Page 28 of The Demon's Sinful Serenade
My hand shot out before I could stop myself, grabbing River's wrist and wrenching it away from my face. Julian's eyes—River's eyes—widened in mock fear.
"Going to hurt me, demon? Going to hit your precious River?" He leaned forward, River's blue curls falling across her face. "That hesitation, that pathetic restraint? It gives me all the advantage I need. You can't touch me without touching her. Can't burn me without burning her." His smile widened, sharp and dangerous. "What good is all that fire if you're too afraid to use it?"
The cruel smirk twisting River's mouth gutted me worse than any blade ever could. Because it was true.
I released my grip on her wrist and stepped backward, clenching my fists against my sides. Icy dread crept up my spine. I didn't know what to do, how to stop this. How to help her.
Fuck.Think.
Julian cocked River's head at me, savoring the power. "River and I are going to spend some quality time together. In fact, I think we'll pay a visit to those interfering witches who tried tobanish me. I wonder how they'll fare when they see their friend coming to call?"
Julian's laugh dripped from River's mouth as she melted into the backstage activity. My hands trembled at my sides. Everything inside me screamed to chase after her, to rip that parasitic fucker from her body before he could hurt her further.
Your flames will burn brightest in the shadow of death.
The witch's words from Prague thundered through my mind. Was this what she meant? That I'd find my mate only to lose her to a vengeful ghost? My chest constricted as if someone had punched a hole through it and yanked out everything vital.
Fuck that. I wasn't losing River. Not today. Not ever.
I fought through the paralysis of shock and shoved my way into the flow of festival-goers, scanning for a glimpse of blue curls. The crowd pulsed around me like a living thing, bodies pressing in from all sides, the scents of beer and sweat and food overwhelming my senses. I couldn't catch River's distinct petrichor-and-citrus scent beneath it all. Julian had taken that from me, too.
I fumbled for my phone, nearly dropping it twice before managing to call Rava. Each ring stretched into eternity.
"What?" Rava answered, the background noise almost drowning out her voice. "I'm kind of in the middle of?—"
"Where are you?" I barked, already shoving through the crowd toward the Mist & Market section of the festival grounds. "Right now, where?"
Something in my voice must have alerted her. Her tone shifted instantly. "Sombra woodworking booth with Zral. What's wrong?"
"Is Miranda there?" I shouldered past a group of teenagers, ignoring their protests.
"Her booth is right next door. Zane, what's happening?"
"Julian's possessing River," I said, the words tasting like ash. "The exorcism failed. He's controlling her body, and he's coming after the witches."
"Shit." I heard rustling and Zral's voice asking questions in the background. "I'll find Hannah and warn Miranda. Where's Poppy?"
"She should be at her bakery stall," I said, changing direction and pushing toward the food vendor area. "I'm heading there now. Get the witches somewhere safe and call me back."
I ended the call and surged forward, shoving through the dense crowd with little regard for social niceties. A few people called out protests as I muscled past them, but I couldn't care less about hurt feelings when River was trapped inside her own body with that psychotic ghost.
Please don't let me be too late.
I reached Poppy's stall in minutes, breathing hard, only to find it empty. The cheerful display of festival-themed cupcakes and cookies sat abandoned with a hastily scrawled 'Back in 20 minutes' sign propped against the register.
"Fuck," I muttered, spinning in a circle as I scanned the surrounding area. Where would Julian take her? Where could he go that was private enough to?—
My gaze landed on a maintenance shed near the back of the vendor area. Private, out of the way, deserted. Almost certainly unlocked.
I approached silently, ears straining for any sound. Through the flimsy door, I heard Poppy's voice, tight with controlled fear.
"River, what are you doing?" Poppy gasped, her hands clutching at River's wrist. "This isn't funny!"
"Oh, but it is," Julian said, using River's voice in a singsong tone. "It's hilarious how you never saw it. All those years, all those heart-to-heart talks, and you never realized how pathetic I thought you were."
I eased the door open another fraction of an inch, sizing up the situation. The shed was cramped with maintenance equipment and a fleet of three golf carts. River—Julian—had Poppy cornered against a wall of gardening tools, one hand gripping her throat just tightly enough to be threatening. Poppy's eyes were wide with fear, but her expression held confusion more than terror. She didn't understand what was happening yet.
"Poor, sweet Poppy," Julian crooned, tightening River's grip. "Always there with your nasty cookies and your goofy spells. Always pretending your little bakery makes you special." He leaned closer. "Wasting away your sad little life in this sad little town."
