Page 23 of Demanding Discord
The centaur roared from somewhere behind me, but I didn’t dare turn around. Footfalls echoed, hooves and shoes, the sound of at least a dozen pursuers chasing me making my adrenaline spike again.
I darted around the corner half a second before an arrow whizzed past, and I laid on the speed, sprinting toward Hecate’s shack and hurtling onto the porch. The mob following me ran straight past the house as if it were invisible, and I dragged in a massive breath, clutching the doorjamb and willing my heart to slow the eff down.
The door swung open, and I stumbled into the foyer before closing it and leaning my back against it. Pressing a hand to my chest, I closed my eyes and took three deep breaths, begging my heart to slow its pace before it exploded.
Battling a centaur security guard was definitely not on my bingo card today.
Neither was misfiring magic. I slipped the bag off my shoulder and held my hand up, trying to call a flame to life. All I managed were a couple of sparks.
This was not good. So very not good.
Fire was my inborn gift, my element. It was as much a part of me as the blood running through my veins, so how in all the realms could I not access it? Did Lucifer strip my powers too? Could he even do that?
I picked up the bag and headed to the living room to wake up Discord and get some answers…but he was gone.
“Discord?” I shouted, but he didn’t respond. “I swear to Hecate, if you went off on your own…”
I strode through the living room and down the hall. The scents of patchouli and sandalwood drifted on the air, and as I entered the bedroom, I found my demon, freshly showered and sexy AF, sleeping beneath the sheets.
The perturbed sensation tightening my chest loosened, and I put the bag down, gently removing the contents and setting them on the dresser.
He looked so peaceful, serene almost, but far from harmless. Even dead to the world, his aura screamed danger and excitement. He lay on his side, his right hand beneath the pillow, his ribcage expanding and contracting with his breaths, and I had to admit my heart melted a little bit.
How my body found the time to feel attraction, kinship…anything at all…toward this man I had no clue. The hunters were still hunting, I’d royally pissed off a centaur three times my size, and we still didn’t know where Hecate was. The apparent invisibility spell on this house was our only reprieve, and thank the goddess for it.
Twelve hours of deep sleep would do me good, but I’d settle for a shower and a cat nap. Based on what I’d felt when my sisters had tried to summon Discord, time moved faster in the earthly realm. Halloween was fast approaching, and while I’d have loved to take a break and chill here for a few days, I had a coven to save and a veil to mend.
I set a stack of Discord’s clothes on the nightstand before heading to the bathroom and closing the door. Good goddess, I was a mess. I barely recognized the woman staring back at me in the mirror, but her bloody face and ratted hair weren’t the problem.
Once full of vigor and vim, my eyes now appeared hollow, distant. I was losing myself in this realm, the constant flux between fight and flight taking a toll on my body and my mind. Hell was no place for the living.
I turned from the mirror and stepped into the shower, the scalding water pelting my face, rivulets of pink cascading down my body and spiraling into the drain. I washed my hair and scrubbed, standing beneath the stream until the water ran clear.
After drying off, I threw on some undies and a t-shirt—I’d deal with pants after my nap—and worked the tangles out of my hair with a wide-toothed comb. Steam wafted out as I opened the door, and I padded to the bed, slipping beneath the sheets and lying on my side, facing my demon.
9
DISCORD
I kept my eyes closed as Cinder climbed into the bed with me. I was unready to face her expression of disdain, which she surely felt toward me after my display of weakness. She would never look at me the same again.
My body had healed with my slumber, but no remedy could mend my wounded pride.
I lay still and listened to the subtle shifts in the house—the pipes groaning, the hush of magic woven thick through the walls. My pulse thudded in my ears, each beat of my heart a metronome for regret. I had failed her, yet again, my body betraying me, rendering me incapable of carrying her through another nightmare.
Behind my eyelids, shadows flickered: memories of chaos, of blood and trembling hands, of magic denied. I hadn’t asked for redemption, but there it was, in the gentle way she’d set my clothes out, in the hope that trembled faintly beneath her exhaustion.
I could sense her, close now, her breath measured, her presence both a balm and a blade. The silence between us was heavy, punctured only by her soft snores and the distant thrum of the world outside. The temptation to reach for her, to seek solace in her embrace, warred against my shame, and I let the battle rage in the darkness of my mind.
She deserved so much more than I could provide her. Without my powers intact, I was as useless as an imp. Newfound anger ignited in my chest, and I focused on the burn. Cinder was meant to be my soulbride. Of that I had no doubt, but the events that had led us to this union filled me with rage. Lucifer had no right to strip my powers, and Isabel… Once Cinder was safe at home, I would find the insolent witch’s soul and torture her for eternity.
Another pang of regret expanded in my chest. Safe at home was where Cinder belonged. Her home. Not mine, for Hell was no place for the living. Ensuring her safe return had become my only priority, yet I longed to keep her here, by my side.
She snorted on a quick intake of breath, her hand absently swatting at her nose. I lifted the sheet, pulling it higher on her shoulder, and she stirred. Her lids fluttered, and I stilled my breathing as she snuggled into me, wrapping her arm around me and burying her face in my chest.
Her skin was warm and soft, a comfort that set my nerves on edge—a reminder that, while all was not yet lost, prevailing meant losing her, and that I would never survive.
A tremor passed through me, and I let my fingers edge closer to her shoulder. I stopped, just shy of contact, afraid the smallest touch would shatter the fragile calm we’d constructed. Afraid she would feel pity for me, disdain, or worse…nothing at all. The nightmare we were enduring tethered us, stitching our fates with threads of blood and longing, and I wondered now if she dreamed of escape.
