Page 108 of Bedeviled

… More, Empress …

I ignore the primeval gods that beckon me, remembering how one of the last times I involved them in my problems, they split the earth wide open and nearly dragged me down.

I back up a couple steps, swaying a little on my feet. Blood loss is still making me feel lightheaded and a touch nauseous.

“What is your name?” I ask the demon again.

That amused smirk is still on the creature’s face. He leans forward conspiratorially, his gaze flicking over my face. “Suck my—Fyvyrius.”

I see his eyes widen, and Goddess, but I think I could get off on surprising demons.

“Fyvyrius.” I try the name out.

I can tell dear Fyvyrius is trying hard to control his facial expressions, but his features keep twitching like he’s suppressing a snarl.

“Demon names are heavily guarded, aren’t they?” I say. “Otherwise, anybody could chain your will to theirs, isn’t that right, Fyvyrius?”

He curls his upper lip at me. “Do you think I’m worried?”

“Well, now I know it, and my friend here now knows it,” I say, gesturing to Kane, who is still distractingly naked.

The shifter steps forward. “And I am happy to tell every fucking person I know that I learned the true name of this demon, Fyvyrius,” he says, his voice unnaturally low and gravelly. He turns to me, and I can tell he’s still fighting to maintain his form. “I bet we could make it into a drinking game.”

“Oh, that’s a good idea.”

The demon toes the line of salt, his foot hitting the invisible barrier. Closing his hand and pulling back his arm, he smashes his fist into the wall of the spell circle again and again. I see his knuckles split and black blood smear against that invisible wall, the tar-like substance seeming to hang in midair.

“Who forged a bond with you?”

He’s still slamming his fist into the spell circle when the name slips out. “William Musgrove.”

Sounds like William and I will be having a little chat, Memnon says ominously.

The demon pauses, breathing heavily. “This spell circle will come down, and when it does, I’m coming after you.”

Mark me, Memnon says. Fyvyrius will know true suffering once he meets me.

“Why did William send you after me?” I ask.

“What makes you think William was the one who sent me?” Fyvyrius asks.

I tilt my head, even as a wave of nausea rolls through me. “Who else would’ve sent you?”

“Who indeed?” he says.

That wasn’t a direct answer, but I can’t be bothered to rephrase the question. Sweat is beading at my brow, and sudden movements are making me sway.

“You’re not looking so hot, sugar,” the demon says, his sharp eyes seeming to notice everything, even in the darkness.

Kane leans toward me and draws in a breath. Whatever he scents causes a low whine to start up in his chest.

“You know, it’s a curious thing,” the demon says. “The Old Ones are an enigma, even to demonkind. But we hear their whispers from time to time. And the oddest thing: for centuries there were rumors they were hiding something.” His eyes flick over me again. “The language you spoke, the way they answer to you when they don’t anyone else—their little forbidden treasure was you.”

I don’t think I have much blood left in my body, but what remains seems to drain from my face as I stare at the demon.

To think my spirit was a deity’s plaything for millennia… A very real shiver courses through me. It’s, unfortunately, entirely possible, given the deal I first struck with the Hungering Ones when I was Roxilana.

The demon laughs as he appraises me. “I don’t know how you escaped them, but your soul won’t be theirs this time. Not when I’ve already claimed it.”