Page 19 of Hell-Bound (Pacts of the Infernal #1)

I am Greed. I will not allow him to take Vutar’ka Zhartun. Or Ren. I possess them fully.

She was done pouting like a child. Instead, she would put their encounters in the back of her mind and remain aloof towards Azur. This was all a game to him—he was chasing pleasure and envy. Fine. She would chase hers, too. If he was going to use her, then she would use him.

It was on her way to her rooms that she spotted Jester grumbling to himself and holding various ornate fabrics. He looked a bit frazzled, but other than that, unharmed.

“There you are!”

he said, relief replacing his bothered expression.

“I’ve been wandering around trying to deliver this to you.”

He strode over and pushed his load into her arms.

“Dresses for you tonight—I raided Zelaia’s closet. The garments in your wardrobe aren’t appropriate as the consort of the King of Hells,”

he said with a knowing look.

“Could you not? I’m already dealing with enough right now.”

“I can see that,”

he said, pointing at her neck.

“The entire court is going to go wild.”

Her eyes widened. She had completely forgotten through her lustful encounter that Azur had branded her. She turned on her heel, dropping dresses to the floor, and ran to her room, skidding before halting in front of the vanity.

Starting behind her ear and following the curve of her shoulder was a red tattoo, iridescent and catching the light. It was unreadable to her but recognizable in its sharp, devilish writing.

“I’ve seen worse. At least yours glitters. Very thoughtful of him,”

Jester said, approaching and holding the dresses that had tumbled to the floor.

“What does it say?”

she demanded.

“Property of Sexy King Lord Shiny Hair,”

he said, dumping the dresses.

“No, it does not!”

she countered.

He giggled.

“No. It doesn’t. There isn’t a direct translation. It says Threxis elt Igdthen Mashrez. The closest it comes is touch her and die, or something. Maybe touch her, and I’ll stick my claws into your windpipe?”

Ren tugged on the hair near her scalp in exasperation.

“I suppose this is what I agreed to.”

Jester tried and failed to hide his look of judgment as he stroked the fabric of a blue dress slung over the vanity.

“I’m trying to figure this out as I go, okay?”

she barked.

He picked up an elegant and silky scarlet dress and held it up to her face.

“What goes with silver?”

he murmured.

Ren relented to the conversation change.

“What are you wearing?”

Not meeting her eyes, he continued to stroke different dresses with the sharp points of his fingers.

“I’m not going. Azur asked, but I’m…tired of being the butt of everyone’s jokes.”

“Aren’t you the royal Jester?”

she asked, trying to tease and then immediately realizing how insensitive she sounded.

He looked at her full-on with a strained smile.

“Yes! But even a Jester needs a night off, eh?

She shifted uncomfortably, a thought dawning on her.

“Is…Jester your real name?”

His smile disappeared, face becoming serious.

“I…don’t know,”

he said quietly, cheeks changing color.

“I’ve been Jester for so long. I’ve given up so much of who I was that I can’t quite remember what I was before.”

He laughed ironically.

“Not unlike you, I suppose—but I like Jester!”

he said, his mood changing starkly.

“It suuuuits me, don’t you think?”

His grin stretched from pointed ear to pointed ear, dimples brightening his face.

She admired Jester for his ability to turn any conversation around, but it also made her sad. He was fighting to forget as she was fighting to remember.

“It does suit you, Jester,”

she said, giving him a warm smile and hesitantly reaching out to touch his arm.

He stiffened, and Ren was momentarily afraid she had crossed the line. His eyes told a different story, however, glittering at her in appreciation.

“Why are you always so seeeerious all the time?”

he drawled, rolling his eyes.

He reached for her neckline and pulled out the vurmite necklace tucked behind her tunic.

“The red dress goes best with this. I know you were already thinking about it,”

he said affectionately.

“Now, if you don’t mind, it’s late, and I need my beauty rest. Believe it or not, this fiery complexion doesn’t maintain itself.”

He smiled once more and leaned in, kissing Ren on the forehead.

“Sweet dreams, little Elfy.”

And he was gone.

Ren turned and saw herself smiling contentedly in the mirror. Her smile grew as she realized she could finally call someone her friend. She would do just about anything to keep those dimples on Jester’s face and liked to believe he would do the same for her. Not the dimples part. She didn’t have those, but try to help her find herself in this hellscape.

Ren suddenly felt tremendously tired. The purple lightning was starting to appear in the sky. She’d forgotten that it was almost morning. Lazily and without undressing, she threw herself on the silky sheets and didn’t awaken until midday—a cold meal already waiting for her at the edge of the bed. There wasn’t wine this morning, to her great displeasure, but there was a note.

When you finally wake up from your beauty sleep, expect Zelaia. She will help you with your preparations for the party. Please pick out an appropriate dress from the ones Jester provided and meet me downstairs at a quarter past.

King Pelegros, Sir Maddeningly Muscular

Groaning, she shuffled over to the vanity and her pile of dresses. She pulled the red dress from the mix and held it in her hands. It was so silky that she felt that her rough skin would offend the delicate fabric. It was one solid color but could certainly not be called plain.

As she slipped it on, she observed that the low cut of the front cupped her breasts seductively, and the slinky material hugged her hips to accentuate her curves. Jester’s selection made her vurmite look like the centerpiece of the whole facade. Like the dress was created to draw one’s attention to her neckline. She loved how, even in something so soft, she could feel commanding.

After undressing so as to not wrinkle the delicate fabric, she jumped with a start as Zelaia let herself in without a knock. She had a large bag full of intimidating accouterment for styling, coifing, and contouring.

While Ren’s first reaction was to snap at the Devil for walking in without notice, she knew she might need another Azur-sworn Devil on her side.

She plastered on a smile.

“Good afternoon, Zelaia, I appreciate you helping me with this.”

The pink Devil pursed her lips and dropped the bag near the vanity.

“You know I belong to Azur, right? I didn’t have much of a choice.”

Ren struggled to keep her face from scowling.

“I see. Well, thank you anyway.”

“Honestly, it’s fine,”

the pink Devil replied.

“I kind of live for this, helping clueless women find their sparkle.”

Ren chose not to be offended as she sat at the vanity.

There was a tense silence before Zelaia interjected.

“do you prefer that? Being called a woman? Or do you prefer female? You are Half-Elven, right?”

Ren opened her mouth to respond but paused.

“She hadn’t thought about it before.

“True, she took more after her mother with her silver hair and was showing signs of longevity, but her eyes were undoubtedly from her father.

“Her ears were the size of a Human’s, though they came to a point, giving away her mixed blood.

“Either is fine,”

she said quietly.

Zelaia met her eyes in the mirror.

“I just wanted to make sure.”

As Zelaia ran brushes through her hair, applied powder, and did something or other with oils, Ren contemplated the question.

“The more she thought about it, the more her stomach twisted.

“It prompted her once more to linger on the knowledge that she didn’t know who she was.

“Her identity was undefined and mysterious to her and so intrinsically tied to memories and learned behaviors.

“She didn’t know enough about Elves or Humans to even begin to organize any sort of opinion on the matter.

“How was she supposed to be something without even knowing what it meant? What was the difference between an Elf and a Human? Or, for that matter, a Devil and a Human? Not physically, but something deeper.

“Leo warned her never to trust Devils, but besides Benji, Jester had been her only real friend.

“He’d shown her kindness, made her smile, and always tried to protect her.

“Even Zelaia, despite her bruskness, didn’t seem evil or manipulative.

She felt frustrated with the concept of having to choose a box to put herself in. To be defined.

Just Ren.

Shouldn’t that be enough?

After putting on the final touches, Ren had to admit Zelaia was a genius.

“She’d twisted her silver hair in an intricate knot, pulling it off her shoulders so as not to obscure her shining gem.

“She had applied coal to highlight the chocolatey hues in her eyes, and her lips were painted to match her dress.

I am beautiful as well as commanding. But more importantly, I’m Ren.

She reached up to brush the tips of her fingers on her vurmite.

“Good luck tonight. Many Devils would sell their souls to be where you are,”

Zelaia said before patting Ren’s shoulder and letting herself out.

Ren’s eyes followed Zelaia, and she wondered what had brought the Devil to Azur’s doorstep—what desperate need this gorgeous creature had.

After adjusting her stone once more, she tore herself from the mirror and descended the wide staircase to the entrance hall, pride filling her chest for not snagging the perfect fabric on her heels.

“Azur was waiting, hands crossed behind his back, staring out the open door.

She’d seen several versions of Azur already, from the hellish negotiator to the unleashed terror, but tonight, Azur was all king.

“He did not wear a crown.

“He didn’t need to.

“His horns were everything any king would need to display power and position.

“His wings were unfurled and tucked tightly against his back.

“The impossibly terrifying appendages looked every bit as noble as any mantle worn by royalty.

“His waistcoat was red, the perfect complement to Ren’s dress, and his breeches were leather, as if he still wanted his subject to know that he was a warrior as well as a king.

He turned, hearing her approach, and grinned with approval.

“Jester told me you might pick that dress. I must say I am quite pleased.”

She lifted her chin as she descended the rest of the stairs.

“You could just say I’m stunning and be done with it.”

He raised an amused eyebrow.

“You look stunning, Ren Eldanuer,”

he said without a hint of irony.

Her breath caught.

Aloof, she reminded herself as she placed her hand in the king’s and allowed herself to be led to the royal carriage.

While Ren wasn’t familiar with all the creatures on the Mortal plane, she knew that those pulling her carriage were not one of them. Something so startling could only exist in The Hells. They were hooven, beasts of burden, but their manes were long, and their lower jaws were much larger than their uppers. They had no snout but rather breathed through small tentacles near where their ears should be.

Aloooof, her brain yelled as she tried not to rear back as one huffed in her direction, its breath warm and smelling like sulfur.

Azur guided her into the carriage and placed his hand on her waist to lift her into the seats.

She settled herself in the cushioned seat across from the male who owned her soul. He sat casually, wings spread out, relaxed.

“I feel I should warn you about tonight,”

he said as the beasts began to trot down the ashy street.

“You will be entering the great hall with me as my consort. It will undoubtedly create quite the scandal since you are the first consort I have brought out in public.”

He paused, letting the words sink in.

“You mean that in the thousands of years you’ve been alive, you’ve never brought a female—”

“Or male,”

he clarified.

“Or male—out?”

He shifted in his seat, wings flexing.

“No, my dear. I typically don’t have many emotional attachments. Indeed, I strike a much more imposing presence alone. However, considering the circumstances, it seemed like the best move, and I’m sure my subjects will devour the gossip. One must indulge his followers on occasion, wouldn’t you say?”

Ren didn’t like the idea of being the subject of so many Devils’ conversations. It felt like playing with fire.

Azur’s face was suddenly very serious.

“I cannot be sure what plans Xarek has, but be on your guard. Do not wander far from me, darling.”

Ren felt the knot in her throat tighten. The thought of seeing Xarek both terrified and excited her.

“What if he tries to control me?”

she asked.

“He can’t. To manifest a compulsion spell, the caster must touch their target. Your brand shows the court that you’re mine and prevents anyone from touching you without your consent.”

Ren wanted to shoot back that she wasn’t anyone’s but realized it was probably fruitless.

As the carriage came to a stop, an Elven footman offered his hand. Several attendants were awaiting their arrival, and the party had already commenced if the noise coming from inside was any indication.

Several attendants circled the king, ensuring every piece of his ensemble was in place. A short, Lesser Devil handed Azur a box and scuttled off, leaving the two alone.

“This is for you,”

he said, presenting the box.

“It is a tradition in many of the courts. As I said, I’ve never had my own consort, so this tradition is quite new to me, but I thought it appropriate, nonetheless.”

He lifted the lid of the box to reveal a thin circlet.

Ren could barely control her excitement, and her hands began to sweat. The circlet matched perfectly with her vurmite necklace. Reds and oranges sparkled around the band as it twisted artfully in what resembled two small devilish horns.

“I took some liberties with the design. I hope you don’t mind,”

he said with a faint smile. “May I?”

“It’s…perfect.”

She whispered and inclined her head, feeling a rush of excitement. This felt right—Elf, Human, Half-Elf, whatever. With this crown, she felt perfectly devilishly herself.

He offered his arm.

“Shall we?”

Her heart was already thundering in her chest, but she felt it skip a beat when she wove her arm through his and felt his taut muscles.

He led her closer to the door and nodded at two porters. Obediently, they opened the door, and the music changed abruptly from a jovial dance tune to one that evoked power and dominance.

“His Highness Lord of the Planes of Hell, God of Devils and Ruler of The Underworlds, Azur Vincent Pelegros.”

Ren felt like her legs were going to turn to liquid. Azur looked to his left and gave the smallest wink before tugging gently on her arm in encouragement. Ren kept her eyes forward, trying to concentrate on her slow stride. Her focus was short-lived—shattered when they entered the grand hall. The center aisle was lined with elegant carpets depicting fiendish creatures surrounded by smoke and hellfire. The room was dimly lit by immense pillar candles, casting shadows like beastly claws.

Azur grazed his thumb lightly over Ren’s hand as they crossed under a massive chandelier. Ren could have wept with delight at the adornments of vurmite, which cascaded to the floor in delicate threads of crystal like dripping blood.

Yet, as impressive as the palace was, it was the music that she felt down to her bones. She knew it was for him, the king, but she felt then, on his arm, that the rumbling drums and deep notes were also praising her strength.

She kept her head high as she saw Devils all dressed in exquisite finery gasp, some clutching the partners tightly, as they watched their king escort a Mortal to his throne. Arriving, he let go of her arm and ascended the last steps. An attendant seemed to have been informed that Ren was inexperienced and subtly signaled for her to stand to the left.

Azur stood before his throne. It was imposing and monstrous, carved with screaming beings from Hellish, Mortal, and Fae planes. Yet the most monstrous creation on the pedestal was Azur. His red eyes scanned his subjects, stopping on a few who then bent their heads low to show subservience. His body began to pulse with power as black fumes emanated. His wings spread wide, making his form even more imposing. Ren was sure there could be nothing that matched this being’s power with his magnificent presence reflected in the awe that he inspired in every face.

As the song ended, final notes echoed throughout the chamber, each and every knee bent to their king. He waited, greedily sucking up every second of the nobility supplicant before him. The last face he met was Ren’s before he winked at her playfully and sat. The music immediately started again, and the Devils returned to their revelry.

Ren wasn’t entirely sure what her role would be now, so she just stood next to Azur, hands crossed demurely in front of her, and watched the Devils dance around the ballroom. The trend seemed to be that the female High Devils kept their wings tucked away for greater freedom of movement while their male counterparts displayed theirs proudly. The dances accommodated these differences as the females didn’t often circle the males but rather whirled in front of them. Yet, Ren preferred those who seemed to defy this conventional tradition and varied their steps to showcase both dancers’ proud display of wings.

If it hadn’t been for a swirl of smoke that began to blur her vision, she wouldn’t have realized the change in Azur. She saw his vice-like grip on his throne, and the tips of his fingers turned black as claws began to appear.

His glare was fixated on the revelry, and Xarek Wyvryn who was standing in front of his throne.

Ren held her breath, unsure if the two would attempt to rip each other’s throats out right on the ballroom floor. Azur held up a clawed hand and instantly halted the music. Every creature stopped and turned their attention towards the throne.

The two males stared each other down.

A few tense moments passed before Xarek offered a revertant bow, his wings spread wide, touching the floor.

“My king. What an honor it is to be here tonight to celebrate the presentation of your consort. May I say how truly lovely she is.”

He looked to Ren, offering a charming smile.

Ren clenched her jaw but kept her face passive.

“Lord Wyvryn,”

Azur’s voice boomed.

“just the male I wished to see. Lady Eldanuer is quite fond of music. She is quite a talented musician, in fact. She has shared with me that you are a decent violinist. Is it true?”

Ren watched as Xarek’s entire body stiffened. It was a gross minimization of Xarek’s talent to call his playing decent. It was certainly one of the most inspiring performances Ren had heard, and her heart recognized music above all else. But the game was being played, and Xarek had no choice but to comply.

“Perhaps you would play a song in her honor, Lord Wyvryn?”

Xarek’s smile did not falter.

“I’d be honored, my king,”

he said, waving to a Human servant who passed him his stunning violin.

He positioned the instrument under his striking jaw and lifted the bow to hover over the delicate strings.

His eyes swung to Ren’s.

“In fact, I wrote a song for you, Renata Eldanuer.”

His pale eyes met Ren’s, and she felt the world melt away as he stroked the bow down the strings, beginning.

The first notes were elegant and melodic, almost sad, with the long and slow pulls. Ren watched as his strong hands caressed the different rivets and glided down the neck of the violin. Azur had kissed her neck, but this male understood the ways to use his fingers on an instrument which was alluring in a wholly different way. To glide and brush across with care and subtlety created the most intimate experience of all. Music. She felt her throat tighten as his song moved from a slow pace to one that built—a crescendo that grew each note as the subtle plucking of strings caused the sounds to crash together in waves of harmonic resonance.

It made Ren want to fall to her knees.

Ren’s heart stopped.

She tried to cry out but found that she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. Her eyes were locked on Xarek, and she noticed that he was smiling wickedly as the tempo of his song sped up.

Ren willed her body to act, her heart to begin ticking again, but it didn’t. She was paralyzed and felt her mind begin to cloud over.

She could hear the distant voice of someone—Renata?—pleading with her to run. To cover her ears. But that was such a ridiculous idea, wasn’t it? The music was so nice—so flawless in its presentation.

“Hello, Renata,”

she heard a voice say in her head.

“I’ve been waiting so long to talk to you. How about we have some fun, yes?”

It was his voice. Xarek’s voice. And she knew, as her body refused to respond, that her worst fear had come true. She was powerless and completely at his mercy because he had touched her—touched her in the way only music could.