I

A whisper of fabric grazed Raphael's back. He glanced behind him, eyes narrowing in suspicion. To his relief, the touch was nothing more than the thick velvet drapes of the alcove he'd just left. The moment they settled to block the alcove from curious eyes and ears, he inhaled deeply. The air was blessedly free from the Grand Duchess of Despair's near-suffocating emotional manipulation.

But one calming breath was all he could afford in the most diabolical place of the Dark Court.

The Demon Quarter.

The extra-wide and extra-long concourse was host to all manner of demon activity. t acted as overflow barracks, provided rooms for worship and sacrifice, and recessed alcoves to conduct intimate meetings.

What made the Demon Quarter even more formidable was that the elitist vampyrés of the court were none the wiser to its existence, thanks to the mistreated sorcerer population. The sorcerers had happily worked their clever enchantments and wards to hide the demon out-posting for a generous compensation. As for the other courtiers who shared the space in the auxiliary housing area of the sixth subfloor…

Well. They'd learned quickly it was best to keep their mouths shut.

Raphael's eyes swept up and over the ribbed ceiling, then combed down the stained cherry wood walls to the line of macabre statues lining the length of the concourse. Every marble statue, no matter its stance or embrace, was without a heart. The gory glorification went to no uncertain length to depict the precise detail of violence in each piece of art. Most, if not all, went so far as to encrust the cavernous holes with jagged rubies and pieces of garnet.

Pinpricks dotted up his arm.

Raphael straightened, and then he moved.

He claimed no friends in this place that should be home. His differences outweighed any worthy demon attribute he possessed in their eyes. Raphael glanced down at his gloved hands before folding them behind his back. Whereas the rest of the demon population manipulated their victims' emotions with a kind of psychic ability dependent heavily on proximity. Raphael's did not. He relied on physical touch, hence the irritatingly constant need to wear gloves.

And then there was his other, lesser-known power. The one that nullified other demons' manipulations by standing in the path of their target. Of course, said nullification didn't work as well on demons who outranked him in power. Sometimes it didn't work at all. Either way, he could rationalize how his nullification power would agitate his kinsmen. And if he used it from time to time to piss them off when their taunting grew overly annoying… well, could they blame him?

They can ; he thought bitterly as eyes followed his journey down the vaulted concourse. And they do.

Raphael ignored the demons' glares and scowls, the hisses of rebuke they made when he ebbed too close.

Their hatred didn't negate the fact that fate and fortune were finally standing in his corner.

Months ago, rial, the Duke of Wrath himself, had ordered him to befriend Jax Vrana and make an ally of him for the demons. That, and to monitor and ensure Jax didn't find a means to undo whatever curse had been placed on rina Vrana.

He was chosen, the broken mongrel everyone spat and sneered at, plotted against, and hated.

Him .

Raphael knew better than to ask why the task was given to him. He didn't hold enough status or clout among the demon ranks, even with his powers increasing in strength, to ask questions. His half-breed lineage would always taint his worth. Would always hold him back. Because his and his sister's existence was sacrilege in their eyes. Raphael clenched his jaw and straightened his shoulders.

The meeting he'd just left changed things, though. t changed everything .

Or it could if he succeeded in his new mission.

All three parts of it , he thought, somewhat peevishly. Raphael didn't doubt his ability to complete the first assignment, which was merely an extension of his original order. He was to fully sway Jax to the demon's side while continuing to sabotage his attempts to help rina. He accomplished the latter already once. His second task would take more carefully calculated finesse: attain the grimoire from the Vranas. While his third, killing the banshee—albeit discreetly—would take no more than an afterthought.

Neither rial nor the Grand Duchess had explicitly stated which grimoire he needed to take from the Vranas, but they didn't have to. Raphael knew the one they sought.

The banished Gayamun clan's grimoire.

Jax hadn't shut up about it all week: how cleverly the Circe clan had hidden it before being executed for their orchestration of the rabidus curse; how the grimoire sang with power once it was in his possession; how it was the key to reversing rina's curse, but it was magically locked.

Five months ago, Jax would never have dared share so much with Raphael. That was before his raven shifter friend, Ronan, had left court. Raphael rolled his eyes. He'd spent countless nights helping Jax drown his sorrow and listen to him bemoan their fallout. He had become well-versed in all their adventures in the early days of court and their mysterious exploits in some place called the Otherworld.

Jax never went into exact detail regarding the Otherworld—not about what they got up to whilst they were there, nor where it was—despite Raphael's coaxing. Regardless, Raphael knew without it being directly said that it was the source of the rift between the two.

While such bonding activities had brought them closer, it had taken an extra nudge to seal Jax's trust.

A nudge that involved Raphael deliberately provoking a threesome of shifters and allowing Jax to play hero when he coincidentally happened upon them beating Raphael to a pulp. While the heroic act strengthened their relationship, it was the vengeful plot they carried out afterward that cemented Jax's trust.

t's what made Raphael all the more confident that of all his three tasks, converting Jax to the demon's side would be easiest.

Somewhere, a bell rang, high-pitched and certain, taking Raphael from his thoughts. He looked at his wrist. t was ten to noon. With a harried sigh, he moved closer to the wall. Moments later, several doors opened along the concourse, and demons poured into the space, aiming for the exit.

t was time for a shift change at the demon-run gambling hall, the Styx.

Raphael leaned back against the wall, watching the tide of demons leave. Most demons earned their keep and pay working at the Styx. Not Raphael. He'd been denied the opportunity and forced to produce an income through other means.

He fought down a scowl as the demons' laughter and voices ricocheted throughout the concourse. The majority of his brethren didn't bother to acknowledge him as they passed. Those that did, wore their disgust and hatred openly. A part of him longed to snarl right back at them, point at his horns and golden runes, or flash his obsidian eyes at them—all proof that he was just as much a demon as any of them.

His survival instincts were better than that. nstead, he let his blood simmer and kept his expression blank.

Survival meant wearing a mask at all times, save in the privacy of his apartment, to fool the court into thinking him some charming, yet undoubtedly diabolical enigma.

t meant acting graciously subservient on more than one occasion and carrying out acts that left blood on his hands.

All of which fed his hatred for his circumstances and status, and all of which shielded his sister, Layla, from unwanted attention and kept their last remaining difference as half-breeds a secret. A coarse shiver raked down Raphael's spine as he imagined what torture would befall them if it was found that their souls were not wholly possessed by their Lord. Only half. How no other demon had come to the deduction was a miracle. And if they did...

Layla wouldn't survive under their ruthless hands.

Worry tightened his gut. She wouldn't survive if he failed in his new mission, either.

She would be sent to her infernal death as the cost for his failure. Raphael felt the color drain from his face at the mere thought of such a cruel fate. Layla would tear herself apart until she became nothing more than malevolence incarnate, haunting the Ether, which demons traveled as shades. A stronger demon might survive the sentencing, withstand the soul-sucking attacks, and find some way to escape.

But Layla wasn't strong.

She'd barely survived being made a demon ; Raphael swallowed thickly and forced himself to straighten from the wall. The Duke and Grand Duchess would take his horns as well if he failed, but horns could be regrown. He couldn't regrow Layla.

Not for the first time, Raphael reviled his gifts, which ostracized him and cast a dark shadow over his sister's own weak—yet blessedly normal—powers. His hands fisted tightly behind his back, leather gloves rasping lightly at the strain as he watched the last of the demons depart. As the concourse succumbed to quiet, his simmering ire retreated from his veins, and his hands unclenched.

Soon , he thought, the tables would turn .

When he succeeded, he would be rewarded. Their Lord would correct his deficiencies, which could only mean one thing: turning him into a full demon. The idea both rattled and excited him. He held no love for what he was, but being a full demon meant a better life not only for him but for Layla. He could protect her better and help her gain the horns she desperately needed to secure a safer position among the demon ranks.

Five years without a hint of horn growth is too long. Raphael's jaw set in a hard line. There were pitfalls to all legions of demons. Demons of desire could easily gorge themselves to oblivion. Demons of wrath kept a temper that often led them to an early grave. But demons of despair drew the short straw by far, as they typically fell into madness.

Raphael saw the edges of that madness growing in Layla's eyes and expression by the night. Meaning failure wasn't an option and whatever morals his half-human soul still harbored, he would have to cast away for good. His throat constricted briefly at the thought.

He would save Layla this time. No matter what he had to do.

Flooded with new determination, Raphael moved with purpose toward the exit as he silently counted off his tasks.

Deliver Jax.

Steal and deliver the grimoire.

Kill the banshee with the utmost discretion.

The grimoire would be the most challenging. Jax was only a few steps and a shove away from abandoning the Vrana household and following Raphael to the demons. As for the banshee, she was only a few steps and a shove away from an unfortunate accident.

And yet, as easy as it would be to take care of the banshee, Raphael couldn't erase the curiosity that roused him at the Grand Duchess's earlier words.

" She is different, a true harbinger of death. Our seer says she will foretell our Lord's plans before the time is nigh. Should this come to fruition, all our work will be put into jeopardy. "

His brow furrowed. Raphael didn't believe Stella, of all supernaturals, possessed the ability to jeopardize their Lord's plans or amount to anything as lustrously titled as a "true harbinger of death." Not that he knew what their Lord's grand plans were, given his lowly status, or what it meant to be a true harbinger of death. The banshee was…

She was…

nsignificant.

Hell, she was practically invisible with her ghost-like complexion. And he didn't want to even start on her most annoying trait—her shyness . Raphael nearly gagged. She was a walking contradiction, meek and weak as a dormouse shifter yet gifted with unholy power.

Raphael's nose scrunched unconsciously. Her banshee powers disturbed a deep, primal part of him, and he assumed it did for every other courtier, given the wide berth they usually gave her. Raphael subtly shook his head. The fact that she'd survived this long wasn't so much a testament to her savvy or influence as it was to being such a reliable source of cheap entertainment. He almost pitied her.

Almost.

A frown pulled at his brow, but it froze in place as a ghostly whisper tasted the back of Raphael's neck. His eyes widened, and half a heartbeat later, a hand gripped him where that chilled lash of air bathed his nape.

"Where do you think you're going, filth?"

Raphael knew better than to fight as he was shoved into the nearest side chamber by rial's forceful grip. Stumbling as rial threw him forward, Raphael bit his tongue at the treatment, fighting against the searing anger that blistered his nerves. He couldn't tell if his mounting rage was from rial's handling or his emotional manipulation. As Raphael settled his erratic pulse and spared the duke a glance, he spied a twisted smirk and quickly lowered his gaze, deducing it was the latter.

" was setting off to begin work on my mission, your Grace," Raphael responded calmly with his gaze still lowered.

"ndeed," rial purred with menace. "Let us discuss your illustrious mission and whose feet you should be groveling at for placing you in such an advantageous position."

rial's stare struck Raphael like brimstone. He dropped to his knees, molars grinding as hatred boiled in his guts. " thank you, your Grace."

"As you should, welp. The fate of our Lord's plans lies in your hands—and only yours." Raphael's eyes flickered up at the soft assertion. rial met his questioning stare with one of cold amusement. "You will receive no aid in your mission, lest you fuck everything to pieces as your uncommon breed is want to do." rial stepped closer. His festering manipulation wrapped around Raphael like a boa constrictor. "The Legions of Wrath, Despair, and Desire will not bear your failure and will not support you should you be caught."

A muscle ticked in Raphael's jaw.

" expected nothing less… your Grace," Raphael managed to spit out.

rial smiled at him. The sight shot an arrow of dread through his heart. rial was a beastly demon, standing well north of 6' 5" and laden with muscles. His deep brown skin was covered in runes. The symbols of power were earned through deeds deemed worthy by their Lord or feasting on the emotions of others. Raphael had many of his own, a fact that never failed to offend his brethren.

"What a well-behaved dog you are."

rial chuckled darkly and took another step forward. Raphael swallowed. rial's long, twisted copper horns glinted in the room's warm lights. Quick as lightning, rial was before him on bended knee. Raphael barely had time to gasp before he was knocked to the ground, his face shoved to the floor at rial's feet. Panic and rage ripped through him as he struggled against rial's meaty paw. Logic and primal fear warred against one another until Raphael ceased his struggles and let out a mutinous snarl instead. The duke laughed again.

"There's the mongrel we all know you are." rial peered into Raphael's eyes with violent delight. "Do not fail, Raphael. Kill the banshee bitch and bring us the grimoire and sorcerer. And if the extent of your skill means you can only accomplish one… make it the sorcerer and ensure he comes willingly. The binding will not work otherwise."

rial stood, shoving Raphael's head harder against the marble floor in the process. Raphael didn't dare rise until the door opened and then slammed shut.

"Prick." Raphael rose, staring daggers at the door as the remnants of rial's wrathful manipulation abated, leaving him to stew in his own ire. He took several deep breaths to settle himself before picking apart rial's last words.

A binding .

He'd heard whisperings of bindings before, though, was clueless as to how one was performed or how they truly worked. All he knew was that only the highest-ranking demons underwent bindings that somehow gave them a direct tie to their Lord.

That means the demons don't just want Jax's support; they want him bound to their Lord's desire.

Raphael wasn't sure why rial had let such precious information slip. Was it to motivate Raphael in his task? Or was it simply the beginning of some elaborate mind game? Raphael huffed and frowned. t was too hard to tell with demons, no matter their rank.

Another exasperated huff left his lips before Raphael straightened and gave the room a cursory once-over. A half-circle of chairs was at his back, and beyond them, shadows. He narrowed his gaze at the soft pools of darkness.

He didn't think any demon was foolish enough to spy on rial from the Ether in their shade form, nor waste their time on him, but he wouldn't risk lingering all the same.

Raphael strode to the door, but as he reached for the doorknob, it swung open. t was a testament to his years of practice that Raphael didn't groan his frustration at seeing two of his rivals, Kat and Gabriel, standing in the doorway.

And blocking his path.

They'd been made into demons around the same time five years ago. Though Gabriel and he belonged to the Legion of Desire, Kat was of the Legion of Wrath. Her brilliant crimson horns slanted back at a stark angle from her forehead, long and smooth and tipped to dangerous points. At their base, golden runes had taken shape. The molten embellishments caught and glinted in the light above. Raphael swore they writhed .

Courtiers often speculated that the size of a demon's horns was the marker of their power or age. The larger the horn, the older the demon, and the more potent their manipulation and their reach.

However, horn size itself mattered little to power or a demon's age. t was in the detail of the horn. The depth of its color. The cut of its end. The nuance of texture. t was the combined splendor of those details that attested to the depths of a demon's persuasive power.

Kat possessed the most power out of their three, but Raphael was gaining. Not as quickly as he would like, but he was farther along than Gabriel.

Thank the Gods .

He was too insufferable and vile to be stronger than Raphael.

"Waiting for me?" Raphael let an oily smile bloom across his face. "'m flattered."

Kat rolled her eyes, upper lip curling. Gabriel wore a similar look of disdain, features pinching together. A flutter of satisfaction rolled through Raphael at the sight. They must be seething over the meeting's outcome, and over not being chosen themselves, if they've sought me out.

He let his smile broaden and crossed his arms leisurely over his chest.

"Tell me, Gabriel, how many cocks did you have to suck to get in on that meeting? Or was the threat of your molestation enough to grant you entry?"

The other demon of desire snarled, and his ensuing lunge was halted by Kat's raised hand. She wore a nasty smirk that made her brown eyes sparkle dangerously.

"We didn't come here to fight," she informed him with cloying sweetness. "Gabriel and wished to pass on our congratulations on receiving such an unworthy honor."

Raphael cocked a brow. "s that so?"

"And to remind you—"

"The duke reminded me of this mission's importance already. Now, if you'll excuse me, have somewhere to be." Raphael was striding forward before he finished speaking, but Gabriel's palm slammed into the center of his chest to stop him. The assault immediately roused Raphael's anger. He batted away Gabriel's hand with a growl, prowling forward into his space while the other man grinned smugly back at him.

The faintest sensation of a spider crawling up Raphael's neck made him stiffen. He whipped his glare to Kat, whose venomous smirk had grown into a full-blown smile.

"You might be a mongrel, but your anger tastes like golden nectar straight from the Gods." Raphael snarled at her. t was an insult to feed off another demon's emotions, more so than any barbed words or fists thrown. Even if Kat had only taken a taste, he felt revulsion turn his stomach upside down alongside his outrage.

"What do you want?" Raphael bit out, biting back the worst of his anger.

"As was saying, we aren't here to fight, or for me to feed, but to give you a reminder." Raphael stayed silent, and Kat's smile deepened. "You're pathetic , Raphael."

"Scum, really," Gabriel added.

"A whore's son."

"A bastard son."

Kat took a brief interest in inspecting a pointed fingernail. "A malignancy."

"Worthless," Gabriel concluded.

Raphael's eyes narrowed as he shifted his sights to Gabriel. "f was so worthless, then why was chosen?"

"Because you're dispensable, Raphael." Kat chimed in before Gabriel could answer, drawing Raphael's hardened gaze back to her. "We came to tell you that rial ordered us not to help you in your tasks... but he said nothing about us not interfering."

Raphael tensed. "You would dare attempt to foil the Grand Duchess's plans? Our Lord's plans?"

"Your failure isn't exclusively tied to their success. As far as 'm concerned, or this bleating cock—" Kat jerked her chin in Gabriel's direction as his hackles rose "—you don't deserve the glory that comes with pulling off a mission of this caliber." Kat sniffed delicately, her gaze raking down Raphael in mounting displeasure. "t's every demon for herself."

"s that all?" Raphael held back an eye roll. Kat frowned but said nothing more before turning on her heel and striding out onto the concourse. Gabriel lingered, eyeing him with strange intensity before a broad grin stretched over his lips.

"See you around, half-breed."

Gabriel strutted off, hands shoved in his pockets and a whistle on his lips. Raphael scowled at his back. He should have known the twosome would find some way to cause trouble. But this…

Raphael rolled his shoulders back and rearranged his features into something neutral before glancing at his wristwatch. Just as an influx of demons had left not long ago to work the Styx, those finishing up would likely be returning on the hour to greet their beds.

He wanted to do the same. The hour was late by Dark Court standards as it neared noon. But the best hours to plot happened while the sun reigned and the vampyrés slept. Raphael would retire to his private apartment outside the Demon Quarter on the fifth subfloor after checking in with Layla.

Leaving her in the dark about what was at stake was out of the question. f his failure at any point became evident, she could, at the very least, run away. Raphael ran a hand over one of his ox blood horns, following the smooth curve as it arched out just above his ears and then toward the back of his head.

You can grow new horns , he reminded himself, not a new sister .

His heart twisted. He couldn't fail them. They'd lost too much already. Given their souls to the devil himself—or at least, the closest thing to a devil Raphael had ever glimpsed.

He swallowed thickly at the memory. Of the blazing golden body roiling with power that had electrified him from the inside out as it laid claim to half his soul. Raphael shook himself free of the past and exited the room at last.

First, he would see his sister, then go rest.

And when evening arrived, he would see his ‘best friend,' Jax.