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Authors: Felicity Heaton
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filled him.
“Damn her,” he muttered, raised both hands and ran them over his dark hair, clawing it back.
He couldn’t think about her right now, not when he had more important things on his mind, things he had almost foolishly revealed to her with his careless words. He had caught the look in her eyes, the intense curiosity.
He lowered his right hand to his chest and rubbed his thumb across the pendant around his neck.
Just as he had witnessed the spark of hope she had felt on seeing he still owned the trinket she had given him.
And he had done all in his power to crush that hope.
Grave looked down at the intricate knot, recalling what he had said to her—he wore it as a reminder of what she had done to him in case he was ever foolish enough to forget it and relinquish his mission to make her suffer.
The reality was so much worse than that.
He couldn’t bring himself to part with it.
Gods, he had tried.
He had cast it into a valley in the Sixth Realm once and turned his back on it, only to end up scouring the black lands for it, desperate to find it again and have it back in his possession. It had taken him five days of searching, five days without sleep or blood.
When he had finally found it, he had experienced such a powerful surge of relief that his knees had given out and he had sat in the middle of the valley, clutching it tightly in his fist, close to tears.
He curled his lip.
There might have been one or two tears.
The metal warmed as he traced the knot, following the lines of it, the weight of it soothing in his fingers.
He hadn’t taken it off since that day.
He should have known from that alone that seeing Isla again had been a bad idea, that he wasn’t over her at all. If he didn’t have the strength to part with a stupid trinket, how the hell had he expected to have the strength to see her and feel nothing?
Imbecile.
He huffed and released the pendant.
Was it possible she had spoken the truth though? She was fading too, and rather than becoming phantoms, they were dancing with death?
A few days ago, he would have leaped at the chance to hear what she had to say, to bleed her for any information she had that might help him or even use her just to save himself, but now all he could think about was the pressing need he felt to save someone else.
The mark between his shoulder blades warmed and this time he didn’t close the connection to her, but he did hold things back from her, only allowing her to feel his negative emotions, the anger and frustration he felt.
Not anger and frustration born of her and her visit.
These emotions were born of the demon prince and his threat.
Grave turned his head to his left, looked into the courtyard below and then beyond it to the wall and the grand gate, and the dark stone buildings of the town outside. Was she still out there or had she already moved on, using one of the portals to teleport somewhere else in Hell?
The part of him that refused to give up and die, the piece that clung to his feelings for her, hoped she found the solution she was looking for and managed to save herself.
He ignored it, pretending it hadn’t said a damn thing, but it was impossible when the same voice whispered poisonous words in his heart, words that rekindled fear in his veins and had him coming to his feet.
The demon prince wanted her as his prize.
And wanted his entire family dead.
A family that wished the same thing for him, but one he was bound to in blood, obliged to warn despite their feelings for him.
He turned towards the window and studied the darkening horizon with a growing sense of dread. He had given himself a day to recuperate, a day in which he had locked himself in this library with three of his men and uncovered the record of the attack on the demon castle in the archives, arming himself with all the information he could muster because he knew he would need it if he was going to convince some members of his family to listen to him.
Now, he
“Damn her,” he muttered, raised both hands and ran them over his dark hair, clawing it back.
He couldn’t think about her right now, not when he had more important things on his mind, things he had almost foolishly revealed to her with his careless words. He had caught the look in her eyes, the intense curiosity.
He lowered his right hand to his chest and rubbed his thumb across the pendant around his neck.
Just as he had witnessed the spark of hope she had felt on seeing he still owned the trinket she had given him.
And he had done all in his power to crush that hope.
Grave looked down at the intricate knot, recalling what he had said to her—he wore it as a reminder of what she had done to him in case he was ever foolish enough to forget it and relinquish his mission to make her suffer.
The reality was so much worse than that.
He couldn’t bring himself to part with it.
Gods, he had tried.
He had cast it into a valley in the Sixth Realm once and turned his back on it, only to end up scouring the black lands for it, desperate to find it again and have it back in his possession. It had taken him five days of searching, five days without sleep or blood.
When he had finally found it, he had experienced such a powerful surge of relief that his knees had given out and he had sat in the middle of the valley, clutching it tightly in his fist, close to tears.
He curled his lip.
There might have been one or two tears.
The metal warmed as he traced the knot, following the lines of it, the weight of it soothing in his fingers.
He hadn’t taken it off since that day.
He should have known from that alone that seeing Isla again had been a bad idea, that he wasn’t over her at all. If he didn’t have the strength to part with a stupid trinket, how the hell had he expected to have the strength to see her and feel nothing?
Imbecile.
He huffed and released the pendant.
Was it possible she had spoken the truth though? She was fading too, and rather than becoming phantoms, they were dancing with death?
A few days ago, he would have leaped at the chance to hear what she had to say, to bleed her for any information she had that might help him or even use her just to save himself, but now all he could think about was the pressing need he felt to save someone else.
The mark between his shoulder blades warmed and this time he didn’t close the connection to her, but he did hold things back from her, only allowing her to feel his negative emotions, the anger and frustration he felt.
Not anger and frustration born of her and her visit.
These emotions were born of the demon prince and his threat.
Grave turned his head to his left, looked into the courtyard below and then beyond it to the wall and the grand gate, and the dark stone buildings of the town outside. Was she still out there or had she already moved on, using one of the portals to teleport somewhere else in Hell?
The part of him that refused to give up and die, the piece that clung to his feelings for her, hoped she found the solution she was looking for and managed to save herself.
He ignored it, pretending it hadn’t said a damn thing, but it was impossible when the same voice whispered poisonous words in his heart, words that rekindled fear in his veins and had him coming to his feet.
The demon prince wanted her as his prize.
And wanted his entire family dead.
A family that wished the same thing for him, but one he was bound to in blood, obliged to warn despite their feelings for him.
He turned towards the window and studied the darkening horizon with a growing sense of dread. He had given himself a day to recuperate, a day in which he had locked himself in this library with three of his men and uncovered the record of the attack on the demon castle in the archives, arming himself with all the information he could muster because he knew he would need it if he was going to convince some members of his family to listen to him.
Now, he
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