Her Soul to Take (Souls Trilogy) Page 22

  “Perhaps the coven summoned him a long time ago, and made a deal with him.”

  “Maybe. Hell, I’d stick around for a witch’s soul.” He glanced over at me pointedly. “Have to make the trouble worth it.”

  “Yeah? All that trouble with Juniper worth it?”

  He exhaled sharply. “She’s a little monster. Vicious as hell, body like a fucking succubus. It’s worth it.”

  The night grew colder as we stood there, passing the joint in silence. It always felt the same with Zane: always steady, the one constant through my few centuries of life. We could part for decades like it was nothing, then spend decades more in each other’s company.

  A howl pierced the night, and Zane and I glanced toward the trees at the far side of the shore. Dark, long-legged shapes scuttled through the shadows, like massive spiders on the prowl.

  Zane spat in the sand. “Fucking Eld. Been centuries since I’ve seen so many in one place.”

  “They’ve been hunting Raelynn,” I said grimly. “Stalking her house. They’re forming packs. I nearly lost my arm to them.” I rolled my shoulder, where the tenderness still lingered deep, near the bone. It would heal eventually.

  “They’ve been coming for Juniper too, but she holds her own well enough. They dug up her brother from the yard though.”

  “Marcus?”

  He nodded. “She buried him in the yard up at her cabin and the beasts dug him up.”

  I shook my head. “She went down into the mine and got his body out?”

  “Yeah. I went with her. Wouldn’t recommend it. Awful place.”

  I had to laugh. I’d been feeling sorry for myself, but at least Raelynn wasn’t dragging me right onto the God’s doorstep. “She’s mad.”

  “Completely. She’s going after the Hadleighs next.” He grinned at me. “Don’t think I’ll be able to convince her to save the old bastard for you to kill.”

  “Dead is dead.” I shrugged. “Tell her to hurry up. It’s hard enough keeping Raelynn alive. Damn woman’s sense of self-preservation is broken.”

  “If she’s spending time with you? Clearly.”

  “Asshole.” I shoved my knuckles against his shoulder as I turned to go, and he caught my wrist, holding it captive.

  “Hey. Don’t get yourself killed,” he said softly.

  I scoffed. “I’ll be fine.”

  “You’ll be reckless.”

  “Hasn’t killed me yet —”

  His fingers moved from my wrist to my throat, squeezed, yanked me forward so we were face to face. “Don’t. Get. Yourself. Killed.” Each word punctuated by a squeeze. The bar in his tongue flashed silver as he spoke, the mark I’d put there ages ago. “Got it, kid?”

  I scowled. “I fucking hate that.”

  “I know.” He let me go with a shove, and took another long drag from the joint. “Call me if you need me.”

  “And you’d better do the same.”

  I stalked away up the beach toward the road, where the truck was parked beneath a flickering streetlamp. Just before I reached it, I turned and yelled, “Hey! I’ll be fucking pissed if you die!”

  He laughed. “Well, I’m not trying to piss you off, Leon. I’ve seen what happens to the poor bastards who do.”

  I love you too, asshole.

  The coordinates Zane gave me sent me deep into the northwestern forests. Perpetually wet and vibrant green, the air thick with the smells of the dirt and natural rot, I soon picked up the scent I’d been searching for: softly sweet and sharp, like berries crushed in pine needles. Witch’s magic permeated the air as surely as the rain. Inescapable and unmistakable.

  The grimoire was her inheritance by any human right: but my name, my sigil, and my freedom that hinged on it, was mine. And I’d have it back one way or another.

  I found the coven house in the early morning hours. The light permeated the trees in pale, wet shafts and illuminated a manor covered in creeping vines and tiny, budding white flowers. It looked like a cathedral overtaken by the woodland: its three spire-like towers rose up among the trees, their boughs grown lovingly around it, their roots curled close around the foundations, as if to guard it in a nest of hemlock and spruce, moss and ferns.

  I kept my distance at first, stalking in a wide berth through the trees, surveilling the windows, the doors, trying to get any hint of what lay beyond those walls. I had limited experience with Hell’s terrifying royals, but for nearly an hour I was certain that Zane must have been wrong: there couldn’t be an Archdemon in that house.

  I couldn’t smell one, feel one, I saw no hint of one. It was only the witch’s power that drenched this place.

  So I got bolder.

  Excessively, recklessly bolder.

  I couldn’t simply walk through the front doors — especially considering the house’s large red double-doors were wrapped in lengths of black thread, intricately braided and knotted, forming powerful wards of protection around the entry. I found the windows similarly protected. But at the very back of the house, almost entirely hidden beneath a mound of dirt, leaves, and moss, I found a small wooden door set into the foundation of the house.

  A cellar.

  The rusting hinges were impossible to open without noise, but I took my time to ease them open and slipped down into the dank space. Bunches of herbs hung from the ceiling alongside shelves of canned goods and old, locked crates. I found wooden stairs at the far end of the room, and climbed up to find myself in a large, disconcertingly old-fashioned kitchen that smelt strongly of cinnamon, cloves, and oranges.

  I was feeling pretty damn confident. I’d happened upon the place when the little witch’s Archdemon wasn’t even at home. A piano was playing softly from above as I crept out into the entry hall and, strangely, I could hear birdsong. Despite the dreary light outside, the house was as well-lit as a spring day.

  I was making my way toward the large staircase to the upper floor when something seized my throat, squeezed with a vice grip, and hurled me backwards to fly through the air until I hit the far wall so hard, I swear my being slipped back into Hell for a moment.

  But only a moment.

  Then I was on my feet, muscles tensed, claws distended, ready to —

  Seized again, my arm was jolted from its socket as I was flung in the opposite direction and landed hard on the stone floor, skidding across its smooth surface. The movement was so fast I saw nothing more than a dark blur, nothing more than —

  Grabbed again, thrown, and this time my skull hit the banister and I tumbled down the stairs to lie limply at the foot of them. I could take a beating, but fucking hell, all the air had been forced out of my lungs, my arm was dislocated, and my body was heating drastically as it attempted to repair what was almost certainly several fractures in my skull. I didn’t even make an attempt to move as footsteps pounded slowly across the floor toward me, and the sole of a boot pressed down on the top of my head.

  Pressing — crushing me against the stone — harder — my vision flashed —

  “Fucking fuck, stop…stop!” My voice broke, but what did it matter when my skull was about to be cracked like an egg? I scrambled on the floor, but that foot resting on me may as well have been the weight of an elephant.

  “Going to beg for mercy already? You’re no fun.” The voice that spoke was all gravel, deep as night, dark as the furthest depths of Hell. The piano had stopped, as had the birdsong. I shuddered from head to foot and stopped struggling, and instead licked my bleeding lips and focused all my energy on healing as rapidly as possible.

  “Callum,” I said quickly. “It’s Callum, isn’t it?”

  There was a pause, then the boot left my head, and fingers knotted in my hair, hauling me up until I dangled on the tips of my toes — and faced the Archdemon I’d been so certain wasn’t here.

  “Do I know you, hellion?” It was impossible to tell where his solidly black eyes were looking, but I tried to keep a stoic face; showing pain was exactly what he’d want, exactly what would spur him on. H
e was taller than me, but slimmer. Dark-haired, with a slim mouth and rigid jaw. How the hell I hadn’t smelled him, I couldn’t fathom; he reeked of blood and wood smoke, and the energy within his presence was palpable. My closeness to him was almost unbearable, like having my head pounded with soundless bass.

  But when he hauled me up, he left his throat exposed. Leaving me an opening to —

  All it took was the slightest twitch of my hand, and my face got bashed against the far wall again. Dazed, I raised my head from the floor, spitting blood onto the stones. The Archdemon paced along the hall, snapping his fingers as if to some invisible beat.

  I hated him. I really, desperately wanted to rip him to shreds.

  He didn’t bother to throw me again. Instead, he drop-kicked the heel of his boot into my face and I felt something snap in my jaw.

  “Alright!” I held up a hand — felt him grasp it — the bastard snapped my wrist back, breaking it like a twig. I snatched it back, cradling it to my chest as I screamed furiously, “Fucking hell, stop! I’ll go, I’ll fucking go, goddamn it…”

  “Go?” He laughed, or at least I guessed that he did. The sound was just deep rumbles in my aching head. “You’re really not fun at all. Why don’t you try to squirm for the door?” He squatted down near me, still snapping his fucking fingers. “I’ll let you reach it, I promise. I won’t let you get beyond it, but won’t it feel good to —”

  This time, my claws made contact with his face, and he leapt back to the foot of the stairway.

  “Fuck you,” I snarled, jerking up to my feet, blood pouring from my nose, my jaw making some truly bizarre popping sounds as it knitted itself back together. Callum curiously touched along his face, where I’d laid open his cheek straight through to his teeth, and regarded the blood on his fingers with an all-too-calm curiosity.

  “Clever,” he murmured. “And here I thought you couldn’t take the pain.”

  “I’ve spent the last century in pain,” I spat onto the floor again, cracking my stiffening neck. There were some very unhappy vertebrae at the base of my skull. “I’m not here to cause any trouble for you or your witch, I only want —”

  Slammed onto my back again, the air rushed out of my lungs, and Callum crouched over me with an expression of clinical indifference. With his face already knitting back together, he sunk his claws into my cheek and began to tear. “I don’t care what you want, hellion, any more than a spider cares for the wants of a fly.”

  I tried not to scream, but fuck, it hurt. For the first time, I began to think I wasn’t going to get out of this alive.

  “What pretty teeth you have, hellion —”

  “Callum, stop!”

  The Archdemon went stiff as stone, his claws still sunk into my face. There, at the top of the stairway, Everly Hadleigh stood in a pale green dress, her long hair coiled up and pinned in a messy pile atop her head. She came slowly down the stairs, her expression grim but wide-eyed, her gaze fixed on my face.

  I gave her a very bloody grin.

  “Hello again, Everly.”

  She came close, just beyond my reach, and looked down at me as if I was an unpleasant specimen she had to study. She looked healthy, her eyes bright, her steps light. Breaking free of Kent’s stranglehold would do anyone a world of good.

  “Leon,” she spoke softly, almost disappointed. “Did Kent send you after me?”

  “Fuck no.” Callum’s claws clicked against my teeth unpleasantly, and I snapped at him in retaliation, hoping I’d at least catch a finger. No such luck, but Callum didn’t try to hurt me in return. So obedient to the witch’s orders. “I’d sooner rip out my own intestines than obey Kent again. I came for my sigil. On my own.”

  She looked confused for a moment, then her eyes widened in realization. “Oh...the grimoire, of course…” She laid her hand against a large pocket in the skirt of her dress — a pocket I could see was burdened with something very grimoire-shaped. “You’ve already paid a visit to Raelynn then. Is...is she still…”

  “Alive?” I offered. “Absolutely. I’ve seen to that.”

  Everly smiled. “Have you really? I never would have expected that from you.” She was silent for a moment, chewing on her thumbnail as she thought. “Raelynn was never supposed to end up with the grimoire. I made a reckless decision to steal it from Kent, but with the way he always watched me, I couldn’t keep it hidden on my person. I shoved it in a box. I thought I could go back for it later, but…” She sighed heavily. “Fate is merciless sometimes.”

  So it had been her doing all along. I should have known. Kent never would have lost the grimoire himself; it was too precious to him. No one could have taken the book except Everly, who’s magic would override the grimoire’s need to only be passed willingly between owners.

  “When Kent told me that Raelynn was the next sacrifice, I couldn’t bear it. I couldn’t let him make me a murderer, or make me help with a murder.” She scowled, her hand tapping nervously against her side. “Kent wanted Jeremiah to do it, and I was to help. I was supposed to guide him through the sacrifice, so he wouldn’t make such a mess like he did last time.” She sounded nauseated, and swallowed hard. “All my life I’d seen you as a monster for always obeying him. Kent warned me that demons were cruel, that they were wicked. But that day you left...you protected her.” She clasped her hands behind her back, suddenly stern. “Why did you protect her? Why did you defy Kent for her?”

  It was difficult to shrug in my position, but I tried it anyway. “Just didn’t feel like obeying the old bastard anymore.”

  She laughed softly as Callum’s claws jerked in my face. “I need a real answer, Leon. Answer me honestly, or you’re not leaving this place alive.”

  I’d only ever known Everly to be meek and quiet. But the coldness in her tone told me there was a whole other side to her I’d never known was there. I wasn’t left with much of a choice. Tell the truth, or let Callum slowly rip me to pieces.

  But fuck, what even was the truth?

  Why did I protect her?

  Why had I been risking my life for her?

  I knew the truth — but knowing it and accepting it were two different things.

  Callum jabbed his knee into me. “My lady asked you a question, hellion.”

  My lady. Gag. This fucking guy. Neither of them realized just how damn difficult it was to describe feelings I didn’t truly have words for, but fuck it, I’d try.

  “I care about her. I want to protect her. I want to keep her alive, because…” Because I want her soul? Because I want the pleasure of her body?

  “Because?” Everly’s voice was patient. “Why, Leon?”

  I winced, and for a brief moment I struggled against Callum’s hold as if it would do me any good. He didn’t budge an inch.

  “It’s because I feel something for her, okay?” I snapped. “Is that enough for you?”

  She frowned. She looked truly confused. “What do you feel?

  God, this was torture. Give me pain and torment any day over this shit. “It’s...it’s...fuck, God fucking dammit...I think I love her, alright? I can’t bear the thought of losing her. Every goddamn second that I’m here, wasting time with you two trying to get my sigil back, is a second that she’s left unprotected, and if anything happens to her, I’ll be holding you both personally responsible for wasting my time!”

  My voice echoed in the wide hall. Callum blinked slowly, and glanced up at Everly. “Enough?”

  She nodded. “Enough.”

  He got off me and stood back, just beside Everly. I crawled to my feet, hissing at the unpleasantness of movement, still not trusting that the Archdemon wasn’t going to toss me across the room again.

  “That’s one hell of a security system,” I grumbled.

  “I’d hoped you would keep her alive,” Everly said, her long fingers plucking at her dress. “I never thought I’d see a demon want to protect a human.” She glanced at Callum, who was still regarding me like a bug he’d really rather squash. “Wh
en I realized you were defying Kent for her, it changed everything.”

  “Then help me,” I said. I wasn’t going to get through a barrier like Callum. I’d end up as a bloody pulp on the floor. I needed the witch to cooperate. “My sigil is all I need. And you’ll never be bothered with me again.”

  She frowned, and her hand went protectively to her pocket again. Her expression hardened as she said, “I’m willing to give you your sigil, Leon. But you need to promise me something.”

  “Demons don’t make promises.” Not technically true, but I wasn’t about to jump into making promises to a witch. “Unless you’re trying to make a deal?”

  Callum growled at my suggestion, an angry dog worried over his bone. It was a silly thing to suggest anyway: Everly had clearly already given him her soul. Souls weren’t able to be offered in parcels, it was all or nothing.

  Everly wrapped her hand around his arm, and his growling stopped. The softness of her touch made me remember Rae sitting on my lap, and how gentle her hands were while she cleaned my wounds, and something bizarrely warm seemed to leak through my stomach.

  Was she safe? Had I been gone too long? What if she —

  “I need you to keep Raelynn alive,” the witch said. The demand was so unexpected, my confusion must have shown on my face because she said quickly, “Time is running out. The Deep One is restless, and my father knows it. If he gets Raelynn, then I…” She took a deep breath. “I might not be able to kill the God.”

  I barked out a laugh. “You — what? You’re trying to kill the God?” Surely, she was joking. It was a terrible joke, but still. “You can’t be —”

  “She means it,” Callum said roughly. “I’ve been alive long enough to see gods die, hellion. They’re not above death.”

  “I’m going to put an end to all this.” Everly reached into her pocket, and at last, she drew out the damned little book. “The Deep One never should have been awoken, and It never should be freed.” She flipped through the pages, her fingers moving rapidly as if she already knew exactly where to turn. She tore out my page, my sigil emblazoned across it, and held it up. “You say you think you love her, but it’s clear that you do. It was clear the moment Kent told you to take her.”