His formerly smooth, tanned skin was dark red with glowing glyphs over his chest. His chiseled features had become blunter, more brutal. Mystical hell metal pierced his skin—bars at the bridge of his nose and through his nipples, not to mention other parts of his body.
He’d grown a pair of massive wings that resembled a bat’s. Long black claws tipped his fingers and the toes of his beastlike feet.
For ten millennia, he’d gone without horns—thanks to Kari—but now a new, larger pair had emerged, more menacing even than before. A wide swath of skin surrounding his eyes was darkened like a demonic mask. Only the color of his green irises remained the same—unless they went black when he was in the grip of rage.
The hell-change heightened his aggression until he could barely think at times, his most primal demon instincts at the fore. Like him, hell was in turmoil. Ever since Sian had learned his mate might be alive, the realm had been plagued with firestorms and lava floods. Ash choked the air. The skies churned.
He rubbed his hand over his still-unfamiliar face. Even if she retained memories of her previous life—unlikely—she wouldn’t recognize him.
All those years ago, he’d believed his mate had felt some measure of attraction to him. Now she would be repelled.
Only one thing could return him to his previous form. But to even contemplate it could bring on madness. . . .
The dragon’s watchful gaze was upon him. —If you can learn to manage these rages, what will looks matter? We M?ri?r have a mission, demon. We live lives of service.—
“Is that the point of our unending existences?” Sian’s life seemed to be one long wait, measured by an hourglass that gave up a grain of sand every few centuries. “Is service what makes you rise in the mornings?”
—That and television.—
Sian lifted a brow. “Alas, those two enticements have little effect on me.”
—Then what does affect you?—
“A challenge. I can’t remember the last time an enemy landed a blow against any of us.” The M?ri?r—not even at full strength—continued to rout any opposition with ease. “Our power is vast, but life is long without challenge. I would give my ax to find a worthy opponent.”
Would he ever know a hard-won victory again?
Uthyr shrugged his large wings. —Your thoughts have been grim ever since you learned of your mate’s possible return.—
“I’ve felt this way for some time, but the idea of her resurrection has brought much into glaring relief.”
He’d waited ten thousand two hundred and thirty-four years, three months, and seventeen days for his female to return to him.
What if she truly had? What would happen to him after his vengeance was done?
What would happen to her?
As if it were yesterday, Sian recalled the day he’d met Princess Karinna of Sylvan. He’d been outside the newfound Pando-Sylvan portal when he’d caught her maddening scent from the other side. He’d hurried through the rift to track the thread to its source, suspecting he would find his mate.
The unfiltered sun had stung his eyes, temporarily blinding him. His first sight of heaven had been her face, the first sound her voice. She’d been twenty-four, a practiced flirt, and entrancingly lovely.
He’d been a pup of sixteen. I never stood a chance against her.
He’d trusted in a manipulative, traitorous female and nearly felled a kingdom—
A wave of déjà vu hit him, so strong his body reeled. He could almost scent Kari, as if he were back in Sylvan on that first day so long ago.
How could it be? Did he dream?
His muscles tightened as they did before battle. This was no dream. “By all the dark gods . . .”
Uthyr lifted his snout. —What is it?—
Sian’s lips drew back from his fangs. “The bitch’s scent.”
FOUR
The Happiest Place on Earth
Hey, somebody want to let me in?” Lila called outside the concealed employee door.
All she wanted was to get back to her apartment and process everything Saetth and N?x had told her tonight. Yet some chucklehead had locked Lila out.
Yanking off her tiara, she waved at the camera above the door. “Yoo-hoo.” This costume dress weighed more than a dozen pounds; she itched to peel it from her tired body. “Hellooo! Fuckers!”
She gazed around. Probably wouldn’t be good if some visitor videoed Cinderella cussing like a sailor. Grumbling, “Still, fuckers,” she started toward another entrance. She was hungry and exhausted, but still keyed up from that meeting.
Carried away in the moment and high on the promise of striking back, she’d told Saetth, “I won’t rest until I discover a way to hurt Abyssian Infernas.” In other words, keep that extraction team at the ready. “I’ll figure out what his weaknesses are and how to exploit them. I’ll do anything I can to destroy him.”
Now doubts about this plan crept in. Too many questions and variables remained. Note to self: be in charge of future political plots or be excluded from them.
Hindsight. Twenty. Whatever.
She peeled off her opera gloves, stuffing them into her secret pocket, then pulled out her hidden phone to order takeout. Her fake “real life” would continue, and she planned to speed-read a new series of how-to books.
Her ears twitched and her fingers paused on the dial screen when a grating screech sounded, like metal on metal. The nearby frog song and insect chatter went silent.
The screech came again. “Is somebody there?” she called, though she knew anyone who’d ever asked that question was already in deep shit.
Quiet answered her. No, no, just my imagination. Still, she pocketed the phone and hastened down the pathway.
Of course she was jumpy. She’d lived in a hypervigilant state for so long, and now she had a capture to anticipate.
Sooner rather than later.
Apparently, she would do anything to get back to Sylvan—even act as a bounty hunter’s quarry in order to infiltrate a primordial demon’s home in hell.