Every fiber in her being screamed to kill him, not that she could. The second best option would be to seal him in a jar and bury it in the middle of his desert where no one would ever find it—an option she was considering.
“I’m not going to be your concubine.”
A smirk. “Of course you are. What other option do you have?”
Smug bastard.
“I’ll get another demon to do it.” Though any demon she asked could just do what Cain had done. Before long she’d be the demon slut with a death wish. Gross. And anyway, there were no guarantees any given demon would be strong enough. Some might be too young. Did she really want to risk starting a new cycle? Cain was a sure thing.
“They won’t do it. They’re afraid of me. You should be, too. I can do a lot more interesting things than kill you.”
He left before she could form a retort. She hated that demon.
Chapter Two
When Cain stepped outside the tent, a group had gathered, murmuring and whispering. “That witch is mine. Anybody who touches her will face imprisonment. And I’m not in the mood to make it a light sentence.”
A few throats cleared and a couple of Yes sirs filled the air.
“Good. Spread the word. Nobody touches her.” He selected two demons from the group for the first guard duty and left the city to go to the one place he always went to think: the caves that served as the dimension’s prison.
Each disobedient demon was in his own pod, the stone sealed tightly around him, starving and going mad. But anyone stumbling upon the caves wouldn’t know that.
It was silent and peaceful in the dark, twisting caves. It was a place Cain could wander to think without fear of being disturbed. No demon in his right mind came near this place. They all feared it. It was their one symbol of abject terror, much like the humans feared Hell. No one walked in willingly, except the man with the keys to the place.
Cain sat on a large rock and put his head in his hands. He shed the glamour he always wore to attract prey and ran his fingers along the scar on his forehead. He was so good at betraying and killing people, so why hadn’t he killed her?
It wasn’t a simple motivation to untangle. Part of it was jealousy—the fact that she could waltz in and demand freedom when he had no such recourse. He was stuck in this form for eternity, why shouldn’t someone else who’d made that bed lie in it? Why should she get off so easily? The witch had actively chosen this.
Another, more subtle reason pushed from beneath the surface like grass fighting through the cracks in concrete. It was a reason he didn’t want to analyze too deeply. She was two thousand years old. He might have six thousand years on her, but at some point the years blended together. It wasn’t as if he wanted to make her his mate, but if he ever wanted something like that with someone, Tam represented the only woman who could be remotely suitable. Killing her before he was sure he never wanted that didn’t seem prudent.
Human women now were such silly things. But he could feel the age on the witch in big and small ways: her nonchalance at the prospect of death, the deep wisdom in her eyes, her unconcern with her own nudity in the presence of strangers. Most women—without thrall—would have rushed to cover up if they weren’t playing the role of seductress. They couldn’t have just been there with him and the other demons and it not even occur to them that they should cover up. Tam had stood there in all her na**d glory, too old to have sexual hang-ups.
She’d also been strong enough that she could fight his thrall—to some degree. That had never happened. The fact that she could make a snide remark in the middle of everything... it was hard not to respect that. How could he just snuff that out? He sighed. Within a week, I’ll be bored, then I’ll be able to do it. And if he couldn’t? He might as well seal himself in a magic bottle. Getting involved with a witch was too dangerous.
He wandered the caves, not ready to go back to town. He didn’t want to look at her or deal with demon whisperings about why he’d kept a powerful witch alive in their camp. They surely knew by now why she was here. It had to have crossed all of their minds that it was simpler and safer to kill her than to protect her. As long as it wasn’t by The Cycler’s hand, it was a clear win.
But despite the things that made him want to kill her, she’d fought with him—on his side. She’d pledged allegiance to fight with his kind and bring her coven with her. He hadn’t felt such conflicting emotions about a human in a long time, so long he thought he’d lost the ability to think of them in any terms but feeding. Disposable microwavable dinners in flesh cartons. A bit cuter, but that was the basic way he classed the species as a whole. Now he had a two-thousand-year-old, magical gourmet feast and he’d just left the table.
He needed a drink.
***
Tam posed in front of a freestanding, antique mirror. The reflection was cloudy, like old mirrors are, but she could see enough. She’d be lying if she said she didn’t like the dress, but no way was she flouncing about looking like some Underworld God’s concubine. She wouldn’t give Cain the satisfaction.
And she didn’t need protecting from the other demons. She had magic. The only reason she’d been subdued by his thugs in the first place was that three had rushed her all at once right after she was depleted and disoriented from screwing Cain. Plus there was the earlier packing spell. It was a lot of energy to use all at once, ungrounded by other magic users—even with her age.
She made a face at the mirror, angry with herself for sleeping with him. She should have known he’d go back on his word. But why? What purpose could it serve? She had no illusions that she was some amazing sex bomb. He’d had so many women that the odds there was something magical about her lady parts were so slim as to be idiotic. And at nearly two thousand, Tam didn’t harbor those kinds of female delusions.
Even so, sex with the demon was everything she’d ever thought it would be. She hated that he’d been right about the fantasy thing. Yes, Cain had starred in a few, but he was just so hot and evil. That was like moth and flame with her. After all, once upon a time, she and Jack... She squeezed her eyes shut. Not thinking about that.
Their past affair wouldn’t stop him from hunting her, but she’d also known he might save her for last. She made a valiant effort, but she couldn’t help thinking about it.
Tam rolled over, wrapping the sheets around herself. She smiled when she saw Jack standing in the doorway. He was fully dressed, like he’d been out. She frowned. Was that blood on him? There was a dark gleam in his eyes.
“I killed Michael,” he said, his voice flat of emotion even as his eyes danced with glee.
One of the coven.
“What? Why?”
“We had a fight. It was an accident.”
“Where is he?”
“Buried.”
The word held so much finality.
“Buried? Why? He’s coming back.”
Jack shook his head. “No. He isn’t. It’s the loophole, Tamar. The one I didn’t think about when we all bound our blood together. We can kill each other. Really kill. No more cycling.”
If that were so, shouldn’t he be grieving? Shouldn’t he display some sign of remorse or guilt?
Tam got out of the bed slowly. With that crazed look in his eyes, bolting like a spooked deer would do her no favors. But surely he didn’t want to kill her, too. There had always been a darkness in him, one she’d ignored... or been drawn to. But things had changed.
“I feel different,” he said. “Very different.” He crossed the room and pulled her into an embrace. “Something is happening,” he whispered. “I want you to scry and find out what.”
She’d done as he’d asked and still wished she’d refused and found a way out of there. Once he’d known killing the others could make him stronger, he’d promised they could still be together. He’d let her have some of the kills, split his power with her, then they’d do another spell to boost it. But she’d been disgusted by the idea of going on a killing rampage for power, especially killing those who had stayed near and dear to her for centuries. They were the only people she didn’t lose. Her only true family after everybody else had died off.
She’d fled and warned the others to disperse and hide. A few of the women had come together again in London in the early 1800s, missing each other and convinced they were stronger together—especially with the unlikely identities they’d created. But he’d sensed their combined power and hunted them like dogs.
Tam stood frozen as Jack looked up. She retched when she saw the bloody tableau in front of her. He put the knife down and smiled, his creepy gaze panning her body as if they’d been lovers only yesterday.
“You’re a fast little rabbit, but not fast enough. We can still be together. I’ll let you have the other kills.”
She shook her head and bolted down the alley, fighting to erase the image of her friend from her mind, Jack’s horrible laughter following her well past the point she should have been able to hear it.
Tam couldn’t look at herself in the mirror again. She didn’t want to see the guilt or the tear streaks. All of it was her fault. She’d used her gift to find the cavern. She’d written the chant. She’d scried for Jack after his first kill. Her evil former lover was hunting her, and the evil lover she’d just been with wanted to keep her around until he got bored. No matter how many times she and Cain slept together, she wouldn’t fall for a pretty monster again. She couldn’t.
Once she’d recovered enough power, she put her things in the middle of a circle on the ground, opened her magic book, poured the salt, and lit the candles. It took less energy to undo a spell than to create one—at least when you were the creator of the spell. Undoing another witch’s magic was a near impossibility half the time.
Just as she finished, a demon burst into the tent. She summoned an energy ball and threw it at him, scorching him in the shoulder before he could go noncorporeal.