Dark Skye (21 page)

When they’d run from the dragon, Thronos had stretched out his talon for it. Now he had it hidden in his pocket.

A stray thought flitted through his brain.
How many gifts of jewelry have other males given her? To reward her for sex?
His grip tightened around her arm, his horns aching to mark her again.

Just because he had a goal of treating her better didn’t mean he could achieve it. Wrath still lived within him. . . .

“Strange that we haven’t seen a soul,” she said, frowning at his grip.

He eventually eased it. “There’s nothing of value to guard. Plus, they’re probably still on the battlefield.”

After what felt like leagues, the trail forked, the two branches heading in opposite directions.

“Which way to the corpse rot?” she asked him.

He waved to the right, and they kept moving.

As they neared the burial area, the stench became overwhelming. Another cavern opened up, larger than the initial one. It’d likely been chosen for its size because it was filled to the ceiling with a mountain of bones, decapitated bodies, and horned skulls.

The mound had a creeping, rippling coat of rats. The skittering mass darted in and out of the remains, as if along paths.

When Melanthe’s eyes went wide at the gruesome sight, he tugged her back. “There’s no exit. Let’s head the other way.”

“Are you trying to protect my innocent eyes?” This seemed to amuse her. “I was just nine when my parents’ heads dropped off their bed and rolled toward me like wayward toys. When I was eleven, I used a shard of my sister’s skull to scoop up her brain matter and put her back together again. I haven’t been innocent since my life became entangled with Vrekeners.”

If his knights truly had hunted the two Sorceri girls, the attacks would have been unending. A living hell.

Vrekeners never abandon their hunt.

“Not to mention Omort’s court,” she said. “I can never unsee the things I witnessed there.”

“I wish that I could have spared you that,” he said honestly.

“You
could
have spared me some. Last year when you set that trap for me, I’d been in Louisiana to retrieve my sister, so she could take her dose of morsus. She was
dying.
Because of you, I had to flee, getting completely turned around in a strange city. I was lost and frantic. Because
of you, I couldn’t rescue Sabine. When the portal door shut on your leg, I’m sure you were suitably pissed on your side. On my side, I kicked your leg around, cursing it. Until I heard Omort from the shadows—
in my room
—grating, ‘And you dare return without her.’ ” She visibly shuddered. “I’ve never been closer to death than I was then. Never. So thanks, Thronos.”

“I couldn’t have known that.” One year ago, she’d almost been murdered by her brother. The idea of Melanthe dying while Thronos was helpless to protect her . . .

Would he have sensed the loss, even across worlds?

She regarded his face. “I’ve tried to live my life. And you jeopardized it. It’s a miracle that I’ve survived this long. Speaking of which . . .” She crossed to the burial mound, reaching for something. She hauled a battered sword out from the bottom. A few bones and skulls tumbled down like a mini rock slide.

She laid the sword flat over one of her shoulders. “You ready?”

He nodded, and they set out once more, his thoughts in turmoil.
Never been closer to death.

Because of him. No, he couldn’t have predicted what his actions might bring about—because it’d never occurred to him that Melanthe was a prisoner of Omort.

Had he assumed the worst about her in every instance?

Back at the fork, they chose the other direction. The path began dividing regularly, some routes leading down, some up, connecting to landings or more caverns. Along the landings were recesses of differing sizes.

“I can’t believe we’re in a subterranean demon den,” she murmured. She didn’t sound unnerved by this, more intrigued—as if the two of them were on a hell safari.

His instinct continually urged him to take the higher path, but he didn’t think there’d be an entry point at the top of this lair, so he tried to keep them on one level.

The noise and scents grew into a tumult as they neared the demon encampment, situated in one of those larger caverns. Cautiously they found
a vantage on a raised landing, where he and Melanthe could take stock of most of the camp. It was occupied by dozens of different types of demons: fire, ice, pus, storm, shadow, pathos, and more. All appeared to be returning from that battle.

Thronos found it strange that members of such varied demonarchies were working together. Was the other army as diverse?

Here, warriors regenerated from injuries, some regrowing flesh, some entire limbs. Others ate, drank, or whored. Thirty or so harried demonesses serviced the males, with lines forming.

And my mate thinks me related to these brutes?
He ground his teeth at the thought, turning away from the iniquitous scenes.

Melanthe, however, appeared quite comfortable with what she was witnessing. And she seemed to be listening for something.

“Come, sorceress,” he muttered. “I scent an exit nearby.” At last, a way out of this literal hellhole.

She didn’t follow him. “Just a minute. I’ve been reading their minds, getting the lay of the land.”

He hesitated. “And?”

“This war has been going on since before even the oldest demons were born, so thousands of years. Each night, the armies march out to do battle. They break each morning because the dragons fly from their hive to come scavenge the plateau. If the demons are returning now, I guess dawn happened while we were down here?”

“It must have. Those dragons on the mount were probably waiting to feed on the fallen.” As if they’d been trained. Crafty beasts. It was a wonder there were any bodies in that burial mound at all.

“The dragons have been abnormally hostile of late,” Melanthe continued. “The demons fear the last female has died, leaving a pack of aggressive killer males. It’s only a matter of time before they attack the demons. Oh, oh, this just in . . . We’re in a lair called Inferno. It’s protected by that moat of lava outside and is home to the
Infernals.
They fight the Deep Place warriors, also known as the
Abysmals.
Deep Place is equally difficult
to breach. There’s only one entrance, and you have to navigate a maze of ruins to reach it.”

“What are they fighting over?”

“Portals. The Infernals have the First Gate of Hell and the Second Key. But the Abysmals have the Second Gate and the First Key. In other words, they each have a gate of hell and a key that doesn’t work on their own portal. Each side fights to protect its portal and to seize the other’s key. Both armies are desperate to leave, but none can teleport here. They have no idea how the keys and portals got mixed up. Some believe the eternal war is a punishment for something.”

“A portal is within this lair? With your power, could you use it without a key?”

She shook her head. “If it’s locked, it’s been barred for a reason. Against anyone.”

“So we could take a key from here to use with the Abysmals’ portal?” And if they managed to make it out of Inferno alive, would he drag her into Deep Place as well?

He didn’t know enough about the dangers in Pandemonia to leave Melanthe in hiding, which meant she would have to accompany him to yet another demon lair—without any advance scouting. Who knew what he could be leading her into?

The only other option would be to spend several more days in hell. Away from his home, his anchor.
Will I even recognize myself?

Not to mention that he could never wait that long to claim Melanthe. “We search for the key, then. We’ll find it. I’ll kill any demon that gets in our way.”

“Hold on there, tiger. When was the last time you ate? Or slept? We’re coming off a prison stay, remember. We should at least find food and water. Maybe spend the day recuperating. We can return when they go back to the battlefield.”

He couldn’t argue with her logic. “Very well.” He steered her toward the exit he’d scented.

Across a narrow rock bridge, he spied the opening. Murky rays of sunlight wavered through it.

They were just about to traverse the bridge when a Volar demon swooped into the area directly below, beginning to remove pieces of his armor. Thronos and Melanthe flattened themselves against the wall of an alcove.

They wouldn’t be able to reach the exit without being seen by that Volar. Thronos could take him, but not before the male raised the alarm.

—Look, Thronos, your long-lost brother.—

More telepathy? Yet she’d sounded almost impish, so he could forgive the intrusion, as well as the slight.

When she found a flat length of stone in the dim alcove and took a seat, he cautiously joined her. From the shadows, he surveyed the Volar. Its kind had features in common with Vrekeners, he supposed. Their wings were similarly shaped with glowing pulselines, and their claws were the same. But the Volar only had two horns, and its wings were all black.

The demon paced the area, seeming to await someone. Moments later, a small demoness of indeterminate subspecies rushed in. They ran to each other and began kissing.

Thronos turned his head away, but Melanthe leaned forward with eagerness. —
An assignation! Oh, darn, Thronos. We’re stuck here until they get finished.—

“They aren’t about to . . . here?”

She grinned.

“Turn from them, Melanthe.” Watching an offendment . . .

—You’ve never watched?—

“It isn’t done!”

At Thronos’s low words, the Volar turned sharply, scanning the shadows. Thronos held his breath until the Volar’s mate drew the male’s attention back to her.

—I might as well read his mind too.—

Thronos wanted to tell her to ignore them, to think of something else, but he couldn’t risk the sound.

—This Volar is the
leader
of the Infernals and is fresh from the battlefield. He
thanks the gods for his mate, stolen during a raid on the Abysmals. If not for her, he’d meet a dragon’s fire.—

Though that was all well and good, Thronos needed pertinent information. He couldn’t believe he was about to do this, but . . . he lowered his shields against Melanthe, which drew her attention. Then he thought the words: —
Can you hear me?—

She smiled softly.
—I like talking to you this way.—

—Can you find out from him where the key is?—

—That’s pretty much the last thing he’s thinking about right now!—
She fanned herself.

The Volar and the demoness began to kiss even more passionately, making Melanthe sigh. When the male murmured in Demonish, she translated.
—He told her that he loves her, and he couldn’t withstand this hell without her. And she says she feels the same way! They’re desperate for each other.—

—She’s no warrior. She must have been a camp follower.—
A prostitute.

—So? She’s with him now.—

—But he knows many others have seen his mate. They’ve touched her and pleasured her.—

—Do you think that matters to him?—

Thronos knew this was dangerous ground, but answered honestly.
—I can’t see how it wouldn’t.—

—It wouldn’t because he obviously knows a very real truth. The honor doesn’t go to the first male she bedded; it goes to the last male, the one she’ll spend eternity with. Him. He probably walks around this place feeling ten feet tall, superior to all.—

Thronos had never thought of it that way.
—I’ll be the last male you ever bed.—

—That remains to be seen.—
She turned to him with a frown.
—You know, up in heaven, I’m sure things make sense and everyone acts as they’re expected to and surprises are few. But outside of heaven, life can be confusing and heartbreaking and dire. So most of us take pleasure where we can find it.—
She pinned him with her gaze.
—And we don’t judge anyone who does the same.—

Could Thronos ever take pleasure where he found it? For a moment, he considered how easy life would be if he were a mere demon. That
Volar could mate his female whenever he felt the urge for release. He didn’t have to worry about laws or expectations or the Tales of Troth.

As a demon, Thronos would be able to forgive Melanthe her profligacy, because he would be in no position to judge. As soon as he led her from Inferno, he could find a place to take his demon’s due. The idea of claiming her this very day, without repercussions, was so seductive that he nearly groaned with want.

His shaft ached for her, his horns as well. Part of him wondered,
Why fight something I need so badly?
His mate was in need too. Her season was upon her, and he had a driving instinct to pleasure her.

A groan drew her attention back to the pair. He kept his eyes on her.

—They’re so in love.—
Yearning emanated from her.

She’d said gold was “as beautiful as love.” Did she want love for herself?

His mate was such a contradiction. She was hardened to violence and death. But he’d also seen her joy in the temple and now her longing.

As a girl, she’d been thoughtful and gentle. Her eyes had usually been lit with merriment, especially when she’d teased him, making him laugh despite himself. Each day, he’d gone from the dour Skye to that meadow, to levity and play. They’d settled in so easily together.

Merry, gentle, thoughtful. Could she possibly have retained those traits after all she’d been through?

Before he considered his words, he asked: —
Have you been in love?—

—I’ve never known romantic love.—

This surprised him. With not a single one of the males she’d been with? —
Why?—

With a raised brow, she replied: —
I haven’t found my future husband yet.—

—You do not know how wrong you are about that.—