breath, though she knew the answer. No, he had not.
When she’d asked Abyssian what his life was like before he’d taken the throne, he’d answered, “I thought I’d found a measure of contentment. Now I know I’d just been numb since your death.”
For ten thousand years.
Yet he wanted her to believe that he’d relinquished his anger against her?
Abyssian was a proud trickster. She hoped the joke wasn’t on her, because she was falling for him hard.
At length, he said, “It’s complicated.”
Actually, it was really simple: too many things stood between them. As long as he resented her for deeds done in the far-distant past, he would never give her a fair shake in this present.
If she confessed the truth to him, she would be vulnerable. The tower awaited.
But if she kept concealing her identity, he would find out eventually.
Lila couldn’t see a way out of this bind. Pain was inevitable, no matter what course of action she decided on. Unwelcome realization struck her. . . .
I can’t figure this the fuck out.
Abyssian stood. “I’m keen to return to her.”
Shit, shit! Got to get back! Would the secret opening let her out this time?
Lila hesitated when Rune said, “Will you tell your mate we were here?”
“I won’t lie to her if she asks. But I don’t want to distress her unnecessarily either.”
Josephine said, “She might put her foot down and forbid us from returning. If I didn’t know Rune, I sure as shit would.”
Abyssian straightened. “I will never bar my friends from this castle.”
Good to know . . .
“One last thing,” Rune said. “I accept—grudgingly—that we’re not to harm the inhabitants of Sylvan.” He did? “But I’ve got leads on a few of Magh’s descendants who live outside the kingdom.” Like . . . me? “Are those outliers included in your vow?”
Abyssian shook his head. “If they’re evil, take them out.”
Before Sian returned to Calliope, he traced to one of Graven’s many echoing corridors in search of a mirror.
Josephine had spoken about his appearance deteriorating. He needed to see how bad the hell-change had gotten since he’d last assessed his looks. How quickly was he failing?
Though Sian was transforming parts of his dimension, he couldn’t transform himself. The hourglass kept pouring.
He found a mirror. How much time do I have left with Calliope? Inhaling, he faced the glass.
My gods. His fangs were longer, his horns even larger. The mask around his eyes had spread outward, becoming more prominent. Another line of hell metal had appeared between his brows. So the number of his piercings would keep increasing?
If all of his demonic features continued to grow more exaggerated, a time would come when things he took for granted became impossible.
Such as speech. Or pleasuring his mate.
The patience he’d demonstrated toward Calliope’s claiming was replaced by urgency.
He conjured a picture of himself and Rune from not so many months ago. My former likeness. Sian would’ve made a fitting partner for a beauty like Calliope.
He focused on the picture, noticing the deadened look in his eyes. Sleepwalking . . .
Before Calliope, he’d been handsome, but empty. Now he was wide awake.
All the better to feel my coming misery.
He punched the mirror, shattering the glass.
FORTY-SEVEN
Where are we going, demon?” Calliope asked him, having to raise her voice over the pounding waves.
Sian and his mate walked along the jade beach, the tumultuous night reflecting his mood. “It’s a surprise.” He was taking her to see a Pandemonian phenomenon that happened only during the full moon.
He could have traced them, but she didn’t seem to mind the blustery weather, and he needed the time to clear his head.
A week had passed since Rune and Josephine had first come to Graven, yet something was keeping Sian’s mate from surrendering to a life here with him.
She still talked with him into the morning hours, still loved exploring the realm, still responded to him just as passionately. But . . . he sensed her distance.
Earlier today, he’d found her on the terrace, gazing out over the sea with that analytical look in her eyes. She was working out some puzzle.
What? What? What? Their days were simple and undemanding. She woke. They ate. They pleasured each other. They explored. Not necessarily in that order. What possible conundrum could she have?
He couldn’t read her thoughts, couldn’t predict her moves. Her mind had always been a mystery, and she continued to hold him separate from her musings. He handled that as well as he had when he’d been sixteen.
In other words, she was