Egan takes up the position directly behind me, while Modeus and Cyrus each walk at my side. You’d think it would take us a little time to get comfortable, but we move easily as a unit. The first few times I slow down, I brace myself, thinking Egan might bump into me, but he doesn’t, not even when I come to a dead stop after spotting a gargoyle.
The male isn’t in his true form, but I know him for what he is easily. I expect to feel something, a sense of recognition or familiar bond, but it’s absent. He stops speaking mid-sentence and turns his head as if he sensed my eyes on him, and even when our gazes lock, there’s no awareness passed between us.
I’m rooted to my spot, waiting, when he shifts his posture and heads over in our direction. Egan presses against my back. The gargoyle stops when he’s a few feet shy of being close to us. “Lorelei.” He says my name as if he knows me, but he doesn’t.
“And you are?”
“Eben.” His eyes travel over me, and Cyrus makes a sound that could be called a growl.
I reach for his hand, not bothering to hide my disappointment after hearing the gargoyle’s name. “Spectator or contestant?” I ask, thinking he could be lying about his name.
“I would never war with you. You’re the last female,” he tells me as if I didn’t already know this, but he seems sincere.
“Speedy travels.” I wish him well on his return home before continuing my walk through the makeshift camp.
He’s the only gargoyle we come across, but witches are plenty. I start to think maybe Adder might not show.
As dusk settles over the grounds, we make our way back toward the makeshift arena. Harlow’s effigy is standing tall, his arms reaching for the sky at the head of a very large circle. The garden has been erased, leaving the field filled with soft sand.
My men give me some space as I approach my father. My throat feels tight, but I still manage to say, “Sorry I didn’t get you a better stool. I wish you would have talked to me more.”
I don’t expect him to answer, but it doesn’t mean I still don’t wish there was some way he could.
“You’d probably be pissed if you realized what I did. I was hoping it would weed him out, but I’m starting to feel like I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.” I laugh, but it’s sad. “Well, maybe not starting. And why didn’t you tell me about Modeus? Did you think I would freak out that badly? I always knew I had mates, I just didn’t know there would be three,” I admit reluctantly. “At least you knew two of them. I think you would have liked Egan too. I do. So much has changed.” I’m rambling and jumping from topic to topic, because I feel like there’s so much to say. When I don’t know what else to add, I just sit with him quietly.
It’s not long before the torches set along the path to the back gardens come to life with flames, illuminating the way to the arena. I brush myself off and whisper a goodbye to Harlow and move to the center of the circle.
Modeus
Lore is standingin the sand ring with her hands hanging loosely at her sides and her chin tipped up defiantly in the air. Watching her sitting at Harlow’s feet and seeing her lips move as she spoke to him made me question if demons truly understand torture. Five minutes of feeling the way her soul was calling to his put every physical pain I have ever endured to shame, or maybe it just feels that way to me now because I’m experiencing it through her.
Obsidian members begin to line the path as if to ensure no one will step a foot off the walkway, and then slowly, creatures of all sorts push through until a solid sea of bodies surges toward my mate.
She stands her ground, stoic and beautiful. I’m not nearly as calm as she is. I have the urge to snatch her up and run, which has never crossed my mind before. I glance at Cyrus, and he is scowling at the crowd as if he wishes them all dead. I think I understand him a little bit better now.
It takes several minutes until the circle around the arena is filled, but by the time it’s done, every available inch with a view of the ring is eaten up.
“You may think you know why you’re here, but most of you only know part of the story.” She glances over the crowd, affirming she has their attention, but she needn’t worry, because every person present is enthralled by her in some manner. “Someone is targeting the Obsidian Angels. They killed my father, our founder, and Reaper.”
Mumbles chorus through the group. Lore watches everyone’s reactions to her words.
She lifts and widens her arms. “I figured I’d give that person a chance to face me and earn the seat instead of being a coward and trying to steal it.”
Lore allows her words to sink in before continuing, “The rules have been set. There will be an elimination round to take out half the contestants. The winners will then move forward to the next round, where you will have to best my sergeant.” Lore beckons Egan into the ring with the crook of her finger. She smiles up at him when he briefly stops in front of her before moving around her to stand imposingly at her back.
Heads turn to assess each other’s reaction to the news. Most of them wouldn’t know exactly who he is, but there’s something terrifying about him, even when you don’t know he’s one of the original fallen. A female demon steps back, jostling the people around her. Her lack of confidence is as clear as the horns on her head. One down.
“Or my vice president before you get to me.” Cyrus doesn’t wait to be called forward. He may as well have jogged into the circle, he’s so eager. She takes his hand in hers, and her eyes land on me. I may not be fighting in her stead, but my job, which is to make sure she stays safe during the event, is just as important, so I join them in the center of the arena.
“There will be only one exception to the rule. If you can prove to me that you were the one to kill Harlow, or the others, your battle will be with me only, no games.” Her voice is soft, and she sounds sweet, but it’s a ruse no one should fall for.
“You’re the president, so why do we have to fight them?” a male shouts from the back of the crowd.
“You just answered your own question. I’m the president. If you can’t best my people, then you don’t deserve to fight me.”
There’s a short pause before Rolk chimes in, “If you decide to forfeit your fight, there will be no refunds.” I stifle a laugh. “The trials will begin at midnight.”
Everyone stands around, waiting for another announcement, but when it’s clear there’s nothing more to say, they start milling about, breaking off into smaller groups and conferring with one another.
