Touch of the Demon

It was the means that bothered me the most. Great, I had a magic tattoo that could be used to drop me in my tracks. That was fucking wonderful. Plus, the big-strong-man-takes-care-of-helpless-woman vibe wasn’t exactly my cup of tea. Why the hell couldn’t he have simply told me why he didn’t want me to go to the grove instead of telling my guardian to not let me near it? Yeah, I could be stubborn, but I usually tried hard to listen to reason. And after my oh-so-pleasant time with Mzatal, I had no desire to go back to being some lord’s prisoner.

Two faas burst into the room without knocking, startling me out of my thoughts. They each bore trays of food though, so I decided to forgive them. More hyper than usual, they burbled about visitors and preparations, then slid the food onto the table and were back out the door before I could even thank them.

I grinned and settled down to eat. There were some things I liked about being in the demon realm, and I could definitely get used to nonstop room service. And not having to clean up or do laundry. Yeah, that pretty well rocked.

A tingle at the back of my neck told me that the grove was activated, which meant someone was arriving. More lords. Curious, I quickly yanked on pants and a sweater, grabbed my mug of chak and stepped onto the balcony. This was how I preferred to deal with any other demonic lords, at least for now: three stories up and far out of reach.

A reyza, a kehza, and a pair of faas emerged from the tree tunnel, followed by a dark-skinned lord, bald, with a goatee and no mustache. Gold glinted from his earlobes, and a chain of red-blood gems the size of my thumbnail hung around his neck. Flowing robes of gold and blue swirled about his feet as he walked up the path toward the palace. The grove resonated with calm spiced with a hint of…adventure?

I continued to watch with naked interest until the lord passed out of sight through the main entry below and to the right of my balcony.

Tucking my bare feet underneath me, I sat on the chaise. I’d barely made myself comfortable when I heard the door. A heartbeat later I felt Rhyzkahl’s presence. Good. One way or another I was going to get some answers and get my doubts sorted out.

Rhyzkahl’s gaze went to me as he stepped out onto the balcony. “You slept deeply.”

The look I gave him was uncertain. “Well, you kinda sucked the life out of me.”

“I did,” he said. “A last resort.” He sat beside me on the couch, not quite touching me. His eyes searched my face, assessing. “You are much recovered, though still disturbed.”

My mouth twisted. “Yesterday was disturbing on a number of levels.” I said. “I didn’t know you could do that with the mark. That’s pretty frightening.”

Rhyzkahl reached out and laid his palm over the mark. “There is a deep connection with the mark, even damaged as it is by Mzatal’s interference.”

I gave him a wary look. “Could you kill me with it?”

“No,” he replied without hesitation. “The mark is not woven for such.”

That was certainly a relief, but I wasn’t quite ready to fully relax. “Are there any other features I don’t yet know about that might still bite me in the ass?” I asked, cocking an eyebrow at him.

“No.” He traced his fingers along the mark, sending a light shiver through me, though it wasn’t completely unpleasant. “I anchored the disrupted strand upon your arrival, but it must be removed and reworked to repair the damage.”

Still uneasy, I pulled away from him, stood, and moved to the railing. The grove’s trees moved in hypnotic undulations in the low wind. My tension slipped away as I gently touched the grove. I couldn’t go out to it, but it was still there for me. The deep calm stole through me like the warmth from a fire, and I exhaled a soft sigh of comfort.

He moved up behind me, put his hands on my shoulders.

“I want to go home,” I told him. I knew I sounded like a broken record, but, well, too bad.

“This I know,” he said, giving my shoulders a light squeeze before gently turning me to face him. “It is of your disposition I came to speak.” He smiled down at me. “A solution has arisen.”

I held back the burst of hope, still cautious. “What sort of solution?”

“It is fortuitous that this is the time of the conclave,” he said, taking my hands in his. “There are debts to be paid and agreements to fulfill. With the cooperation of another lord, I can and will prepare a ritual to send you home. I have made arrangements, and it will take place two days hence.”

“And I’ll go home?” I asked. “That’s it? You’ll send me home?”

He squeezed my hands. “Yes, I will send you home,” he assured me. “You were not brought here by my will. Had it been my desire to do so, I could have taken you at any time.”

“You mean, when I summoned you, if you’d wanted to take me back you could have?”

“Yes,” he said. “You, dear one, summoned a demonic lord.”

“Well, duh,” I said. “You were willing.” But I realized it made sense that he could bring me back at any time. After all, he’d brought me back with him when I’d been bleeding out and dying. I exhaled in relief. “Home. Wow. Thank you. I miss home so much.” I chuckled softly. “And coffee. I really miss coffee.” Then my smile slipped, and I narrowed my eyes at him. “What did that creepy lord mean about payment?”

A flash of what might have been annoyance lit his eyes for an instant before it was gone. “You experienced Kadir,” he said. “You felt him. He chooses words to elicit fear and unease. He cares nothing for the truth.”

I peered at him. “So all that stuff about you giving me to him in payment was bullshit?” I asked. “And what would it be payment for, anyway?”

Rhyzkahl shook his head. “The qaztahl have had millennia to forge agreements great and small,” he said. “Favors and payments are always owed, but you are not slated as payment to Kadir.” He scowled as if the mere thought was repulsive. “You have my oath on this.”

“Good.” I allowed myself to relax a bit. “He’s a bad monkey, that one.”

“What is the meaning of ‘bad monkey’?” he asked with a frown.

I rubbed my arms, chilled at the mere thought of Kadir. “Someone who’s not right. Someone who doesn’t think and feel the way most other folks do.” I shook my head. “I’ve seen it before in sociopaths, but he takes it to a whole other level.”

“Yes. He is Kadir,” Rhyzkahl said, and I realized that he’d known Kadir for thousands of years. This was nothing new to him. Kadir was simply…Kadir; a part of the natural order of things as far as he was concerned. The other lords no doubt handled him with the same sort of care one did with any potentially dangerous creature. They knew what to do and what not to do with him.

Rhyzkahl shifted to face me more fully. “Kadir is one of the reasons I had for halting your departure through the grove,” he told me, face serious and intent. “He would have very literally hunted you,” he continued, “and had he found you before I did, he would have taken you to his realm without regard for consequences from me.”

A sliver of cold terror slid through me at the mere thought. I shuddered, mind shying away from even wondering what would happen to me in such a scenario. “You mentioned an oath last night,” I said. “Has he given it to you? Will he harass me again?” I sure as hell didn’t want to be stuck inside in order to avoid another encounter with the creepy-as-fuck Kadir.

“Neither he nor Sehkeril will approach or harass you while you are here,” he assured me. “I have his oath. He is not one you need fear.”

“Okay, then what about the collar?” I asked with a challenging lift of my chin. “If you have his oath then why am I still wearing this fucking thing?”

“Because all those who will be within these walls for the next few days are ruthless and would seek to delve into your being,” he replied without hesitation. “The collar offers protection from that.”

Anger and frustration flared as my patience with all the shit about my protection evaporated. “Collars are for slaves and pets. So, which am I?” I dropped to my knees before him. “Hell, might as well do this right. Okay, master, what’s your fucking command?”

Something dark and dangerous flickered over his face. He reached down with both hands to seize me by the upper arms and haul me to my feet, then held me in place, his face inches from mine.

“You are not to kneel to me,” he said with an intensity that seared through me and set my heart pounding. “Not as a requirement, nor in jest. You are not now, nor have you ever been my slave.” His grip tightened, though not quite to the point of pain. “You saw the need to bind me by oath to not bring you harm in your world, nor to challenge the laws of your land, nor bring destruction. Consider well that you are in my world now and the wearing of this collar for a short time goes far in protecting not only you but also this realm—and me—from the machinations of unscrupulous qaztahl. I will not remove it prematurely to prove a point.” He released his grip and took a step back from me, but his eyes never left mine.

I swallowed hard. “All right,” I said reluctantly. “But swear to me that as soon as they’re gone, the collar’s gone. Please? I hate this thing.”

Rhyzkahl stroked the back of his fingers over my cheek. “I swear that, as soon as the conclave is over and the lords have departed, I will remove the collar.”

I felt the grove activate again, with yet another, a different, “feel”—confirming my suspicion that each lord had his own signature resonance.

A few heartbeats later Rhyzkahl looked up and lifted his chin toward the grove. “Amkir arrives.”

I turned to see three reyza exit the tree tunnel and leap into the air, followed by a pair of faas who immediately darted toward the palace. After another few seconds, a syraza stepped out and took flight, and finally a lord with a faintly olive complexion and short dark hair emerged. His resonance with the grove wasn’t calm like the previous lord’s or peaceful like Elofir’s. This Amkir had a harsh feel that seemed be confirmed by his unsmiling expression and narrowed eyes. He wore a deep green, long-sleeved robe, belted at the waist. The three-quarter sleeves were decorated with bands of gold, and the whole outfit reminded me vaguely of a Russian fresco I’d studied back in college as part of my mostly useless Art History degree. ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">