Page 1 of All the Devils are Here

CHAPTER ONE

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LAURENT

Ifought the power that held my limbs in place, struggling against the force that made every movement feel like swimming through tar.

But there was nothing I could do. I didn’t have power. Even in this brand new body, I understood that I was not like him.

Indestructible, maybe. Strong too. But I didn’t have the kind of power I needed to match the magic which glued my limbs to the stone I lay on. No matter how I fought and struggled, I was bound.

A soft chuckle came from my right, and his face appeared over mine. Not old, but neither was the man young. I didn’t know what age he had been before he created me—I just knew that it didn’t matter.

How long had I been alive? It was only days, and yet it felt like so much longer. There was a weight to my life I didn’t understand. Why did I feel this heavy? Like I’d been stolen from something and placed here, though I also knew I hadn’t. I was new life in this world, and yet it was already exhausting to be alive.

Perhaps it was the heaviness of expectations and ownership along with this magic. His ownership.

“Fight all you like, Khalas. It only helps me. Every layer of resistance I overcome tightens this bond.”

A faint glow lined his face and body, just like the magic that was buried under this island. And in his hands were a hammer and chisel. Dread dropped low in my stomach, my body turning to stone in response—an attempt to protect myself.

It was exactly what he wanted.

“I gave everything for you,” he said, placing the chisel over my heart. “And you will give me everything, Khalas. Your heart is mine.”

His hammer fell, and there was nothing but shattering pain and the echoes of his blows.

Over.

And over.

And over.

I sat upright, sucking in breath, my hand on my chest. Right over the scar that looked like broken glass over my heart.

Pounding made me jump, and I realized that was what had brought me out of the dream I’d had far too many times in my very long life. It never seemed less real, no matter how many times I saw him and felt the pain. Likewise, when I was in my stone form, those cracks would never fully heal, despite now being whole.

Again, more pounding. I pulled on a shirt, not bothering to button it as I went down the stairs. Just enough to cover the scars and not frighten whatever delivery person or patient who’d gotten the address wrong or thought my home was a good place to come see me.

A third round of knocking came, and I pulled the door open harshly, momentarily blinded by the afternoon sunlight. Her scent hit me before I even saw her.

Tart lemons and fresh flowers—light, like daisies. My eyes recovered, taking in a messy blonde bun, shoulders carrying a too-heavy backpack, a suitcase at her feet. Leggings that clung to curves I knew too well despite all my resistance, and finally an exasperated smile.

“Meg.”

She blew out a breath. “Sorry. I wasn’t sure if you were home or not. Christine told you I was coming, right?”

I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes. “She did. I’m sorry, I forgot.”

Christine had told me her friend was coming to stay while she waited for Christine and the Kings’ arrival in Paris. It wasn’t uncommon—Meg had stayed here before with me, and it was why I knew her scent so well and the temptation of everything that was her, despite not being able to do anything about it.

Standing aside, I held the door open and let her bring all her luggage inside. “I’m glad just to be here,” she said with a sigh. “Transatlantic flights are the devil. Especially in coach.”

I was still in the middle of pulling my head out of the dream. No matter how many times I had it, it still took me a while to shake the effects.

“I thought Christine would have paid for first class.”

Meg sighed. “Am I in the same room?”

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