Too many questions. My brain couldn’t process them fast enough, couldn’t catalog the information flooding in faster than I could sort it.
“You mean Damien?” I turned my tear-streaked face to stare back at the proprietor of Oubliette, unsure of what Rowan saw that I was missing. To me, Damien looked like a man. A beautiful man, yes. In fact, so beautiful it was unsettling. But still just a man.
Damien’s smile faltered a fraction before he composed himself. “Well, you’ve certainly lost quite a lot of blood just now. I imagine you are feeling rather confused and—”
“Why is there a High Demon here?” Rowan repeated.
“Oh, come now,” Damien said with an air of disbelief. “I know Idolook devilishly handsome. But in case you weren’t aware, High Demons are a rather rare sight. Not nearly common enough for one to stumble across you in a back alley during an evening stroll.”
My stomach dropped. Rowan’s glare did not waver. “Do not mock me, demon. Though you are the first I have met, I know that your kind bears a mark to distinguish you from lesser demons.”
That seemed to grab ahold of Damien’s attention. “Fascinating,” he said with a toothy smile and an arched eyebrow. The shift in Rowan’s attitude ratcheted up the tension in the room, but Damien kept his tone casual. “And do tell me, whatmarkwould that be?”
“Your two hearts.”
For the first time, Damien froze. Humor drained from his expression, replaced by a dangerous calm that accentuated the firelight flickeringagainst the walls, as if the fire itself feared him. “I would wager you’d been blessed by Godsblood to be able to discern my two hearts with nothing more than a glance.” He laughed as if he’d told the punchline to a joke nobody else understood. “So, what gift were you given, then? You can see through my flesh and into my chest as if I were made of glass? Peruse through the thoughts in my head and read them at your leisure like a book?”
Rowan’s eyes narrowed as he said, “I can hear one heart beating in your chest while the other beats in your lying tongue.”
His tongue? How does that work?
I saw it then—the shift in Damien’s posture, the faint tightening of his jaw, the flash of anger in his golden eyes. His body became a coiled spring, a sheathed blade, a marauder about to pounce. The weight of his fury pressed down upon all of us in the room like a storm gathering overhead, and even Jules—normally so composed and confident—cowered before him.
Fear curled through me, icy and sharp. We were in a room with someone who could end us in an eyeblink. I didn't know how I knew this, but I could feel it in the very depths of my bones. Damien was beyond dangerous.
And yet. . .
Rowan’s presence emboldened me, and—whether it was true or not—gave me the feeling that we could face anything together.
He’s insane. We’re both insane. This was going to get us killed.
But maybe I didn’t care. Maybe after spending my entire first life making myself small and quiet and obedient just to survive, I was done with simple self-preservation. Maybe I was ready to burn if it meant burning brightly along with someone I trusted.
Damien stepped closer, slow, deliberate, each footfall measured like a count towards execution. I held my breath. The firelight danced across his sharp features, his eyes locked on Rowan’s, each measuring the other with the weight of predators deciding if the fight was worth it.
The quiet pressed down, almost unbearable, broken only by the soft crackle of the fireplace. I clutched Rowan’s arm, holding him close, knowing that whatever came next, he wouldn’t yield easily—and I wouldn’t let him face it alone.
“I do wish you had not said that aloud,chico valiente. You owe me a great boon for what you have forced me to do,” Damien’s voice cut through the silence like a razor, his words as solemn as a eulogy.
The nickname caught me off guard. Brave boy? What was he talking about? A boon? That’s medieval shit. Fantasy novel shit. Not real-life shit.
Except apparently it was real life now. Apparently, everything was real: vampyres and demons and gods and grimoires and resurrections.
Jules stepped close with her hands clasped together over her chest. There were tears in her eyes, and her voice cracked, sounding desperate and hopeless as she begged, “Wait! Please! I promise never to—”
Then everything changed.
Chapter 30
Rowan
Damien’s hand struck Jules in the chest—punched through Jules’s sternum like it was wet paper, then yanked her heart out. It looked as easy for the High Demon as plucking a flower.
The sound was from a twisted nightmare that I’ll never un-hear. Organic and hollow—ribs cracking, tissue tearing, blood splattering. The worst was the wet sucking noise of her heart being ripped from her chest. Jules didn’t scream. She didn’t have time. Her eyes went wide, mouth forming a perfect ‘o’ of shock, and then she was falling.
Crumpling.
Gone.
