Page 154 of Ballad of Nightmares

Sam and Ana didn’t move as the two demons exited down the hall, Millie chasing after Rolfe and slapping his ass playfully, Rolfe growling but playing along. But even though Sam wanted to laugh and follow their antics, he couldn’t take his eyes off Ana.

And once they were alone, Ana shifted slightly in her seat, elbows propping on the table. A beat of quiet silence rested around them, padding the chilly room as a rumble of thunder sounded in the far distance.

“Are you okay?” Sam asked her.

Ana took a long drink of the tea Millie had made her, and she seemed to contemplate the weighted question. “I’m not sure,” she admitted. “This all feels… surreal.”

Of course it did. Two days ago, she’d been sitting in his dungeon. Just hours earlier been tied to a tree. He looked up at the clock, barely 6pm.

And he hated himself for what he was about to ask her.

“Later tonight… I have something I need to ask you about,” he said.

Ana’s head tilted. “What’s wrong?”

“The other night when I left you, I went to Firemoor to bring three demons home that had been publicly tortured in their capital,” he said, watching the expression on her face. “I need to know if you recognize what was used since you spent some time in Icemyer.”

Ana swallowed. “Was it green?”

Sam nodded.

“Take me to them,” she said, standing.

CHAPTER SIXTY

THE PAIR DIDN’T speak as he led her down the hall and into the room the demons were in. When they entered, Ana stilled at the threshold, though Sam went to the side of the first demon.

“Fucking Death,” Ana whispered.

Trey was still barely conscious when they approached. The green ooze hadn’t stopped its penetration, no matter how much the three had tried to get it out.

“How…” Ana was grim-faced as she reached for one.

“Do you know what it is?”

“Emerald death,” she answered. “Or that’s what they used to call it. Though I don’t… I don’t know how it is in this… paste.”

“What is it exactly?”

“It’s a crystal,” she replied. “I don’t know everything about it. I didn’t even know it could be turned into… this…” She mushed some between her fingers, grimacing at the texture. “We used to burn it on solstice nights when the demons would get rowdy.” She turned to him. “The witch in town, Cordelia. She can help you. She sold me the knife with it in the blade.”

Sam gave her a nod before checking on the other two, making sure they were stable and seeing if he could get a little more out of the wounds of the last one. But when the demon began screaming in pain and his back arched off the table, Ana took Sam’s hand.

“Let him rest,” she said. “Call Cordelia.”

Sam led her out of the room and into darkened, unfamiliar halls. He hadn’t said much more. But the way he’d looked at his demons, the sorrow on his face and the pain in his eyes… She’d wanted to hold him and tell him they would get their revenge. That no one and nothing would touch any of the people he’d made promises to again. She would have meant it, too.

Seeing him raw and without any walls around him, had her falling for him all over again. She loved the man she’d come to know, but the ferocity he felt for his beings, for his realm, despite everything he’d been through and witnessed…

“Villainy is in the perspective,” her father had told her when she’d questioned their plans. “To the crown, you’ll be their worst nightmare… to their servants, you’ll be their salvation.”

She’d burned half of those servants alive, though she kept telling herself the new beginning they’d receive was better than continued starvation and slavery.

Looking at Sam, she realized he was the same. And that both of them would play their villainy cards. They would be the nightmares, the rage, the vengeance for as long as they needed to.

At the next hallway turn, lamps lit the walls, illuminating various paintings that stretched down the corridor. Ana’s eyes adjusted to the light, and she felt Sam’s grip on her hand loosen as she stepped forward to the first of the grand paintings.

A city on fire. The castle in the back, the people jumping from the walls. She’d stared at a similar painting nearly every afternoon for two years back in Ironmyer.