Page 42 of Of Bone and Ash

She’s fucking stunning and everything I’ve ever wanted. Her fierce nature and unwillingness to back down only fueled my need to claim her as my own. Which wasn’t the fucking plan! The little girl with black hair and haunted gray eyes that I knew from the hellish warehouse I was locked in has grown into a hauntingly beautiful woman. Her pain radiates off her like a cry for help, yet from the way she has her magic shielded off, everyone has ignored her, letting her deal with the agony of death on her own.

Something I can, unfortunately, relate to.

It's been thirteen years since I last saw her. Thirteen years that I wondered what had happened to the girl I saw strapped to that table beside me, and now that I found her, she’s vanished again. I had hunted Serafina religiously once my father died, yet every time I got close, her trail vanished. At the time, I wanted to eradicate her. She was the reason I was there, after all.

I know powerful people are protecting her, and she would be somewhere with the councilman’s family. However, the location of his home is not easily accessible information. I would have had better luck breaking into the damn Vatican, than discovering the Covington family home.

Glancing around once more, I let the world I had created to spirit her away from the danger she had unknowingly walked into go and open my eyes, finding myself in my office, where I had first heard her call. If she had just taken my hand, all of my concerns would be over.

“Sir?”

Glancing up, I find Alastor watching me with a hesitant look on his wrinkled face. Clearing my throat, I channel my anger into the task ahead of me as I look back down at my computer, trying to remember what we were talking about before Serafina beckoned me to her side.

“Where were we?” I ask, not elaborating on what just happened. As much as I liked Alastor, I wouldn't explain myself to him.

“The princes, sir,” he says, his voice carrying a softness most Demons don't possess. I nod and stand, brushing off my pristine three-piece suit, ensuring the ruby cuff links are secure before stepping around my desk.

“When is the summons?”

“Now, sir,” he rasps, looking at the elaborate grandfather clock ticking in the corner of my office. I look at the brass and jeweled face of the clock and sigh, realizing I had been gone much longer than I thought.

“Very well,” I announce, moving toward the office's double doors and watching the two servants stationed on either side of the doors jump to open them for me as I stride into the large hallway. Servants scurry through the ornate hallways carrying items to and from rooms, keeping their gaze averted the moment they sense me near. I hear Alastor follow behind at a respectable distance, and I have to stifle the urge to roll my eyes. Despite my position and title, I’m still followed and watched as if I’m a traitor to my own kind, simply because of the blood running through my veins.

I move through the twisting halls, mentally preparing myself for the meeting about to take place. I know the princes will do everything in their power to make me react. They’ve wanted me out since the moment my father died, yet Demonic Law won’t allow them to do so unless I give them a valid reason.

Even Demons must uphold our traditions; otherwise, everything would fall into chaos. Hell’s flame would extinguish without the seven princes united as one, something that has been in danger of happening since two princes were killed in battle thirteen years ago.

The gold embroidery threads of the rugs lining the halls of the castle gleam in the candlelight cast by the tall candelabras on the walls. The red brick stone holds a glimmer of magic that heats the air to an almost stifling temperature that has sweat dotting my brow. I unconsciously tug at the too-tight collar of my black button-down shirt, hating the finery of the clothes my title now forces me to wear.

Turning a corner, I slow my steps as I approach the golden doors leading to the throne room. Servants rush about, their panicked eyes trained on their feet, so they don't accidentally upset those who are above their station. Cracking my neck to the side, I move to stand in front of the doors, just as Alastor coughs, and I look at him.

“Your appearance, sir,” he says hesitantly, and I curse as I realize I haven't shifted back into my Demonic form.

“Of course,” I grind out, hating how I forgot to shift before leaving my office. Servants talk, and I’m already the hottest gossip of the castle; my stalking about the halls in a normal form will no doubt spark talk about how weak I am.

Freeing my magic, I shift in a matter of seconds, electing to don my Reaper’s cloak for added emphasis and making sure to let the death magic filter into the air, making pained gasps sound from the nearby servants. Let them say how weak I am, as long as they know I can snuff out their lives with a simple thought.

“Doors,” I demand, letting the red fog of my magic collect at my feet as I move forward, making the people near me jump out of my way in fear. I stride into the throne room, the dimly lit area fitting my morbid mood as I keep my gaze forward, ignoring the pleas and cries of a woman strapped to an altar at the back of the room.

Red ribbons of blood run down the slanted black marble floors, their sources hung from the rafters along the sides of the long rectangular room. A harsh metallic scent hangs thickly in the air, mingling with sulfur as two Hounds snarl at me. Their mangled fur-covered heads tilt to the side, black Demon’s Bane dripping from their snapping jowls in warning until I look their way. Casting my Demonic magic out from around my feet, I watch as they cower and howl, jerking back from me and pulling on the thick metal chains holding them in place.

“Pathetic,” I rasp as I watch them from my peripheral.

I watch as all six Princes turn their attention toward me as I approach the seven thrones set around a circular dais with a glowing black flame in the center. Each throne is the same size and elaborate design, the only difference is the color, denoting to whom the throne belongs. I nod my head respectfully to them before moving to the empty red throne and sitting, leaning back in the enormous chair as I make a show of getting comfortable.

Women lounge on the ground by their feet, the prince’s favorite whores or playthings they want to keep around. Most are collared, all scantily clad in the color of the Demon to whom they belong.

“Darius Zephyr,” Belphegor rasps as he leans forward on his golden throne. His yellow-tinged skin looks almost gray from the cool-toned light Hell’s flames cast on us all, making him look far more monstrous than normal.

“Belphegor,” I greet, tearing my eyes away from the woman, trying to bury the rage I feel when I see them. I keep my voice cold and indifferent as I watch Leviathan shift at my side, his green-clawed hands clutching at the armrests of his throne like they’re the only things keeping him from striking out to kill me. I almost smirk at that idea, wishing the idiot would be stupid enough to do so. His oldest son and heir is much more reasonable to work with. I would prefer it if he would take over.

“How is your assignment going?” Belphegor asks, his neon yellow eyes locked on me, watching… always fucking watching and seeing everything.

“Agreeably,” I respond, keeping my answer vague, not wanting to dive into the shit show I’m currently wrangling.

“That's it?” Leviathan snarls, spittle flying from his dark green lips as he glares at me. “You are closing in on your deadline, boy. You had better produce an agreeable outcome to the assignment you were given if you want to keep your father's throne. He would be disappointed in you if he were here to see this!” the royal Demon says as if that’s something that would hurt me. As far as fathers go, Mammon was one of the worst. If things had played out differently, there’s a good chance I’d be the target some other fool would be going after. Thankfully, everything’s worked out in my favor.

“Well. My father is not here. And I still have three months to eradicate the Covington Reaper line,” I grind out, the small claws at my fingertips lengthening as I think back to how close I had been to Serafina Covington. I should have taken her the moment I laid eyes on her, yet there was something about her that enchanted me. Not her beauty, though she was stunning. Not even her powerful dual-form magic. Something that I have never seen in anyone but myself.

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