: Chapter 4

Rök glanced over his shoulder, expecting to see a grateful  witch following on his heels. “Poppy?” Out of habit, he tried to trace back to her, failed, then barged through the kitchen doors.

Surrounded by gremlin carnage, she narrowed her gaze at him.

“The hell, Red? This is where we leave. You said there’s going to be more.” Despite all his research—he’d gathered intel on her as if she were a mission—he’d uncovered no hint of this curse. His thoughts bounced to the night of their date; certain puzzle pieces were falling into place. “We need to get to a better battleground. So I say this in all seriousness:

.” He offered his hand.

The witch didn’t take it, but she did exit the reeking kitchen with him.

In the hallway, she stopped. “What’s your angle, demon?”

“What are you talking about?” His angle?

She was right; she an anomaly in the Lore. The two of them had unfinished business to take care of.

“The visitors will stick close to me, so all you have to do is steer clear. Complete your job and minimize risks—those two things are pretty much all a merc focuses on.”

“I’m not going to abandon you.”

“No, you would do that,” she said in a sarcastic tone. “Oh, come on, Rök. We’re enemies.”

“Poppy, .” How had they gotten so sideways on this? Because he’d been summoned during their date? He was a smoke demon; swimbos bloody happened.

“Do you know how many times I’ve almost collected the reward on your head?”

Rök had a few bounties on him, and maybe some orders to “terminate with extreme prejudice.” People thought two dimensions had issued them. Nonsense.

. He had a way of making dimensional warlords very unhappy—just because females preferred Rök. “For a bag of coin, you would turn me in to be executed?”

“Not at all,” she said grandly. “More for bragging rights.”

So godsdamned sideways. “Doesn’t matter. I’ve decided I’m going to protect you tonight.”

“What job would you ditch without a care?”

He wasn’t ready to explain everything, but he would never lie to her, so he fell back on one of his strengths: flirtation. “That battle back there, beauty? Was our . Screw any job I might have had. I’m only interested in picking up where we left off two years ago.” If they could get away from this place, he could up his game and seduce her at last.

Not for much longer. “The wizard must’ve left behind a mystical power source. Let’s find this castle’s battery, shut it down, and teleport out of here early.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. The movement made her jacket lapels gape and pulled her V-neck tight over her breasts.

But had he ever seen such mouthwatering breasts?

With danger about, he didn’t need to be fantasizing about this witch’s pert⁠—

“Even if I wanted to leave with you, which I don’t, I’m not going anywhere till my job is complete.”

He yanked his head up in disbelief. “We’re starring in our very own horror movie! And how do characters get into trouble? When they won’t leave the scene.”

Her green eyes glinted with determination. “Some of us are professionals who don’t spook lightly.”

“I’m a demon of many years. I’m not the one in jeopardy here.” Immortals grew stronger with age.

She raised her chin a notch—her way of unwillingly conceding a point. Yet she didn’t budge. “You had your chance with me. Move on. I did.”

After she’d stood him up on what should have been their second date, he’d gone to Rothkalina to bury himself in work. By the time he returned to this plane, she’d taken up with a warlock, some asshole named Ixius the Bringer. Ah, but the two of them had broken up a couple of weeks ago. “Why would I move on? I like a challenge. You’re just waving a red cape in front of a bull.”

Her coral-shaded lips parted as if he’d said something outrageous. “That’s the thing about bulls. They’re not very discerning.” She turned from him and started down another hallway.

Sconces cast a gloomy light over the threadbare carpet and paneled walls as he caught up with her.

When she glared, he said, “Take the assist. You needed it back there.”

Prickling with irritation, she strode on, her gaze keen for bogeys.

He figured her visitors would be the biggest danger, so he’d monitor her eyes. When he and the witch passed a section of floral wallpaper, he said, “Nice decor. The atmosphere reminds me of the Overlook Hotel, only with a touch more REDRUM.”

He could joke now—he was high on her and chuffed to have protected her—but earlier today? He’d been between jobs, his emotions roiling as usual; trace/pacing and horn abuse all around.

She barely spared him a glance. “So you like horror movies.”

“Which you well remember. A love of the genre is just one of the many things we have in common.” He frowned. “You do remember, right?”

“I’m surprised you do. How do you keep all your females straight?”

Ignoring her question, he said, “Cade and I made a pastime of drinking brew and binge-watching horror movies to see how much the humans got right about the Lore. At least, we used to, before his Valkyrie mate came along.”

Lured into conversation, Poppy said, “I know Holly well.”

“I figured.” Witches and Valkyries were thick as thieves. Rök had suspected anything he told Cade might be passed on to Holly and from her to Poppy, so he’d kept his own counsel with his best friend.

“I talk to her often.” Poppy’s gaze flitted to Rök’s horns. Had Holly told her how demons loved to have them stroked?

Rök’s mouth went dry when Poppy fisted her satchel’s strap in both hands. The idea of her silken palms handling him like that . . .

She cleared her throat. “Holly and Cadeon are a good couple. Unexpected, but good.”

Rök dragged his gaze from her hands. “They’re happy together. Weren’t really before. Are now.” He took in Poppy’s stunning profile as he said, “One plus one equals two, huh?”

“And two more.”

“Yeah, twin girls.” They’d had them not long ago. Cade, the ruthless mercenary, had turned into a devoted mate and father. Love and laughter filled his and Holly’s home with the toddlers. “Those are the cutest halflings you ever saw.” Rök couldn’t stop a grin. “They chase me everywhere, tracing after me. Uncle Rök is putty. I spend way too much time shopping for Duplos and dinosaurs.”

She raised an auburn brow. “The big, bad merc has a soft spot for kids?”

“Didn’t figure me for it either.” But when Brianna and Alyson had first babbled happily to see him . . . ?

Putty.

“I thought you would retire when Cadeon did,” Poppy said. “You must miss his guidance on jobs.”

Rök’s fond smile faded. “Guidance? I was the strategist for our team.” After years of rivalry, he and Cade had joined forces. Their talents had been complementary. Rök lived for spy intrigues and intel; Cade lived to indiscriminately hack at foes with his sword.

Not that Rök didn’t enjoy the feel of a blade slicing open a challenger, but the nimble gathering of intel . . . that was on a different level.

“Strategist, huh?” She tapped her chin. “You know, that explains a lot.”

“We were the most successful crew in the Lore!”

“If you exclude the witches, I suppose.”

“You heard about our Viper Terrace Offensive, right?”

She cast him a bored glance. “Mediocre.”

“The Giant’s Achilles Job?”

“Yawning.”

“The Centaur Infiltration? Sneaking into the royal stable took more than a fake tail⁠—”

“You were with a crew of demons each time,” she pointed out. “Even against a giant, it’s like punching down.”

“I gathered intelligence against Omort the Deathless.” The evil sorcerer who’d seized control of Rothkalina. “And our crew was there the night death finally caught up to that fucker.” They’d defeated Omort’s fire demon allies.

“Yet you didn’t strike the blow.”

Shade usually had no effect on Rök, but hers did. He excelled at his job and found it urgent for her to know that. He’d have to show her. “Working with others is the smartest play. Maybe you and I should team up more often.” A couple of times in the past, he’d lent his fighting weight to help her out. He suspected she’d grudgingly aided him with a bit of magic too on occasion.

Or maybe that was just wishful thinking.

“I would never partner with someone who gets summoned so often.”

He parted his lips to reply, but her criticism was fair. Cade had complained of the same. Though demon breeds could be summoned in various ways, smoke demons formed pacts with sex partners. To break the pact, Rök would have to publicly forsake the female, a cruel prospect. He figured they’d stop summoning him once he’d claimed his mate.

At the end of the hallway was a wooden door. The worn boards and rusted hinges screamed . Poppy headed right for it.

“So you’re the character who traipses into the castle’s dark basement?” In an ominous tone, he breathed, She kind of grinned, reminding him of how he’d made her laugh on their date.

Then she seemed to harden herself against him. “I’m the witch who said she’d comb this place and is able to hold her own. If something lurks down there, maybe it should fear me. Maybe am the scariest thing in this castle.”

He applauded her confidence, but a more realistic view of her abilities would only help her. Without her usual stash of pouches, she’d be fighting with one hand tied behind her back.

Poppy Dyer hadn’t achieved her full potential. Would she ever if he got his way?

She opened the door with a creaking groan so perfect someone should record it for a horror soundtrack. A few flickering wall sconces illuminated a steep stairway.

He inhaled the musty air. “This isn’t a basement. It’s a dungeon. The smell of the prisoners might as well be etched into the stone.” He could still scent their desperation.

When Poppy started down, he gripped her shoulder. “Wait.” A charge seemed to flow from her body to his until he had to bite back a groan.

She whirled around, giving his hand an arch look. “What?”

“Tell me what you’re searching for.” What could coax her down those steps?

“Why should I trust you with any more information? How about I tell you as soon as you divvy what brought you here?”

Not the time for conversation. Instead of answering, he maneuvered around her. “If you’re determined to go down there, at least follow me in.”

A mercenary at heart, she waved him on.

The temperature grew colder as they descended to the dungeon. Inside, their steps echoed, indicating a large underground space. “You sensing anything magical? Maybe the castle’s battery?”

“No.” She peered around intently. “But . . . something.”

He headed in deeper, finding several standard-issue cells, as well as a few openings that dotted the floor in a zigzag pattern. “Ah, oubliettes.”

“Ooblee-what’s?” Poppy asked from behind him.

“Oubliette means a place to forget. Prisoners were dumped into deep, cavernlike holes as a means of imprisonment—and execution.”

“Wouldn’t Lorean bodies still be down there, withered but clinging to life?”

Rök had a flashback of liberating starved immortals from Omort’s personal dungeon. What he’d seen in those bloodstained cells would stay with him for eternity. “Unless they were too young to regenerate. But I don’t scent anyone.” Still stuck in that memory, he eased closer to the nearest oubliette. “How deep are these⁠—”

“Wait!” she cried. “Those openings are bespelled.”

He stepped back, giving his head a shake. “Thanks for the save.”

“Had to do something. Since your mystical senses are like a rock’s.”

“Funny witch.” He glanced around for something to toss in. He lobbed a loose brick near the opening, and some force sucked it down.

He never heard it land. “Straight to hell, then.”

“Even a demon like you might have trouble scaling up against that kind of pull.”

He turned to her. “Let’s get you away from them.”

She frowned. “You’ve yet to give me a good reason you’ve turned . . . protective.” She was suspicious; she should be.

“Though you might have no cause to trust me, I’ve never given you cause to either. I’ve never lied to you, Poppy.” One of Cade’s rules for being a mercenary was to lie often, but he’d since learned his lesson. Rök too had learned.

“Maybe not. Yet you’re hiding something from me. I don’t know what, but .”

Time for more distraction. “I do have an agenda.” He moved closer to her, loving that she stood her ground. “I’ll lend you my sword, and in exchange, I want another kiss.” He’d do anything to repeat the one they’d shared, the most carnal kiss he’d ever experienced.

How many times had he stroked himself to the memory of it? He recalled her plush, breathless lips. Her nipples had been so stiff he’d felt them through his sport coat. When she’d pinned her knee to his hip to grind her sweet pussy against him, he’d nearly gone off. If someone hadn’t honked and broken the moment, she might have received him right there.

Poppy scoffed. “You want me to kiss you? In your fantasies, demon.”

“You star in them all, witch. Every night, I fantasize about stoking your lusts and sating you over and over.” He lowered his voice seductively. “You always beg . Until you beg . And I still make you come again.”

Her breaths shallowed. She wasn’t immune to him, so why avoid him? Maybe she only saw herself with a warlock.

Poppy recovered quickly enough. “Always back to sex with you. I’m not interested in a one-night stand, especially not an interrupted one. I’m looking for a romantic partner. You’ll have to find someone else to be among your wild oats—I sowed my own seventy-five years ago when I froze into my immortality.”

The idea of her with other males . . . A rabid hellhound fed a strict diet of cocaine would feel more peaceable than Rök at that moment.

Then the rest of her words sank in. “Interrupted? You’re stuck on this summoning point. I’d bet no one could summon me from this castle, so let’s hit it right now.”

She rolled her eyes. Were her irises glowing again?

He couldn’t tell if they glowed from emotion or from the activation of her curse. “If you’re not tempted, then why avoid me? Every time we’ve spied each other at Lore gatherings and neighborhood melees, you’ve portaled away.”

“Get over yourself. Maybe I got bored seeing the same old faces.”

“You said you want a romantic partner, yet you broke up with that warlock. Aren’t warlocks prime dating material for witches?” Imagining those two together made Rök gnash his fangs.

“You heard about him?”

Rök was obsessed with intel and with Poppy. Of course he’d heard. “What happened?”

“Ixius wanted to take our relationship to the next level and asked me what I would bring to the table.” Sliding Rök a take-no-bullshit smirk, she added, “So I told him I’d bring a hundred other warlocks who didn’t ask stupid fucking questions.”

That smirk drove him nuts. Rök growled with desire⁠—

He tensed at the new sound coming from outside the dungeon entrance. “Are those . . . rattling bones?” He unsheathed his sword and glanced at her eyes. Definitely aglow. “Let me guess: skeletons?”

“Wouldn’t be Halloween without them. They’re blocking the exit?”

“Naturally. But how bad can they be?”

Poppy’s gaze took in their tricky position. “Historically, if you strike them, they’ll reassemble. And they always come in number and armed with scythes.”

“Fantastic.” For more than a millennium, Rök had handled everything the Lore had thrown his way, as valiant as the night was long, but undead creatures creeped him out. Still . . . “I can defeat them,” he told her, even though he was in close quarters with hungry oubliettes behind him.

His first instinct was to charge the stairs and bulldoze their way to more advantageous ground, but he had a vulnerable witch with him. “Stay behind me.”

“Why?” She reached into her bag for another pouch.

“Because I’m a warrior with a sword. Spare your magic.” Close-quarters battles weren’t her strong suit anyway.

Amusement. “By all means. A male has the floor! Just don’t do anything stupider than usual, demon.”

“Great pep talk, Red.”

It was showtime. The visceral anticipation he felt before every battle hit him, the reminder that even his immortal life might be on the line.

He cast a glance at the witch. He’d be damned before hers was. Rök’s ability to defend her from mystical shit like this had been called into question, but who was here now? Who was protecting her?

Just a couple of hours ago, he’d been downing mugs at Erol’s. One word voiced in that noisy bar had turned him onto a completely different trajectory, one name.