After what felt like an hour, but was probably no more than a few moments, sound from outside the door caught my attention. I picked up Victor’s voice immediately, but there was another one.
Soft, yet… strong.
Verystrong.
I couldn’t even make out the words, but something about the tone and cadence made the hairs at the back of my neck stand up.
It was disarming, at a time when I couldn’t risk being disarmed.
The doors opened, and Victor strode in, looking healthy and glamour free, and Sage…
My throat tightened, my chest constricting as the scent of her washed over me.
My Sage.
My mate.
She shuffled behind him, her eyes downcast. Dressed in a high-neck, billowy blouse tucked into a pencil skirt. Her scars artfully covered. Her hair tamed. Her makeup subtle yet refined.
She’d never looked less like herself.
As much as I didn’t want to keep my eyes off her, the owner of the other voice came in next, and suddenly it became difficult to breathe for an entirely different reason.
I had no words for the type of Magik before us. I couldn’t even tell what he was—he didn’t fit any Magik race, and he carried no scent to determine his designation. Everything and nothing all at once. A face hidden by a black priest’s robe, his skin gray and pallid.
What the hell was going on?
“Asmodiel, so good to see you,” Victor crooned, extending his hand. Asmodiel stood to take it, and the doors shut tightly.
No cameras, no reporters. This was a private meeting to discuss a serious matter.
Apparently.
“Victor, you’re looking well. I suppose you owe it all to your mate?”
Victor beamed.
Beamed.
Beamed as he put his arm where it didn’t belong around Sage’s shoulders, pulling her forward. “Yes, this is Sage. Sage, this is Premier Asmodiel Hellmora.”
She bowed her head. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Even her voice was wrong. Cut off at the knees and weakened.
When her face raised, her nostrils flared, and she zeroed in on me. Her eyes widened in shock and recognition.
And maybe fear.
We weren’t telepathic or anything, but I willed my thoughts towards her in strange hope that she might receive the message.
I have my army. I’m storming the gates. I’m here to rescue you…
Please forgive me.
The Premiers took their seats. Victor pulled Sage onto his lap, while the man—at this point, I wasn’t even sure I could call the figure before us a man—stood behind him.
His one dark priest to our six demon gangsters-slash-guards.
