I followed Andre through his house, towards the kitchen, wearing a robe Andre had bought for me at some point. I ran my fingers over the silky material. If he had it his way, his closet would be filled with my clothes. Already, bits and pieces intended for me—such as this robe—were making their way into his home.
The thought had me pressing my lips tightly together. If I could have a do-over, I would give it all to him. I’d let him fill his house to his heart’s content with knickknacks meant for me, and I swear I would never fight it again.
Anything to make this man smile because I couldn’t bear his pain.
As we crossed the foyer, I saw that Bishopcourt’s windows, which had blown inwards last night, were intact once more. Kind of embarrassing that I hadn’t noticed it when I first entered.
“How are they all … ?”
Andre came to my side. “Someone in my coven fixed it, but I don’t know who or when.”
Andre, the control freak, in the dark about his home? I took a good look at him. He hid it well, but sorrow tugged at his features, and beneath that, pain.
“What happened after I left?” My voice came out as a whisper, because things that scared you shouldn’t be said too loudly lest you give them power.
“Dark times, soulmate,” Andre said, taking my hand. “I would rather not speak of them.”
I nodded, trying not to worry over the past.
“Come,” Andre said, ushering me forward.
For the most part, the mansion appeared untouched by the horrors of the previous night. Someone had swept the floor, righted the furniture, and removed or magically repaired the broken items in the room.
A twisted part of me wanted to venture into the bathroom where I’d been shot, just to see if any of my blood still stained the floor. I already knew I’d smell myself embedded into the cracks. The alluring scent of the siren, the sickness that clung to me, the taint from the devil’s premature claim, and the ancient curse that rode through it all. A darkness still clung to this place, a darkness that called to me. You couldn’t wash away evil with cleaning supplies or a simple spell.
Andre led me to a table. “Blood or food?”
“Um … ” I rolled my lips inward. “Either?”
He gave me a nod and ordered the chef to prepare both blood and a plate of fettuccine alfredo, my favorite dish.
He took my hand and played with my fingers. “You still haven’t told me about the twelve hours that preceded this.”
“And you haven’t told me of the time after I left.”
His lips tilted up, but there was no mirth to his smile. “After you left, there was nothing but pain and anguish. My coven had to hold me down out of fear that I would kill myself.”
I breathed through my nose to keep myself together.
“They began to drain me of blood, hoping that if they weakened me enough my body would go into stasis—a type of sleep—and I could remain like that indefinitely so that they could live.”
“That’s so … cruel.” Anger rose at the thought of anyone hurting Andre. That emotion quickly morphed into a sharp ache—I’d hurt him far greater than any of his coven could.
“It was their only option,” he said, scenting my emotions. “Don’t begrudge them their actions. I would’ve done the same had I been in their shoes. Now,” he said, squeezing my hand, “what happened to you?”
I was still digesting his words. So much pain I’d left him with. Enough to force his coven into incapacitating him. If things remained as they were, that pain of his would continue to grow. That didn’t sit well with me.
“Love?”
I blinked several times, refocusing my attention. “At the center of hell, there’s a castle. The devil took me there.”
Andre squeezed my hand tighter.
“He showed me around the place, tried to get under my skin,”—and succeeded—“and introduced me to his a demon horde, but for most of the day he left me alone.”
“He left you alone?” Andre clearly didn’t believe it.
I shrugged. “I got the impression that he’s a busy guy.”
“Indeed,” Andre said quietly.
A moment later, my food came, saving me from having to detail the horrible intimacy that had developed between the dark god and me.
The pasta smelled heavenly, and when I took my first bite, I groaned. It tasted even better.
“I take it this means you got your appetite back?” Andre’s lips twitched.
“Mmmhm.”
God, I’d missed food.
I tried the blood next. Two weeks ago I might’ve had a hissy over drinking the liquid. At this point, I was simply thankful that I was hungry at all. Bringing the glass of it to my lips, I tipped it back and took a swallow.
That awkward moment when blood tastes delicious.
“My mate enjoys both blood and food,” Andre stated, reading me like a book. He glanced up to the ceiling. “Thank the heavens.”
Once I polished off the meal, Andre took my hand again. “I’ll have a shower started for you, and one of my servants will bring you clothing,” he said. He led me back to his room. And I let him.
This temporary calm couldn’t last. For one thing, my blood thrummed for carnage and chaos. For another, I would return to hell soon enough and face another day in the devil’s company. But I’d enjoy this while I still could.