Fury of the Demon

“Zack, I had a DNA test done on samples from Idris and Tessa,” I said in a rush. “He’s my cousin.”

Zack went super quiet.

I forged ahead. “Rhyzkahl’s the daddy, isn’t he.” It was more statement than question. With the timing of Tessa in the demon realm, it made sick sense.

Zack cleared his throat. “I’m flipping you the bird right now,” he said, letting me know I’d crossed into territory where he couldn’t or wouldn’t stray. The mandates, agreements, and oaths that bound him originated with the Demahnk Council and those he named only as “the others.” From what I could tell, the bond with Rhyzkahl was a subset of those oaths. Not that I truly understood how any of that worked.

But flipping the bird was answer enough. “Well, how about that,” I said with a sour smile. “That asshole made something awesome.” It also meant he’d had sex with me, all the while knowing he’d had sex with my aunt. Gah!

Shuddering, I hurriedly pushed the mental images away. “Does Rhyzkahl know about Idris?”

“He does not. I mean, hypothetically, if there was something to know.” Strain laced his voice as he desperately sought the balance of telling me without telling me.

I had more questions, but the interrogation could wait until I saw Zack in person. I had plenty to mull over, and he sure as hell didn’t need more stress right now. “You’d better write while I’m away at demon school,” I said lightly.

“You know it,” he said, sounding a bit more relaxed now. “On pink paper.”

“Perfumed, or it doesn’t count.”

Chapter 45

I hung up with him, and then could put it off no longer. Eilahn had Fuzzykins and her squirming little spawn in a giant pet carrier in the living room, and as Bryce paced anxious circles around it, I went down to the basement and began the summoning.

I spun the power out from the storage diagram in brilliant strands of potency, interlocked and coiled them together to create the portal. I made the call, held the strands—felt through them as the summoning found Mzatal and took hold.

Yet when I pulled, nothing happened. Baffled, I felt down the strand. It definitely had the demonic lord, but instead of coming through smoothly like every other summoning, it was as if he’d dug his heels in. Breath hissing through my teeth, I fed more power into the strands, tugged and felt the resistance, like a fish on a line. Except that I had Jaws on the other end of my Ronco Pocket Fisherman.

The hold on him fractured and dissipated, and the portal spiraled closed with an uncomfortable pop.

Chest heaving, I released the portal strands and stared at the empty diagram. He wasn’t going to even answer my call? Bleak dismay clutched at my gut, but a growing outrage quickly kicked that aside.

Oh, hell no. On the social etiquette scale, refusal to answer a summons from your lover ranked several steps below breaking up by text message. He could show his lordly ass up here and tell me to my face we were over, but no fucking way was I going to slink off and give up at this point.

I shot a quick look to the storage diagram. A little less than half-full, which meant I was going to have to pull some serious magic out of my ass to make this work. Teeth clenched, I cleared the diagram of the residual energies, retraced the sigils, and started over. Having that seventh ring of the shikvihr made a big difference now. No way would I have been able to attempt two summonings in a row six months ago, much less of a demonic lord.

Once again I cast the arcane strands out to form the portal, but I paused before I made the call again, assessing. The base wasn’t strong enough, and if he resisted again, I risked a backlash on both ends, like losing hold of the fishing pole and falling on your ass.

I picked up the knife that lay with my other implements and made a quick sharp slice in my left forearm. As the blood welled, I traced over the anchoring sigils, grimly pleased as the strands amplified.

“Mzatal!” I shouted the name and once again felt the summoning find its mark. Arcane wind whipped from the portal and through the basement as I seized the strands and pulled. Yet unlike the first attempt, this time I felt the resistance yield. I sent out more strands, like vines wrapping around a branch, and continued to pull, breath hissing. There was no way I could draw an unwilling lord through, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to make it easy on him to refuse. It felt like dragging an anchor across sand, but at long last the vortex portal formed, deposited my target and subsided.

Shaking from the effort, I grounded the strands and stabilized the energies. Black dots swarmed my vision, and I blinked them away, fought to stay upright. He was there in the circle, on one knee and facing away from me with the intricate rope of his braid marking a dark line down the center of his back.

Blood tickled my forearm in slow rivulets, slithering down to drop off the tips of my fingers. I felt into him, sick ache growing as I found the wall and the silence once again—not as profound as it was before I told him to leave, but with barely a whisper of more.

“Mzatal,” I croaked, cleared my throat and tried again. “Mzatal.”

He stood and turned to me, eyes betraying . . . uncertainty? Indecision? Either were totally out of place on him. He tipped his head back and inhaled deeply, and when he lowered it again his gaze held resolution.

“Zharkat,” he said with tangible pain. “Beloved. Yaghir tahn.”

“Open to me, Mzatal,” I said, voice trembling slightly. Damn it. “I can’t forgive you if you continue to do what wounded me most.”

Our co

I gave him a short tight nod, though as soon as I made the controlled gesture I realized that I too was afraid to reveal too much of myself. Yes, he could read everything from me anyway. But that’s why the loss of our union hurts as much as it does. The sudden clarity left me mentally groping for several seconds. The ever-present wordless communication and knowing made that drastic imbalance tolerable and acceptable. How else could anyone have a relationship with someone who could read their every thought?

“Yes, we do need to talk,” I told him, relieved that he would, at least, still talk to me.

He lifted one hand to my cheek and, even though muted, I felt his awareness that he was face to face with losing me, felt the anguish behind that knowledge. “I do not want to lose you,” he said, voice laden with the grief of that possibility. “Ca

I covered his hand in mine, leaned into the gesture. “Then let’s work this out.”

Mzatal exhaled in deep relief, leaned down, touched his forehead to mine and closed his eyes as I pulled him close. We sure as hell had some major serious holyfuckOMG looming Issues to deal with, but this was a huge start. But another big-ass elephant lurked in the room, and I had to ask about it.

“How is Paul?”

The color drained from his face, and he straightened and looked away. Cold gripped me. “Mzatal, is he dead?” I asked, grief already rising for the good-humored and brilliant young man.

“No!” He snapped his eyes back to mine, and I watched him pygah, as if he couldn’t bear to even think of such an outcome. “No,” he said again, less sharply. “He lives. The critical physical damage has been healed.”

My worry grew for both Paul and Mzatal. “He’ll get better though, right?”

He shook his head slowly. “I do not know,” he said in a voice utterly devoid of luster. A heartbeat later he straightened, looked over my head with unfocused eyes and let out a low curse. “I left Elofir overwhelmed in the plexus and must return,” he said, attention returning to me. “There is much disruption from the Mraztur’s abuse of the nodes.”