Page 77 of Samhain Savior

Astaroth, however, missed nothing.

“Oh, Archer, I do like her. Are you certain I can’t keep her? I promise I’d treat her well.”

“Absolutely not,” I growled, my wings flaring and my tail twitching in response to that idea. “Answer her question.”

“Whose orgasm?” The Duke of Hell looked at my witch, his eyes drinking her in as she sat perched on the edge of her seat, waiting for his answer. “Let’s say dealer’s choice. I’m feeling extremely generous.”

I opened my mouth, ready to offer myself to him, determined to keep her from having to suffer the indignity of sex with a monster like Astaroth, but once again, Delilah surprised me.

“Mine,” she said, standing, absolutely no hesitation in her voice. “But Archer has to be the one to give it to me.”

“Done.” Astaroth also stood, not hesitating to accept her terms, and I glared at him as he extended his hand to me. “Come on, my friend. Just like old times, hey?”

I hesitated, my gaze landing on the witch at my side. She stood tall, shoulders back in her borrowed dress, looking determined, but still, I had to check.

“Are you certain? Are you completely sure this is what you want to do?” I may have been having the most sinful thoughts, but the rational part of my brain still demanded that she confirmed her choice.

Turning her head, Delilah stared at me with those crystal blue eyes, and while her heart was racing, she showed no signs of doubt.

“I’m positive, Archer.”

“Come on, Leraje,” Astaroth droned, sounding bored. “Just give the lady what she wants. What we all want.” He finished his sentence with a lascivious wink, but Delilah’s face remained cool and composed.

Alright, then.

Reaching out, I clasped his hand in mine, loathe to even touch him, but knowing it had to be done. The ring on my finger flared red-hot, but Astaroth gave no indication he felt anything. The power of the ring was formidable and ancient; I was its keeper, but not its creator. The magic was not truly mine, so the curse of the Void didn’t affect it in the least.

“One orgasm from the witch, delivered by me and me alone, in exchange for the return of my magic and the freedom to leave the Void unharmed. Do we have an accord?”

“Justyourmagic?” he asked, one eyebrow raising, and I frowned. From everything I’d seen, Delilah didn’t have any magic to speak of. She had parlor tricks, perhaps, and a little hedgecraft at best, so what the hell was he talking about?

Not wanting to get sidetracked, I pressed on.

“Astaroth, Duke of Hell. By crossroad dirt and depths below, I bind you to me. By Hell’s holy fire I hold your immortal soul, freely given, to the covenant now struck.”

Astaroth chuckled as I drew the knife from my waistband.

“I’m not sure my soul is worth much these days,” he said, sounding more dejected than he probably wanted. “But I’ll put it on the line for a chance to see your pretty little witch writhing in ecstasy.” Licking his lips vulgarly,he hissed at me. “Her pleasure is going to taste so fucking sweet.”

Incensed, I hauled on his hand, silencing him as I pressed the blade to his forearm, letting him see my hatred as I sliced it hard and fast through the meat of his arm. The wound was deep, and a thick trail of black blood bubbled to the surface, the scent of sulfur overpoweringly strong in the stale air of the hall.

“By your life’s blood, do you swear to this pact?”

“I swear it by my life’s blood, by a thousand tortured souls, and my own lost Grace.” I stared at him in surprise, shocked at the depth of his promise. “I’ll make your bargain, Leraje, but in the end, you will be the one to fall.” His gaze darted past me to where Delilah stood, her face pale as she watched our exchange. “After all, balance must be struck.”

His words caught me off guard, so close to the ones Nathaniel had uttered over and over mere hours—was it only hours?—ago.

Deciding leaving Astaroth’s desolate kingdom was more important than deciphering his cryptic riddles, I pressed on.

“Then by your agreement and my possession, the deal is made.”

The magic in my ring flashed bright, the crackle of electricity dancing through my veins so familiar, it was like coming home. A growl built deep in my chest, the crossroads magic stirring my soul in a way that I was once again becoming addicted to.

As I watched, the sigil of the ring burned itself into the skin of Astaroth’s chest, the red, puckered flesh sizzling as the mark appeared over where his heart would beat...if the fucker even had one. The smell was horrific, adding one more foul layer to the room already heavy with a myriad of disgusting scents. It lasted only a moment, the burn of the mark already starting to heal when Astaroth released my hand and gazed down at the scar the deal had imprinted on his flesh.

“Fancy trick,” he noted offhandedly, not seeming bothered by the mark I’d just placed on him. “Old magic really is the best, isn’t it?” Releasing my hand, he ran his fingers through his hair, straightened his shirt, and then retook his seat, spreading his legs wide as he slouched low. “Now, on with the show.”

Chapter thirty-five