Wicked Abyss Read online

  She sighed. "I used to think that way."

  "What way?"

  "That we can only be as we've always been. Maybe in time your mind-set might expand."

  "And if I'm satisfied with how I am?"

  "Then you'll never grow."

  He drank, masking his reaction to her. Talking to her like this made his heart speed up. Being with her made the years fade away, until he felt . . . young.

  But young meant trusting, which he would never be again. "You're one to speak of growing," he bit out. "You were the most intolerant female I've ever met."

  "How old was Karinna when she died?"

  "Twenty-four. Your age," he said, only to frown. Yet you plan to send her away, outside of your reach? That would also mean outside of his protection. At the thought of losing her, his wings tensed. He yearned to have his mate safeguarded within them.

  "How do you know she wouldn't have changed in her thirties? Her forties? Her hundreds? Karinna died before she ever had the chance to grow."

  His mind began to race. Could a young female like Calliope be shaped into the queen he wanted and deserved? Perhaps she'd been returned to him for just that purpose!

  What if he could teach this adaptable fey? Bend her to his will? He swallowed. A future might still be possible. "On the surface you seem different in this life. Though this could be an act." How could he shape what he couldn't even get his arms around? "For all I know, you've remembered the past and are deceiving me right now. You were an exceedingly skilled liar."

  Temper erupting, Calliope shoved back from the table and shot to her feet. "I'm not that fucking princess!" Her eyes blazed teal.

  He opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off: "Even if I share a soul with her, I'm not her. I don't remember that life, don't want to. And I'm sick of taking the blame for others' actions."

  "Why should I believe anything you say?" He wished she could pass some test to allay his suspicions. At that moment, he realized Uthyr was right. Sian did have a stranglehold on a lifeline of hate. For all these ages, it'd kept him sane.

  So what will happen if I release my hold?

  She strode to the hearth. As she paced in front of the fire, flames reflected off her golden gown. "I'm sorry you and others were hurt by Princess Karinna. But that's your past, not mine. I don't claim it. My name is Calliope. Lila to my friends."

  "Lila." He liked the way her pet name felt on his tongue.

  As if she hadn't heard him, she said, "Since I haven't done anything, you don't have the right to hold me here against my will."

  "Might makes right," he said, because he had no credible counter to her words.

  "Might won't keep me imprisoned--because wits always win."

  He stood, staring her down. "Calliope, understand me: you will never escape this realm."

  She boldly held his gaze. "Abyssian, understand me: I will escape you, and when I do, I will leave rubble in my wake!" As she spoke, the fire flared behind her, twin spires above her head that resembled horns.

  His breath left him. She looked like a queen.

  A queen of hell.

  TWENTY-THREE

  Casting off blame felt amazing! Like a catharsis. So why was Abyssian staring at Lila as if he'd seen a ghost?

  Dinner with him had been enlightening. Once she'd gotten used to his brusque tone, his crass crowing about his harem, and his whiplash moods, she'd been able to detect more of those tiny hints of vulnerability.

  And more of his loneliness.

  Abyssian had traveled to Sylvan at only sixteen, returning with all his dreams extinguished. Even after everything he'd done to her, she pitied the boy he'd been.

  Suddenly his vivid green irises turned black. He advanced on her, forcing her to back up against the wall. He reached for her, covering her nape with his palm.

  Stunned, she craned her head up.

  He was gazing at her with a wild yearning, his stern brow furrowed. His features were harsh, even brutal, but she found his face starkly magnetic. Despite his fierce expression, he cupped her neck gently.

  He grazed his knuckles over her cheekbone, treating her like she was the most delicate thing he'd ever touched. "I feel torn apart, Calliope, as if two souls war within me. Part of me believes it possible to forgive you. Part of me wants to hate you for another eternity." A quake somewhere deep in the ground punctuated his statement.

  This warrior king's unexpectedly tender touch made her breaths shallow. Something about him called to her, drawing her in.

  "You're trembling."

  "Because every time you get this close to me, those claws of yours sink into my skin." Which was only partly true.

  "I won't hurt you again." He sounded so different when he wasn't yelling or sneering. With his Demonish accent and deep pitch, his voice was . . . sexy.

  Really sexy.

  He leaned down and nuzzled her ear.

  She shivered against him, biting back a moan at the surge of pleasure.

  He nuzzled her other one. "Your pretty little ears drive me mad. I imagine licking them, nipping them, murmuring wicked words just to make them twitch." He moved to the tip . . . he flicked her pointed ear with his pointed tongue.

  This time she couldn't stop her moan.

  He gripped her sides with his big hands, his thumbs stretching around just under her breasts.

  She was panting. Could he feel her racing heartbeat?

  "Your eyes are bright teal." He rested his forehead against hers, their breaths mingling. "My kingdom for a kiss, Lila."

  Sexy demon! "I don't . . . I can't lose control with you."

  "I'll take care of you. I'll bring you the release you crave." He stroked his thumbs upward, grazing her nipples. "The pleasure you need."

  Her eyes nearly rolled back in her head. "Oh, gods. . . ."

  He groaned. "Want my mouth on your stiff nipples." He grazed his thumbs again, then rested them over the hard peaks. The pads of his thumbs lightly kneaded.

  She was levitating! She tried to speak but only managed a breathy cry.

  "Does my little fey like that?" he asked, his eyes promising wicked things.

  Likes? No, loves! She nodded eagerly.

  "We can go slow, beautiful."

  She hadn't thought he had this much control over his inconceivable strength, but he was gentle.

  Her brows drew together. Which meant he'd simply chosen not to be gentle before.

  That thought broke whatever spell she'd been under. This was the Morior who'd tormented her, the one who'd probably bedded a dozen demonesses today.

  The male who wanted her to join their number.

  Gaze locked on her mouth, he leaned down. In Demonish, he said, "Wanted your kiss for so long."

  He didn't deserve her kiss. Just before their lips met, she slapped him--hard. Pain flared in her wrist. "Ow! Godsdamn it, that hurt!"

  He released her, his eyes returning to green, as if he were just waking up. His brows drew together, his expression somehow both unsurprised and confused. "I . . . the ring will heal that."

  Ugh! "Get this through your blockhead: whenever I'm injured--from your claws or your bruising grip or from warding off your unwanted advances--it still hurts."

  A muscle ticked in his prominent jaw as he clearly struggled for control of himself. He grasped her elbow, then teleported her back to that cursed tower.

  Over dinner, she'd been able to pretend she was merely a guest of the king. Back in her prison, she felt like a shafted Cinderella after the ball.

  She yanked her arm away, and he released her. "So that's how it works between us? When I don't succumb to your seduction, you return me here as punishment?"

  He drew his head back. "That's not what I intended."

  "You dress me up, let me out, then put me away again? I'm not some doll that you can bring out to play with whenever you feel like it."

  He scrubbed a palm over his face, as if he hadn't expected this anger.

  Which just made her madder! "Tonight y
ou've shown me that you can be gentle with me--which means you've decided not to be over these last few days." Her wrist throbbed. "Which makes you an even bigger prick than I'd first thought!"

  He scowled at his hands. At his claws? Facing her, he said, "Calliope, the way I've been recently is not how I usually am. You might adapt well, but I do not."

  "What does that mean?"

  He parted his lips to speak, then closed them. Another try: "My existence has been the same for ten millennia. Now my life is in flux. Having such limited experience with change, perhaps I haven't reacted well to it."

  "Reacted well? Is that how we're describing your behavior?" The nerve of this asshole! "And to believe I'd started to pity you for being so lonely."

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Pity me?" Sian had once been one of the most perfect male specimens in all the worlds!

  Desired. Pursued. Coveted.

  His ego took yet another blow. He felt it all the more because she was right. He was lonely. But he hadn't been before her return--because he'd drifted through his life like a sleepwalker.

  Now she was awakening things in him best left dead.

  That stubborn pride of his made him lie: "I'm hardly lonely. My concubines cater to my every filthy desire."

  "Then you can take them from the cupboard."

  "You will dine with me each eve."

  "I'd rather eat dirt."

  "That can be arranged," he grated. "Again, this isn't an invitation. You've received a command from your king."

  She bit out: "Not--my--king."

  He inhaled for calm, reminding himself of the illusion he'd seen in the fire.

  In hell, mystics read flames. Sian's own mother had been a pyromancer.

  He didn't know if the castle had spoken, declaring Calliope its mistress, or if Sian's subconscious had supplied the vision, but either way, he knew better than to ignore it.

  Tomorrow night at dinner, he would harness his temper. He would treat her as if she were made of glass.

  He gazed down at his long, sharp claws. In those first days, he'd been crazed with the fragile fey. How many times had he hurt her?

  There had to be a way to retract his claws fully. He'd been in this form for so short a time, he still didn't understand all the facets of his evolving--devolving--body.

  He pictured his claws retracting even more--and they did! He was about to call her attention to it, but she appeared to be reaching her limit with him.

  "Now that you've put away your doll, you can leave."

  He exhaled. Even if he'd treated her like his queen, Calliope could never accept a life in hell. Much less his monstrous appearance. She would attempt to escape him again and again, for the rest of her life.

  The odds of her return had been hundreds of billions to one. Right now the odds of any kind of understanding between them seemed far less likely.

  Even if he could discover a way around all their obstacles, she would never forgive his upcoming invasion of her home. Still he said, "Calliope, I don't want to fight with you anymore."

  "No, I'm well aware of what you'd rather be doing with me." Hands balled into fists, she snapped, "You've imprisoned, starved, and abused me. As you told me less than an hour ago, you're the Morior who poses the greatest threat to me. Why in the gods' names would I ever kiss you?" She was shaking even more.

  Any female who'd trembled near him in the past had quivered from desire--all females save the one linked to him by fate. She'd hated and feared him since she was young.

  Picturing Calliope as a little girl afraid of monsters, he scrubbed his palm over his face. His repulsive face.

  Wait . . . His brows drew together as he recalled her words: Why in the gods' names would I ever kiss you?

  Among all the reasons for not kissing him . . .

  She'd never mentioned his appearance. Could they get past it? As he gazed down at her, he felt as if some constriction around his throat was loosening.

  She turned from him, all but dismissing him, then headed to her new room.

  Biting back commands, insults, questions, he traced away. In his quarters, he stared at the hand mirror lying on his bed as an opium addict would a pipe.

  Was the mirror a new lifeline? With a curse, he surrendered to his compulsive need to watch her. She paced at the end of the bed.

  He winced at the lewd writing surrounding her. She was an innocent, yet he'd put the female in a former sex den, his idea of a joke.

  She glared at her ring, then made her way to the balcony railing. She stretched her right hand past it. When she tried to do the same with her left hand, the ring wouldn't pass the invisible barrier.

  She muttered, "Sneaky fucking Abyssian." Her eyes shimmered as her tricky mind plotted retaliation. He welcomed it, enjoyed the games they played.

  As long as she couldn't escape.

  In the past, Sian had felt as if he'd stared at that miserly hourglass, willing a single grain of sand to drop. The hours he'd just spent with her had sped by faster than any before them. His loneliness ebbed whenever he was simply near her. Even when they fought.

  I want her.

  He wasn't ready to release his lifeline and let himself free-fall--how could he ever bring himself to trust her?--but he knew beyond a doubt that he couldn't live without her passion.

  He would possess her for his own; he could try.

  Just as Gourlav had done, Sian would bravely enter the godsdamned ring.

  He would investigate possibilities, pouring his energy into a potential future with his mate--which meant he needed to clean up his life so he could focus on her.

  Right now he had twelve too many concubines and a debt to the Sorceri hanging over his head. Picturing the ordeal to come, he ripped off his shirt, then stretched out on his bed.

  Damn. This is going to hurt.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Lila ran through the Sylvan forest, darting in and out of dense fog banks. A shadowy form stalked her.

  The fey-slayer.

  No escaping him; even with her speed, she could never run fast enough.

  An owl swooped down in front of her, making her scream and stumble. Nooo! Her ears twitched at the twang of the bowstring. The arrow's feathers whistled as it zoomed toward her. She whirled around.

  The arrowhead pierced her chest. Unbearable pain radiated out from her heart.

  She collapsed to the ground. The fawn from her dreams peeked out from behind a nearby fern. They met eyes until her vision left her. . . .

  Lila shot upright in bed, choking back a cry. She heard the spiders milling about in the walls, the dragon calls and hellhound howls. The lava from the closest volcano cast a soft glow inside. Just a nightmare. Nothing to fear.

  Yet.

  She lay back, relishing her pillow. She'd barely gotten to sleep earlier--because of serious overstimulation.

  After Abyssian had left, she'd discovered new bedding in her room and also a negligee and robe of white silk. She'd eagerly changed out of her dinner dress into the nightgown. The silk had glided over her body, stiffening her nipples.

  She'd hopped atop her bed, moaning at the softness. She'd gone from frayed underwear and a stone floor to lavish sleepwear and a feather-tick mattress. The life!

  Under the covers, her sex drive had ramped up yet again as she'd replayed what the demon had done to her earlier.

  Kissing her neck. Nuzzling her sensitive ears. Stroking her nipples.

  Part of her had regretted making him stop. Lying there, she'd considered taking the edge off with a quick orgasm, but she'd again had that sense of being watched.

  Eventually, she'd passed out. Until now.

  The skittering from the walls intensified. A warning? She shot upright again. One of her ears twitched, then the other.

  Something was wrong in hell.

  Static electricity made her hair stand on end, and the entire dimension started to quake. Dust rained from the ceiling.

  Even over all these sounds she heard a faint clickety-cla
ck on the stone floor.

  She turned and found the fawn from her dreams! It was standing in her room, mere feet from the bed.

  Am I losing my mind??? As she'd done in Sylvan, she held out her palm. The shy creature sidled closer along the side of the bed . . . until she could feel its warm breath on her hand.

  The fawn vanished just as Lila's bespelled ring slipped off her finger.

  Deep in a trance, Sian envisioned the mountain the Vrekeners had settled upon. Then he pictured the terrain between that peak and his castle expanding.

  Body straining on his bed, he enlarged New Skye one league at a time. He built up land until he'd re-created mountains. He duplicated ravines and rivers.

  One for them, one for me.

  He drained his magic, his very life force. Sweat beaded his skin, nearly rousing him from his trance, but he held on until the territory was as vast as he'd promised the sorceress--and his own was the same size as before.

  But New Skye was like a scourge in his realm, in his mind. His trickster nature urged him to test the boundaries of his vow to the sorceress, to punish her extortion. But how . . . ?

  Test the boundaries.

  Of course.

  He could cut New Skye free of Pandemonia, leaving the new dimension whole, but unanchored. He'd re-create hell's borders--without New Skye inside.

  The Vrekener inhabitants wouldn't know anything was amiss until someone tried to trace there and couldn't find the moving dimension.

  He who laughs last, Melanthe.

  But gods, the process would deplete him, would be like severing a part of himself.

  Bracing himself, he envisioned ripping away the new realm. He dug into his consciousness to mentally tear at New Skye.

  His breaths heaved, his muscles knotting . . . finally he perceived the total excision of the Vrekener realm. Using the last of his strength, he sealed both planes.

  When he managed to open his eyes, the room tilted. I've erred. Spent too much magic.

  Over these months, as his appearance transformed, his sense of self had grown unstable, his identity eroded. Tonight, in the midst of this upheaval, he'd reached deep into himself and altered something that equaled his very being.

  Like a snapped rubber band, his mind still resounded. Pandemonia was left weakened.

  Just like the king of hell.

  TWENTY-SIX

  Lila didn't know if the fawn was a waking dream, a hallucination, or magic.

  She didn't know why her ring had loosened right when hell was acting wonky.