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Darien grabbed onto the demon’s horns, the force of the creature’s attack sending them both sliding back several metres, boots and claws digging trenches in the blood-soaked sand. Darien held firm and twisted hard, snapping its neck with one sharp movement.

The rage and hunger in its eyes dulled with death, the misshapen jaw falling slack. It crumpled to the ground, sand spraying the air.

Hair hanging in his face, eyes black as night, Darien looked up at the bouncers, who shrank away from his stare like cowards. “Another.”

The night continued like that, heavy and lonely. Filled with the things that were supposed to bring joy and release to his twisted mind, tonight they only made him feel like a monster.

But he was a monster, wasn’t he? It was all he’d ever been, since the moment his mother had given birth to her black-eyed son.

A monster who’d spent over twenty-four years looking for the light, only to realize it wasn’t where he belonged.

25

Loren’s skin crawled as the imperator held her left hand in his, grasping the white band he’d slid onto her finger.

With a counter-clockwise turn, the armor was activated, spreading over her body from her neck to her toes. That same invisible shield of magic acted like a full face helmet, and she resisted the urge to scratch at her skin as it snapped into place with a warm buzzing sensation that rippled across her head, carrying her hair back on a phantom wind.

When Quinton let go of her, she rested her hands against her thighs, fighting the urge to rub off his touch—icky and warm—that lingered under the smooth gloves now covering her hands.

She glanced around at the group of people he’d assembled for entry into Spirit Terra. Among them were Calanthe and Johnathon Kyle.

Johnathon Kyle was CEO of Lucent Enterprises, and every bit as evil as Quinton Lucent. He, too, was a hellseher. Judging from the watery cast to his sharp green eyes, he was dying of the Tricking. Another person motivated to find the Arcanum Well for their own selfish gain.

Endless magic. Endless power. Endless life.

“Why am I the only one wearing white?” Loren asked. Everyone wore the same bodysuits—the kind that had saved her from the Well’s explosion, created by the masterminds at Lucent Enterprises. But while hers was white, theirs were black.

Nobody said anything. They kept readying their weapons and speaking quietly through headsets. Not a single one of these people succeeded at making her feel safe, no matter how big and showy their weapons, no matter how capable or resilient they looked.

Klay was here too. Watching her with an expression she couldn’t gauge. Even he was in black. How nice it would be for him to hide easier if they wound up being hunted in that place—

“Oh, I get it,” Loren said coldly. “You want to be able to keep tabs on me easier. Be able to find me if I try to run away and hide.”

Quinton stepped up to the shimmering wall and gestured with a gloved hand. “If you’re finished grumbling, Miss Calla.”

The Divide rippling in the cement wall looked different today. Two pillars now stood on either side of it, as if holding up the shimmering entrance into Spirit like a sheet of fabric on a clothesline. The pillars were black like volcanic glass. It undulated with magic, as if the stone wasn’t stone at all, but liquid. Ancient symbols dotted its surface, all different colors that ran up to where the pillars ended in sharp peaks.

“You’re missing a couple pieces,” Loren said cheekily, gesturing to the small moon-shaped impressions marking each pillar, one moon each, both of them at her eye-level.

Quinton merely waited, that cold face betraying no hint of what he was thinking. But then one of his men stepped up to his side, speaking quietly in his ear. Loren watched as Quinton’s face was transformed by whatever he was hearing, and she swore she picked up on a name she never wanted to hear from any of these filthy mouths.

Those cruel eyes of Quinton’s roved her face. “You’re lucky your Devil decided to head to the Pit. If we’d seen him coming this way, you would both be dead right now.”

“How dare you watch him,” she said coldly. “Leave him out of this, or our deal is off. Do you understand me?”

Calanthe stepped up to the imperator’s side. “Watch your tone, Miss Calla. You do realize who you are speaking to, don’t you?”

“I don’t give a shit who any of you are. Least of all you.” She bared her teeth at Quinton, fingers curling into fists. “And I am not taking one more step unless you promise me that you will leave Darien, the other Devils, and my friends alone.”

Quinton’s scarred mouth held a quirk of amusement. “We will continue to watch,” he began, “but rest assured we will not touch any of them, as long as you comply.”

Choking back her rage and the nausea in her gut, she bit out, “Good. Then I am yours to use.” Despite what she’d just said, she had to force her feet to move; they felt weighed down, heavy as her heart. Even down here, surrounded by these people, her feet inching toward a realm of death, her mind drifted back to Darien. She wondered how many phone calls she’d missed, or if he’d resorted to calling Dallas before going to the Pit. The anger she felt for the imperator for tearing her away from Darien at the worst possible time ran deep, and she felt her cheeks heat up with anger, her hands curling into fists. As soon as she figured out how to break these people, that was exactly what she was going to do.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Quinton give a sharp nod.

Two of his men came up on either side of her. One grabbed her by the head, holding it still, while the other pushed her hair off her neck.

“What—” Something sharp came at her in a blind spot. There was a piercing feeling in her jugular, a sharp pain that made her eyes instantly water as the contents of a syringe were emptied into her bloodstream.