Page 43 of Hell Sent

She looked annoyed, but not surprised. “Don’t follow too closely. If danger comes, you will approach it first.”

Azreth didn’t reply. They had already started down the other side of the dune.

Their names were Basmeth and Atara, which he only learned when he overheard them addressing each other. They didn’t ask his name.

Atara, the small one, always walked in front of Basmeth, putting the larger woman between herself and Azreth, who trailed some distance behind them both. Azreth meant her no harm, but he didn’t take offense. Her caution was wise.

At first, based on their size disparity, he had assumed she was Basmeth’s slave, but it soon became clear that wasn’t the case.

Their behavior was strange. He did not often get to observe other kin, so he spent much of his time watching the two of them. They often spoke to each other quietly as they marched across the swollen dunes, arms held in front of their eyes to block the harsh wind and pelting sand. They walked close together, and they turned their backs to each other sometimes, unafraid of being struck from behind. Occasionally, one would touch the other’s arm to get her attention, or to briefly lean on the other for balance, and it was clear they were comfortable with and accustomed to these small touches.

Once, Atara noticed him watching Basmeth, and she gave him a look of warning so fearsome that he averted his gaze without comment.

They did not invite him to join them when they fed from each other, but they allowed him to feed passively from nearby—which he preferred, anyway.

Basmeth liked to climb above Atara as a man might have, interlocking their hips while Atara lay on her back beneath her. She did not rush. Her movements were slow, hypnotic. Azreth could never see Basmeth’s face during this, because she always turned away from him, but he could see Atara gazing up at Basmeth, looking her in the eyes. They traded soft, intentional touches, leaning in until their bodies were twined together. When they climaxed, there was an outpouring of passion and joy unlike anything he’d witnessed, but Basmeth was quick to get to her feet and turn away, leaving the smaller woman panting and alone on the ground.

Their relationship was almost embarrassing in its intensity and softness, and Azreth watched them with a morbid curiosity.

They were nearing the end of the desert when they encountered a flame geyser and stopped to take turns bathing in it. Azreth took his turn last, straddling the splintered rock from which the fire spouted in great bursts. As he stepped into the flame, the heat eased the aches of the days-long march.

He turned to where Basmeth and Atara sat nearby. He did not have to hide his gaze, because they were deep in whispered conversation, their faces somber. They sat so close together that their knees touched.

He went still when Atara abruptly wrapped her fingers around Basmeth’s wrist—in his mind, a clear display of aggression. Basmeth just shook her head, as if it were not a threat at all, but their voices grew a little louder.

They were arguing. He hadn’t seen them argue before. Fearing a fight would break out, he stepped out of the geyser. He had no interest in becoming involved in their quarrel.

But instead, Atara dropped to her knees, taking Basmeth’s hand in both of hers in a supplicating gesture. With the flames behind him, he could make out her harsh whispers.

I need you.

I would do anything for you.

You know I feel…

He followed the movement of Atara’s lips in disbelief, watching them shape damning words.

I love you.

Azreth stiffened. Basmeth recoiled in shock.

He had heard of enthrallment—the madness that mortals referred to as love—but he’d never witnessed it. Demons afflicted with it would find themselves lost in obsession and subservience to another for no logical reason. It was ultimate enslavement.

I love you.

The words filled him with disgust. Just looking at Atara, seeing her earnestness and willing vulnerability, made him angry. Why she had chosen to admit such a humiliating truth was beyond him. But if she was truly enthralled, then she was too far gone to think clearly, wasn’t she? Maybe she couldn’t help herself.

The lucky ones, the ones who had proven valuable to their eldresses, would be exorcised with a complex spell that would free them of emotion entirely. Even then, it had to be done by force, because the enthralled were so mad that they didn’twantto be cured.

But the three of them were houseless. There would be no eldress magic for them, and there was no other way to cure it.

Azreth took a step back. Perhaps it was contagious.

Tears slid down Atara’s cheeks. Suddenly noticing Azreth watching, her eyes narrowed a little. Basmeth followed her gaze.

For a moment—just a moment—he thought Basmeth might turn to Atara to proclaim her own enthrallment in return, because what else could have explained the way Basmeth shielded the smaller woman from danger, let alone all the gentle touches and long conversations?

Was it possible that their enthrallment was mutual? Was Basmeth equally sick?

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