Yet.
She lay back, relishing her pillow. She’d barely gotten to sleep earlier—because of serious overstimulation.
After Abyssian had left, she’d discovered new bedding in her room and also a negligee and robe of white silk. She’d eagerly changed out of her dinner dress into the nightgown. The silk had glided over her body, stiffening her nipples.
She’d hopped atop her bed, moaning at the softness. She’d gone from frayed underwear and a stone floor to lavish sleepwear and a feather-tick mattress. The life!
Under the covers, her sex drive had ramped up yet again as she’d replayed what the demon had done to her earlier.
Kissing her neck. Nuzzling her sensitive ears. Stroking her nipples.
Part of her had regretted making him stop. Lying there, she’d considered taking the edge off with a quick orgasm, but she’d again had that sense of being watched.
Eventually, she’d passed out. Until now.
The skittering from the walls intensified. A warning? She shot upright again. One of her ears twitched, then the other.
Something was wrong in hell.
Static electricity made her hair stand on end, and the entire dimension started to quake. Dust rained from the ceiling.
Even over all these sounds she heard a faint clickety-clack on the stone floor.
She turned and found the fawn from her dreams! It was standing in her room, mere feet from the bed.
Am I losing my mind??? As she’d done in Sylvan, she held out her palm. The shy creature sidled closer along the side of the bed . . . until she could feel its warm breath on her hand.
The fawn vanished just as Lila’s bespelled ring slipped off her finger.
Deep in a trance, Sian envisioned the mountain the Vrekeners had settled upon. Then he pictured the terrain between that peak and his castle expanding.
Body straining on his bed, he enlarged New Skye one league at a time. He built up land until he’d re-created mountains. He duplicated ravines and rivers.
One for them, one for me.
He drained his magic, his very life force. Sweat beaded his skin, nearly rousing him from his trance, but he held on until the territory was as vast as he’d promised the sorceress—and his own was the same size as before.
But New Skye was like a scourge in his realm, in his mind. His trickster nature urged him to test the boundaries of his vow to the sorceress, to punish her extortion. But how . . . ?
Test the boundaries.
Of course.
He could cut New Skye free of Pandemonia, leaving the new dimension whole, but unanchored. He’d re-create hell’s borders—without New Skye inside.
The Vrekener inhabitants wouldn’t know anything was amiss until someone tried to trace there and couldn’t find the moving dimension.
He who laughs last, Melanthe.
But gods, the process would deplete him, would be like severing a part of himself.
Bracing himself, he envisioned ripping away the new realm. He dug into his consciousness to mentally tear at New Skye.
His breaths heaved, his muscles knotting . . . finally he perceived the total excision of the Vrekener realm. Using the last of his strength, he sealed both planes.
When he managed to open his eyes, the room tilted. I’ve erred. Spent too much magic.
Over these months, as his appearance transformed, his sense of self had grown unstable, his identity eroded. Tonight, in the midst of this upheaval, he’d reached deep into himself and altered something that equaled his very being.
Like a snapped rubber band, his mind still resounded. Pandemonia was left weakened.
Just like the king of hell.
TWENTY-SIX
Lila didn’t know if the fawn was a waking dream, a hallucination, or magic.
She didn’t know why her ring had loosened right when hell was acting wonky.
But she did know that without that ring, she could now bail over the terrace edge, escaping the tower to get to Sylvan.
Would she jeopardize her life out in Pandemonia to warn her kingdom about the M?ri?r’s invasion?
Yes. Maybe they could evacuate or call on every Vertas ally to mount a defense. Maybe this was why Lila had been reincarnated.
All she needed was one sympathetic demon in this realm. . . . Ready to undertake this mission, she got busy.
In a blur, she ripped and tore and sewed. Not even half an hour later, she’d crafted coverings for her arms, hands, and feet out of the bedding, and a protective apron from the rug.
Once she’d completed her preparations, she changed into her dinner dress, the skirt now shortened to her knees, and fastened the rug shield over it.
Chip and Dale gazed on with curiosity. “I know how ridiculous I look,” she told them. “But desperate times . . .” She stuffed her pumps into her makeshift bag, along with her remaining fire-vine powder.
One last detail. She used ash to scribble a message on the back of Abyssian’s invitation to dinner. Then she left the note and the ring on her stripped bed.
With a final look around, she headed to the terrace railing. A fall from this height would prove deadly, but the risk didn’t deter her.
She saluted Chip and Dale, who skittered with disapproval, then swung her legs over. When she grasped the nearest vine, she gritted her teeth as she waited for the familiar pain to sear through her. . . .
Nothing! Her improvised mitts and footwear were working, protecting her from burns.
She began to climb down, picking her way among the crisscrossing tangle. Once she grew accustomed to the various strengths of the vines, she quickly descended the rest of the way.
On the ground, she wanted to scream her victory. Free! I told you I would escape, Abyssian. She would never go back to that tower. Never.
She drew her shoes out of her bag and slipped them on. After removing her mitts and rug apron, she stuffed them into the bag. They might come in handy again.