together. His face began swelling, veins ticking in his forehead. “Calliope?” His skin was turning as purple as her dress. He released the scepter to clutch his throat.
She assumed a thoughtful mien. “Something more to say, cousin? Hmm?” More loudly, she called, “I told you I would smite you down with my powers! I wield the very fires of hell!”
The fey in attendance retreated even farther.
When Saetth dropped his sword and stumbled back, Sian traced to her. He murmured in Demonish, “The fires of hell? What did you do?”
With her shoulders squared, she picked up the skirt of her gown and turned her back on him.
Just like the last time he was in Sylvan. His breath shuddered from his lungs. Noooo!
While blood ran down his face, he willed her to turn back and see him. To comprehend that he would do anything for her.
Turn around, Calliope. Look—at—me!
And then . . .
She did.
Lila needed to keep her focus on Saetth, but she couldn’t drag her gaze from Abyssian.
He was fighting off hundreds. He used his battle-ax—but only to hack at the barrier and ward off attacks. The blade didn’t have a drop of blood on it.
His wings knocked swordsmen over like bowling pins and deflected spears. Yet he never beheaded a single fey.
She watched his wing claw stop short at one soldier’s throat. Abyssian could have decapitated the male easily. Instead, he took blow after blow without killing. His blood poured as he proved himself.
The lesson of the pomegranate. He’d yearned for carnage against the fey, but he’d surrendered his need—and the look in his eyes said he expected to get her back.
That demon was so totally in love with her.
Didn’t mean she wouldn’t kick his ass.
In Demonish, he yelled, “Hold on!” His bloodied horns were straightened, his muscles bulging. He was magnificent. Power incarnate. His gashed skin sheened under the torch flames.
Firelight loved Abyssian.
The soldiers had regrouped. Even a Møriør couldn’t fend off onslaught after onslaught—not without thinning those numbers.
Multiple spears sank into his torso. He gnashed his fangs from the pain.
She yelled in Demonish, “Fight back, you idiot!”
That could not have been a hint of a grin on his face.
It disappeared when swords sliced his wings apart.
“Trace away!” Lightning flared outside, and rain started to fall. It strengthened until blood washed away from him, revealing the extent of his wounds. Dear gods.
“Behind you, Lila!”
She whirled around. The crowd was parting for Saetth and his courtiers to close in on her.
Abyssian yelled, “Do not challenge him! Get the fuck away from him!”
Uthyr must’ve told the demon her intentions—and Abyssian believed she was about to be lost once again. He battered the barrier with his horns, his blood smearing the surface.
Saetth said, “You did bring a friend, cousin. Surely that can’t be the handsome hell king.”
She held her ground. “I don’t need help defeating you. I have this.” She gestured to her scepter.
Saetth’s gaze followed her every movement.
“Oh, cousin, if you try to take this from me, I vow to the Lore I will use my darkest powers to smite you down—”
He snatched the scepter from her.
The bait.
She could hear Abyssian frenziedly grappling to reach her. While Saetth laughed and gloated with his courtiers, she peered over her shoulder at Abyssian. As if in slow motion, the demon swung that ax overhead, rotating it, building momentum with all the strength in his primordial body.
Yelling, “Aim true!” he whaled the ax into the barrier. The blade ruptured it. A shock wave blasted out from the impact, leveling trees and sending fey flying.
The shield was no more.
He traced inside a split second later, weapon at the ready, drenched in rain and blood. “Lila!”
Before she could blink, Saetth had unsheathed his sword and raised it against her throat.
FIFTY-NINE
Sian quickly holstered his ax, raising his palms. That fuck was the fastest of his kind; Sian couldn’t even trace to intervene. Saetth beheaded his victims with such speed they could still be talking after the deathblow.
Calliope held herself motionless, but she didn’t look afraid.
In a menacing tone, Sian said, “If you hurt her, I will snatch your godsdamned spine from your body. I’ll take your throat with my teeth!”
She blasted out a thought: —I have this under control.—
Sian drew his head back in confusion.
“You are the demon husband?” Saetth said with a sneer. “Not quite the ladies’ man I was expecting. Really, Calliope, there’s no accounting for taste.” His courtiers laughed. “I didn’t think I’d get to end the king of hell today as well.” Without lowering his blade, Saetth twirled a scepter. The one I gave Calliope? Voice dripping with arrogance, he said, “Tsk, cousin, was this the source of your power?”
“My source of power is my wits. Always has been.” What is her plan? “Do you remember what you told me the day you exiled me?”
“Ah, I remember that day vividly. I told you I wanted to see if my hothouse rose could survive.”
Did I actually believe she could still love this prick?
“And I said, ‘Careful, cousin, this hothouse rose intends to flourish and grow sharp thorns.’ Saetth, you’ve run afoul of them, and you don’t even realize it.”
From his experiences with her, Sian knew two things.
Calliope had laid a trap. She’d already struck.
How? He could only imagine. But he needed to trust that she knew what she was doing. Which meant . . . Do not take Saetth’s throat with your teeth.
“I admire your unfounded optimism,” Saetth said. “In reality, you’re about to share your parents’ fate. You’ll die like them, your body burned like a traitor’s. After I behead this Møriør.” To Sian, he said, “If you don’t kneel before me and surrender your life, I’ll take Calliope’s pretty . . .” He trailed off, clearing his throat.
Sian bit back a growl, claws sinking into his palms.
“With one flick of my wrist, I’ll cut off her . . .” Saetth coughed, his brows drawing together. His face began swelling, veins ticking in his forehead. “Calliope?” His skin was turning as purple as her dress. He released the scepter to clutch his throat.
She assumed a thoughtful mien. “Something more to say, cousin? Hmm?” More loudly, she called, “I told you I would smite you down with my powers! I wield the very fires of hell!”
The fey in attendance retreated even farther.
When Saetth dropped his sword and stumbled back, Sian traced to her. He murmured in Demonish, “The fires of hell? What did you do?”
