He’d dreamt of her. Elizabeth. Before he’d met Fiona, there had only ever been one woman.
The first time he’d seen her, she was walking naked through Salem, her flame-colored hair tumbling wild down her back. It was some sort of protest, she’d said. Something about the mistreatment of the Quakers by Puritans—or maybe it was something about the pure nakedness of the spirit.
Really, he hadn’t cared. He’d just stood stalk-eyed behind the corner of a bakery, and watched her pad the streets on bare feet. She was mouthwatering in her shamelessness, Salem’s own Lady Godiva, her skin pale as sea foam.
He’d known then he would have her. It was his life’s purpose. He’d made her a ring, carved from elm wood: J&E engraved in thin, shaky letters. A few blinks of his blue eyes by the old sycamore outside of town, and she’d been his, Quaker or not.
They’d been in the empty stables when Father had found them—Jack’s mouth on her neck, her hands gripping his bare back… When Father had burst through the door, there’d been just enough time for her to pull up her wool dress before running out.
Just enough time for Father to grab an iron shovel and slam it into Jack’s back. It had taken a few moments for the pain to register, and then the agony had crippled him. Eight shattered ribs, a broken collarbone, his legs smashed, and a shovel to the head before Jack had lost consciousness. He’d woken covered in hay and dried blood. Feeling a lot like this.
But it wasn’t the beating that had turned him into this monster. It certainly hadn’t been his first.
What had so drawn him to her? There was something so tempting about forbidden things. When he was a child, he’d rifled through his father’s desk, salivating over the things he’d confiscated from convicted witches. The books with their strange drawings. The dried bull’s heart with the nail through it. And the knife—that elegant athame.
He’d known those things were evil, and that he shouldn’t go anywhere near them. And yet when his father hadn’t been looking, he’d pored through one book after another, translating the Latin and memorizing the illicit spells. A thrill had rippled through him whenever he’d turned a page. He’d even learned that a witch could gain terrible powers through that strange knife. Of course, he’d never imagined himself doing it. Not until he’d seen what his father had done to Elizabeth.
A rattling sound yanked him from his memories. A doorknob turned, and footsteps clapped over the floor.
He held his breath. Fiona?
“Jack!” The Earl’s pale face appeared above him, and Jack’s heart sank.
Not Fiona. She hated him, of course. Only a lunatic wouldn’t. “George Percy. You saved me,” he whispered.
The ancient alchemist was insane, but at least he was loyal. And he was one of the best philosophers who’d ever lived. “I killed that Fury who was feasting on your guts. Vile business. Depraved. I’d been watching things unfold in my scrying mirror. Not much else for me to do but watch other people.” He grinned.
“Thank you. I owe you. Again.”
“You’re my only friend.” George’s eyes beamed. “I’m so pleased to see that you’re awake. It will make the healing easier. I’ve brought you a dire drink, the finest from those wretches in Dogtown.” He lifted a steaming ceramic mug.
“I can’t move.”
“You don’t want to know what you look like. Wouldn’t be charming the ladies right now, I can tell you that. But we’ll fix you up.” George slipped a hand under Jack’s neck, lifting his head and bringing the mug to his lips. Pain splintered Jack’s spine, but he took a sip of the bitter drink. He’d have given anything for a prettier nurse, but at least he was alive.
Still, what was the point? The succubus had ruined him. She’d stolen his only way out of hell.
George gently lowered Jack’s head to the pillow, stepping away. “I have some wonderful news.”
“Is that so,” he croaked.
“I’ve found myself a wife.”
How in the seven hells did George persuade someone to marry him? The man’s a demented corpse. Jack closed his eyes. “That’s wonderful.” He’d dreaded isolation, and yet this company might prove worse.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve felt a woman’s touch. You wouldn’t believe how lovely she is.”
Please kill me. “I feel weak. I must rest.”
“My bride has soft skin and eyes like twinkling stars.”
Jack shuddered. Druloch… I’m ready for my eternal torment.
“It’s a bit awkward. She’s a follower of the Night God, and of course you and I are committed to Druloch. Fortunate at least that the two gods are allied.”
“Mmmm. Two of the shadow gods.”
George sighed. “I put her in iron chains, treated with a potion to weaken her powers.”
Surely no one was terrible enough to deserve the Earl’s undying devotion. “Is she a mortal demon? Has she carved the symbol of Nyxobas?”
“Immortal, actually.”