Page 165 of Bedeviled

I laugh, even as my hair begins to blow about me.

“Enough?” I say, my voice deepening. “You invade my land and threaten me with your very existence, and only now, once the fight is no longer in your favor, do you call for some restraint?”

My laugh is ferocious, wild. “This is only the beginning.”

My power takes over then, and the world blurs. I can still feel my lethal, flowing movements and the rush of my magic like an extra appendage. Mostly, though, I am instinct and rage.

These creatures came into my territory, threatened my mate with their presence.

They will not simply cease to be; they will suffer in as many ways as I can inflict.

And once my magic closes in on them, holding them hostage like a fly caught in a web, I do begin to inflict my wrath on them.

I grab my blades, the ancient hilts all but molded to the shape of my hands, and move through the clouds of my magic. And once I find the demons caught fast within it, there’s the sensation of flesh parting and blood spilling and appendages rent apart. And screams. Angry, impotent screams.

I feed off it all.

They would’ve hurt my witch. Stolen her soul.

Slaughter them all. Bury their bits so deeply they’ll have to dig to the Underworld itself to reach them.

It’s too easy. No real opponent⁠—

A cloth covers my nose and mouth and lips press close to my ear. “Hello, my king.”

That voice, which is attached to that hand, which is covering my mouth—I know it.

For an instant, my magic quiets, and my thoughts sharpen.

I draw in a deep breath even as I turn and meet the icy eyes of my former advisor and the killer of my wife and mother and sister.

Her name comes from a long way off.

Eislyn.

I have the thought to lunge at her, but before my body can move, all falls to darkness.

I wake to a hand stroking my face.

“Est amage,” I murmur, turning into the touch. My shoulders burn and my skin throbs.

Selene’s hand stills.

“Yes, I suppose I will be your queen once this is all over.”

It’s Eislyn’s voice that drags me from sleep.

My eyes snap open, taking in the waifish woman standing in front of me, her fucking hand still on my cheek.

I surge toward her, but chains rattle, my shoulders throb, and I sway uselessly in place.

I realize a few things in quick succession. Eislyn ambushed and captured me, and she’s holding me prisoner. And right now, I’m chained by my wrists to her fucking ceiling in what otherwise looks like an expensive flat.

Beyond it, I have a bird’s-eye view of San Francisco, and I can only imagine this place is at or near the top of one of the city’s many skyscrapers.

My own trussed up state in the middle of all this luxury makes the situation all the more ludicrous.

“Did you really hope to stop me?” Eislyn looks pityingly at me. “You do have a mind for strategy,” she says, “but I assure you, I could’ve come for either you or your foolish wife at any time.” I pull on the chains above me, determined to break my fucking hands to get out of here if that’s what’s needed. When those don’t give, I attempt to move my feet. Though the pads of them touch the marble floor, my ankles are shackled to the stone. A sane man might be a little worried. All I feel is that same intoxicating rage that has burned in me since I first learned of Eislyn’s continued existence. My magic builds, crawling up my veins. But the moment it reaches my palms, it fizzles away, and right when I think it will take over my mind, the boiling edge of it cools, though it shouldn’t. I can feel the monster roll back into me, chained every bit as much as I am.