Page 48 of The Demon's Fire
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“I’mpicturing a big grilled steak and a giant baked potato with the works.” Jace stared into the kitchen they hadn’t used except to store bottles of water in the fridge.
Celene stretched out on the couch, her neck propped on the arm. “Does your baked potato have bacon bits on it? Because I really like them on top of the sour cream.”
“Most definitely.” Jace shook the vision from her head. “We need a distraction.” She snatchedThe Pathoff the coffee table. “I have just the thing.” Snuggling into the over-stuffed chair, she opened the book.
After the successful schism, Ohngel came to me with news. I had unknowingly been complicit in a betrayal to our cause.
In my loneliness and need, I, the Cambion from Wales, had sought succor in the arms of Niviane. She had returned from her century-long journey in Gaul, more beautiful, her hair a deeper black, her curves softer, her smile more radiant, her body a welcoming heat and salve for my solitude. In my presence, she took advantage of every opportunity to brush against me, to ask questions, to listen to my answers with rapt attention, to ply me with sultry gestures. A glance. A laugh. A sway of her hips. A touch. Both lonely, I think, we agreed to find solace in each other.
Despite no desire on our parts to join as mates, we fornicated. Often. With her moans a soothing melody, her passions a medicinal balm, I thrust inside her. Flesh to flesh, I delivered my seed into her embracing body.
But after the schism, Ohngel revealed that Niviane, my sultry, welcoming bed partner, had borne my child and given the girl to her sister. Against the edict to remain on Earth, she had sent our daughter to live among our own breed on Scath.
With the knowledge of my role in the betrayal, I questioned my value. Had Ohngel chosen the wrong warlock for his tasks? Despondent over my guilt, I asked my guide, my mentor, what the betrayal presaged.
Sadness shadowed Ohngel’s eyes. “What has been done by the coven can be undone by its descendants.”
“Can I not bring the child back to Earth?” I asked.
“No. Events must play out as they happen.”
My guilt ate at me. “Is there nothing I can do?”
My mentor Ohngel, who was never without a plan, said, “Yes. There is something you may do.”
“A mystery.” Jace closed the book, her lids too heavy, the words blurred.
Celene wiggled her bare feet. “Yep, but I still want a steak and baked potato with the works.”
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Skylerlifted one foot, then another, sinking into the squishy bog of a swamp on Darque, thankful for her rugged gear. With sweat trickling between her breasts, she eyed her boots, already steeped in green slime.
Kole, in khaki tactical pants and a snug dry tee sinfully molding to his massive pecs and arms, looked fresh, like an ad inSoldier of Fortune. Jungle edition. He shoved his aviator sunglasses into place and slapped his knapsack onto a shoulder. While his gaze darted everywhere at once, his hand patted his chest harness, loaded with three short daggers. A battle axe hung from a loop on his belt while a long blade was sheathed at his hip. From his close-cropped haircut to his bulky muscles and weapons, he was ready for guerrilla warfare.
Other than the clothing he had insisted she wear, Skyler was not. She swiped a hand across her watery eyes, the fetid odor doing a number on them. “What’s that smell?” She pinched her nose.
“Rotting vegetation, algae, decaying corpses.” Kole scanned their surroundings. “Careful where you step. The swamp is alive with crawling things. Always look up, too. You can never tell what might wiggle from a tree. If that’s not enough, be on the lookout for flying wildings.” He sent her an I-told-you-so grin. “This place is more dangerous than shopping on Chicago’s Mag Mile.”
“Obviously, you’ve never been to opening day of a sale at Bloomingdale’s.” Despite her snapped response, Skyler heeded Kole’s warning, her eyes darting everywhere at once, checking for slimy, crawling, tree-hugging, airborne critters. “Why did we start here? It’s smelly and…” Skyler stopped talking to swat an insect on her hand. “…buggy.”
“Noir Swamp was the first destination on your list, home to primordial slime, dead flesh, foul odors. Enjoy.”
Skyler nodded, flicking a bug off her cheek. “I suppose there’s a certain beauty to it.” She brushed back damp strands of hair sticking to her neck as they escaped her usually chic do. With a slap to her arm, Skyler smashed what appeared to be a mosquito the size of an Oreo cookie. “I am well dressed for the occasion, though. Thanks to you. I’m thinking of recommending you as a fashion consultant for the rich and adventurous.”
“Was that a joke, Chief? I think it was. Be careful, we’re almost getting along.”
“Almost.” Skyler trudged around a willow-like tree whose limbs dipped into the water. She slogged through reeds which sprouted from the motionless, lazy wetland. In the stagnant water, flowers floated alongside fallen branches and rotting debris. Mysterious splashes, gurgles, and glug-glugs reached Skyler’s ears.
She plodded, ankle deep in the dark muck. With the trees forming a thick canopy which blocked the sun, she avoided the shapes darting about in the murky swamp, their shadows creating a macabre dance.
When they stepped onto a somewhat solid patch of ground, Kole pointed.
Skyler followed his gesture. Some distance away, a four-foot tall, green frog-faced wilding leaned against a tree, standing on two squat hind legs. Its protruding eyes stared at her while it nodded its large, bulbous head in greeting. Its lipless mouth twisted into a grin. Without thinking, she grabbed Kole’s arm.
He nodded back at the creature. “Loveland Frog. They aren’t dangerous. Kiss him. Maybe he’ll turn into a prince.”
