Page 70 of The Misfit Mage and His Dashing Devil

“Did I say you could stand?” Ian pointed to the floor. “You are my devil, and as such, you should remember your place.”

Bez knelt again, taking fuming breaths yet remaining speechless. So much of this must’ve been traumatizing. I’d done the same to him. Unknowingly. I’d bound us together and made my will his will. Casually making commands to compel control over him. Intentionally and accidentally. It didn’t matter. I’d still done it. I balled my fists.

“Surprised you took the book without causing a fatality, Beelzebub.” Ian strummed his fingers along the spine of the grimoire. “Must be your feelings for Wally. Do Diabolics have feelings? Was that some compulsion from the bond? Maybe you’ll lust for me as I send you to eviscerate the chancellors, beginning with the one who sought to use me as an expendable player in this story.”

“You can’t.” I tensed. Bez was powerful, likely strong enough to hold his own against all the chancellors in a fight. But Ian held him in check through simplistic commands, believing him invulnerable. In the few moments I’d observed, Bez lost his personality and skill in his movements. That’d leave him susceptible.

“Worried about your precious Collective?” Ian smirked, foul and hateful like he’d taken off the final layer of a mask he’d worn since I first met him.

Under that sweet façade was a monster, the complete opposite of Bez, who painted himself a cruel beast but held such longing for more. He hid his compassion because the world offered him none.

I should worry about the Collective. About what he’d make Bez do to Sarai, to Chancellor Belmont, to all the chancellors. Even my mother. How their deaths would ripple through the city, bringing disarray to the regiments. The other regions would rise to squash Ian’s pointless plot. Every magical and nonmagical being in the state would end up as collateral to keep the Collective and Mythic Council truce upheld and magic buried from sight. How many would die for Ian’s narcissism? A goal he claimed for the betterment of everyone, yet he didn’t consider the cost for a second. How long would he keep Bez shackled, fighting for him? How many lives would Bez take before one got lucky and killed the demon disguised as a devil?

I shuddered. How many lives had already been lost because of Ian? Carl’s anguished expression flashed, and my chest tightened, thinking about his sentinel jacket covered in blood as he crawled on the floor. My eyes watered. Al and his sentinels had confronted Ian tonight, yet here he stood. Alistair. That could only mean…

No, no, no. Al couldn’t be dead. Could he?

I swallowed hard. “I’m going to kill you, Ian.”

“Funny. I was going to say the same thing to you.” Ian snapped his fingers. “Strike him, devil.”

Bez leapt in a blur. I gasped. A heavy punch knocked all the air out of my chest. The only thing dulling the agonizing pit in my stomach was the pain of my back crashing against the wall. I curled into a ball. One punch, and I could barely move. Bez had hit me before, but this was like all my muscles ached at once. The throbbing in my stomach radiated across my entire body.

“Again.”

Bez snarled, his face remorseless but his red and pink eyes glossy. He balled a fist and punched me in the face. My glasses cracked. Maybe that was my cheekbone. The shaggy carpet did little to soften the blow when my head ricocheted between the floor and Bez’s knuckles. The taste of mildew clung to the roof of my mouth as I wheezed.

“Again.”

Bez jerked me up by the collar of my shirt and punched me again. This time something definitely cracked. My vision was red and blurred. Something wet ran down my face. Blood, maybe. I dabbed my head, wincing at the sting. My fingertips were a dark scarlet.

“You barely hit him,” Ian said. “Are you holding back, dog? No, that won’t do. I need to send Alistair—hell, all the Aldens—a message with this one. He tried to kill me. His mother tried to…” Ian threw the book down.

I jolted at the collision, mistaking it for another impending hit.

“You tried to take my head clean off when we first met,” Ian said.

“I should’ve let him.” I spit blood. Had I allowed Bez free reign, none of this would’ve happened. Had I never tried to catch the damn orb, he’d be free, and Ian would be dead. I’d likely be dead too, but the city would be fine. All Bez really wanted was his freedom, the quiet. I dragged him through this pointless attempt to clear my name and fix a broken system.

Did I think it would make a difference? It wouldn’t stop anything. Not really.

“Break something of his,” Ian said it so casually, like a mere whim of curiosity. What would Bez break?

I trembled. Bez grabbed my hand and snapped a finger. I screamed, gasping.

“You can surely do better than that. Something bigger.”

Bez cracked the bones of my forearm between his grasp so swiftly I didn’t feel the agony until my eyes landed on the break. I cradled my broken arm, grinding my teeth so hard I thought they’d crumble as easily as my arm had.

“Better,” Ian said. “Another. I want him truly eviscerated when Alistair finds him.”

I held onto the fact my brother was alive. He’d find a way to stop Ian. I cried. Between the throbbing pain coursing through every nerve in my body and the idea that if Alistair stopped Ian, it meant Bez died too. I should’ve told Al everything I was compiling. Should’ve told him about more than Ian’s role in this. Not that it’d make a difference, but if the Collective managed to stop Ian. Stop Bez. They still had a traitor at the top.

Bez rolled me onto my back and pressed his bare foot against my chest. I coughed, choking. Bez was about to crack my ribs open. I couldn’t decide if it’d be a mercy to impale my lungs with my ribcage or another slowed and agonizing blow. Part of me knew Bez held back his full brutality to bide time, but another part worried he savored the slow death between us. His life was bound and lost. Why should my end be any less painful than his?

“Stop.” Ian had a fuzzy face that looked repulsed between bloody, blurred blinks.

Bez lifted his foot. I choked on each inhale, rolling onto my side, which didn’t lessen the agony of breathing.

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