Page 16 of Infernal Bindings

We eat in silence. Afterward, once we’ve finished clearing the plates and starting the dishwasher, Daemon offers me his hand. “Are you ready to go home?”

I arch a brow and scan his body. There are no bags beneath his eyes, no hunched shoulders, no signs of headache or fatigue. But that can’t be right. He’s never been able to teleport me twice in a row without feeding. Something dark, and bitter, and strange worms its way through my chest at the thought of him sneaking out last night to fuck some random girl. It’s not like me to be possessive of him, and I file the feeling away, cataloguing it to analyze later.

“Can you take me home?” I ask instead. “I don’t want to exhaust you.”

“I’m fine, Annie. Really.” And he seems to be telling the truth. Again, those feelings flare, and again, I shove them down. He’s an incubus. It’s not like feeding is a choice for him. When Daemon offers me his hand a second time, I reluctantly take it.

My palms sweat at the idea of facing my mother again. And Christopher. And the elders. Who knows what’ll happen when I go back; I’ll be lucky if my parents don’t kick me out of their house.

“It’ll be alright,” Daemon says, and this time I know he’s lying. Daemon knows as well as I do that my mother isn’t the forgiving type. “If it isn’t, and you need me, just say the word.”

I nod as the mist pours in around us, my stomach sinking as he takes me home.

Still dressed in Daemon’s pajamas—because apparently, I’m a glutton for punishment—we emerge in my mother’s backyard, a safe enough distance away that Daemon can escape unnoticed. He reminds me that he’ll come for me should I need him, then teleports. Again.

How he has the strength for it, I have no idea. Well, I have some idea, but I’m not considering his late-night escapades.

Glancing at my outfit, I sigh before crossing barefoot through damp grass toward my parents’ second home—the colonial gothic manor I summoned Daemon in thirteen years ago. Normally, they rent it out to tourists. It’s one of those old, supposedly haunted houses that ghost hunters will pay good money to sleep in. But when the annual baptism comes up, it makes for a great gathering spot for the coven. It also happens to be on sacred land, amplifying our magic, making it strong enough that even an eight-year-old girl could forge a covenant with a demon.

The backyard is sprawling, full of blackberry bushes and peach trees. A giant in-ground pool forms a barrier between the patch of land Daemon set me on and the building itself. I maneuver around it easily enough, but my stomach drops when I catch the gathered crowd of people talking with one another on my parents’ enclosed porch.

Shit.

The coven elders are here. Of course they are. My mom is—was—Martha’s second. For all intents and purposes, she must be in charge now. Their voices carry through the yard, angry and loud, as they discuss the events of last night. Behind them, more than two dozen witches stand shoulder to shoulder, waiting for a decision to be made about Martha’s murder—or rather, her murderer.

As soon as I see them, I retreat behind the nearest tree, pressing my body against the rough bark in hopes they won’t spot me. My heart thuds against my ribcage as they continue their argument.

“Something must be done about that boy,” a woman with an annoyingly high pitched-voice says. Even though I can’t see her, I’d recognize the sound anywhere: Samantha, an ancient red-headed elder who’s made her opinion on Daemon and me well known. “And your daughter—”

“What about my daughter?” my mother asks. Peeking past my hiding space, I watch her narrow her gaze at Samantha, but the elder doesn’t back down.

“She brought him onto sacred ground. She’s the reason Martha is dead. Annalise shouldn’t be allowed to complete her baptism, let alone stay in coven spaces. I say if she likes the Septem well enough to spend her time fucking demons, let them have her.”

Another familiar face pushes his way through the coven witches and my heart clenches. Christopher. He’s wearing all white, just like the other elders. For a moment his head turns as if he can sense me, and every muscle in my body tightens. Not here. Not while I’m in Daemon’s clothes. But if he notices me, he doesn’t say anything, or do anything, to reveal my location to the others.

“That’s my mate you’re talking about,” Christopher warns, squaring up to Samantha. “What happened at the baptism was a mistake.”

“A mistake that cost Martha her life,” Samantha hisses.

The crowd shouts their agreement. They want me gone. Hell, they probably want me dead too.

My mom clears her throat, and everyone settles. “It’s not up to us what happens to my daughter. It’s up to the angels. And as for the boy,” venom drips from her tongue, “when a demon violates our peace treaty and murders one of our own, there’s only one creature able to mete out punishment.”

A nervous energy fills the air, so palpable I can sense it even from my hiding spot.

“The archdemon he follows,” Christopher says, and my mother nods.

“We’re going to summon Salios.”

8

UNSUSPECTING ALLY

Slowly, the witches clear out, gathering ingredients for their spell. Soon all that’s left is Christopher, who peers over both his shoulders before stepping out into the backyard. He meanders a bit before disappearing from my line of sight. Leaning out from my tree, I try to spot him, then jump when someone taps me on the shoulder.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” Christopher says. “I had to make sure the others couldn’t see where I was going. Are you alright?”

Swallowing, I glance down at Daemon’s pajamas and inwardly cringe. “I’m fine. I just…I…”