XVI

R aphael was never drinking rhodiola again.

Not only was his time spent with Stella a complete haze, but every time he tried to recall a memory, his temples throbbed. Then there was the matter of Tanyel. At some point in the evening, he ventured from his apartment and was persuaded by the elegantly dressed horse shifter for a "one-night only" experience.

Said experience came at a hefty sum for her, but Raphael was the one feeling the true price.

She'd asked to be fed on—no, begged him before they'd even begun. Raphael should have refused, but the rhodiola stirred an appetite in him he didn't know he possessed. He'd taken too much. Her glazed, love-struck eyes in the early hours of the morning confirmed it. Now he'd have to deal with Tanyel following him like some thrall and he was uncomfortably full from gorging himself on her pleasure.

It left his senses extra sensitive.

Raphael's hand rose unconsciously to stroke a horn but stopped inches away from partaking in the habit. If his senses were extra sensitive, his horns were doubly worse.

Walking to his meeting with Irial was another act of torture. The demon quarter bustled with raucous and pugnacious demons looking for any manner of means to feed their egos. Raphael bit back a groan as he tread through the throng keeping mostly to the wall. Their voices were insidiously loud and battered his skull.

I should have taken that tonic Jax fixed for me awhile back.

He stumbled to the side as a shoulder rammed into him out of nowhere. Raphael didn't pick up the hissed taunt tossed at him during the assault, but it wasn't hard to fill in the blanks.

Bastard.

Mongrel.

Half-breed.

Raphael slunk toward the private alcove he was to meet Irial at and leaned against the adjacent wall. The heavy red velvet curtain was already drawn, meaning another occupied the space. Raphael pitied whoever was inside. If Irial arrived before they left, he'd tear them to pieces. Most likely literally.

He ducked his head as demons continued to shoot him glares as they passed. He'd hoped to blend in more having forgone his signature gloves and dressing a bit more ostentatiously as his brethren preferred. However, it was not to be born. Raphael heaved a sigh and rubbed small, firm circles against his temples.

The voices filling the hall seemed to reach a fever pitch. Gleeful cackles, shouted arguments, and competing narratives toppled over one another. Each intonation struck his ears like a hammer.

This is why he didn't indulge in beverages like rhodiola. They left him off-kilter and vulnerable—everything he couldn't afford to be among his kind.

I can't lose control like that again.

Raphael breathed deeply through his nose and tried concentrating on blocking it all out, save his own breathing and—

Eyes widening, Raphael's head perked up as a familiar voice caught his ear behind the velvety curtain.

He slid closer to the alcove's entrance, head bowing once more to covertly listen. Thanks to his hypertensive senses, the occupants' voices sounded clear.

"Wouldn't it be easier to kill them? I can slit their throats while they sleep," a female suggested. Her laissez-faire tone draped itself in a French accent that Raphael couldn't quite tell was real or fake. Where have I heard that voice before?

"There will be no deviation from the plan," Irial rebuffed in a voice that struck like lightning. "Am I understood?"

Raphael's eyebrows drew together as he sidled closer to the curtain. So, Irial is conducting more than one meeting today. Interesting .

No immediate response came from Irial's female compatriot, but that could be due to any number of reasons. Perhaps the woman had nodded or bowed her head in deference.

Or perhaps Irial had her by the throat and was squeezing the life out of her.

"Of course, your Grace."

The corner of Raphael's mouth quirked upward at the breathless quality to the female's voice. Definitely the latter.

"But what would happen if Ronan didn't come back, your Grace? Or, at the very least, if that insufferable she-wolf he rides every night didn't come back? She would make a fine toy."

Raphael's entire body tensed. With great effort, he blocked out the clash of voices from the hall intent on not missing a single word.

"Ronan is a pivotal anchor for Jax. Until we can secure him, the raven must not be harmed and merely kept away. How many times must it be explained to you?" Raphael sucked in a breath as Irial's rage leaked past the curtain. Red seeped into his vision as swift fury overtook his heart. He shifted back, shaking his head as if it would somehow dislodge Irial's herculean influence.

His gaze raised to scan the passing demons, and new seeds of hatred blossomed inside him.

The numbers were against him, but Raphael was certain he could tear through at least two or three of his so-called brethren . After all, his body thrummed with power from his recent gorging. It would be so satisfying to hear their cries of alarm and terror.

I can —

The moment Raphael stepped forward to enact his violent scheme, reality slammed back into him. He gasped at the abrupt shift from murderous rage to sheer nothingness, footstep faltering. His foot slipped as it landed on the polished marble, and he nearly lost his footing altogether.

"For fuck's sake," he spat as he tried to equalize his emotions and jerked back to lean against the panels of the wall. It took Raphael almost a minute to regain his emotional equilibrium and further still to tone down his hyper-awareness of the buzzing demon quarter.

"—and what about his other anchor? They're still here, aren't they?"

Raphael cringed with the effort to hear the clandestine conversation now. The headache he'd been fighting all evening redoubled its efforts. His hands clenched, nails biting into his palm to redirect the focus of his pain.

"It's none of your concern. Now, go and do your job before I find someone else to."

There was no mistaking the threat or dismissal, but what Raphael found odd was that Irial would allow such insubordination in the first place. If it had been him speaking to the Duke of Wrath, he'd be dead.

Raphael waited a beat for the female to exit, when she didn't, he checked his watch. It was eleven o'clock on the dot. Raphael took a deep breath and entered; Irial didn't appreciate tardiness either.

Truth be told, Raphael wasn't sure Irial appreciated anything other than the powers their Lord gave him.

"Your Grace," Raphael greeted upon entering. The heavy curtain settled closed behind him with a barely perceptible whoosh of fabric that snagged against his ear drums. Raphael's teeth set against one another in an unyielding clench. At least it muffles the noise from the hall.

Raphael quickly studied the space. The alcove was deep set with a few scones providing minimal lighting. They offered the shadows room to play in the glorified den of iniquities. Shadows that currently wavered suspiciously in one of the corners. Raphael stared the corner down for a long moment until there was no movement at all.

"I am beginning to think your sister is the more competent of your pair, boy," Irial began. He sat against the curved couch that hugged the back of the alcove, both arms stretching out along its back. "While many helped in the sabotage of the sorcerer's edict revocation and subsequent Vrana backlash, it has not gone unnoticed the significant role she played. New chaos has been stoked within these stone walls. Our kind feasts, and in turn, we strengthen our Lord."

"I am pleased to know she served well." Irial made a noise deep in the back of his throat, not unlike a growl, to acknowledge Raphael's comment.

"Yet, her efforts were not enough, were they? Surely, our Lord would have gifted her with the hint of horns or even ossicones." Irial's gaze pierced him like a billhook spear, poised and ready to tear back through him. "I wonder why that is. What curse was placed upon you two before being gifted this life?"

Raphael's jaw ticked as he kept his gaze respectfully lowered. Irial's voice dripped with condescension and something else that put Raphael's nervous system on high alert. He calmly placed his arms behind his back—another form of supplication to show he wasn't a threat—and clasped his hands together.

"I often wonder if I should dole out mercy to you two…"

"You would be denying our Lord his most humble servants, your Grace."

Raphael tensed as the air simmered with Irial's irritation. He couldn't not answer, even if it was a rhetorical question. Irial was just as likely to take his life then and there for not standing up for himself and Layla, as he was to smite him for speaking so boldly.

Raphael would rather die knowing he'd done everything in his power to save them than nothing at all.

"We are wretches, to be sure, but it is our constant endeavor and struggle to please our Lord enough that he might embrace us fully one day. We would do anything for his blessings, your Grace."

Raphael waited with bated breath for Irial to respond. The building heat of irritation dying down to leave the small alcove devoid of any moisture. Raphael's mouth soon went dry, and next, his throat.

"Your Grace?" He croaked, daring to glance at Irial's expression. He wore a mask of stony indifference, though his eyes betrayed his hatred.

"You are most fortunate that your sister shows some meager promise under Kat's mentorship. You would be wise to encourage her full submission if she should hope to come into our Lord's favor."

"Yes, your Grace."

Raphael's gaze darted back to the floor, but there was no respite from Irial's animosity. His hands gripped one another with growing urgency.

"Perhaps your sister will live up to our Lord's expectation during her next task," Irial baited. "It is sure to be more dangerous and far more important than her last… so much so, she must forfeit her life if caught."

"What?" Raphael's head snapped up and he drew forward with haste further into the dark alcove. "You can't. Our deal—"

Pain struck Raphael's face faster than was comprehendible. Shouldn't have gotten so close, he thought dizzily. White stars filled his vision amongst the swarming black in his peripheral. He heaved in a breath and then another, one hand coming to cup the side of his face gingerly. It hurt like the bloody devil.

With his other hand, he palmed the ground and pushed himself upright.

Bastard.

The thought stormed through his mind as a dot of red suddenly appeared on the floor. Raphael stared at it, then licked absently at his lip. He hissed as his tongue ran over the split.

Fucking bastard.

Warm blood trickled down his chin dragging the room into further focus. Too much focus . Raphael blinked as a rush of lightheadedness crashed over him.

"Do not presume to hold influence here, you insufferable whelp. She's chosen her path. Should she fail, she'll die filled with gratitude that her measly existence was able to serve some small purpose for our Lord."

Raphael snarled. The air near him vibrated in tune with his anger and aggression. It mounted to an almost physical pressure that demanded to be let in. To take over. Raphael slammed his eyes shut and bit down on his tongue to fight against Irial's overwhelming manipulation.

"How could someone so weak be given such talent?" Irial muttered disdainfully.

Without warning, Raphael's head was yanked back by his horn. He let out a guttural roar, back bending to an almost unnatural degree as Irial glared down at him.

"Pay close attention, Raphael. This is an important lesson."

Raphael's eyes pitched to demonic black as he stared defiantly into Irial's eyes. The world painted itself in shades of gray, with the only source of color coming from a person's emotional aura. It came to him as no surprise that Irial's was a wash of the deepest red and a black darker than space itself. Raphael shuddered in agony as Irial's grip constricted. The pressure of his grip rattled down his skeleton.

"These are wasted on you." Irial emphasized his words by pulling sharply at his horn. Raphael hollered in pain as the skin of his scalp was stretched to its limit. "Do not delude yourself into ever thinking otherwise."

Raphael gasped as searing pain spiraled through his body, carrying with it such malice and ill content he gagged. Blindly he reached out, clasping onto Irial's wrist and tugging uselessly.

Irial laughed. "You cannot honestly believe your power could ever compete with mine?" Irial's laughter went on as he proceeded to lift Raphael by the horn. The delight on his face was that of a man who should have been locked away in the farthest reaches of the earth. Raphael grappled to stay conscious. Irial's power went beyond mere emotional manipulation. It tore through the core of him.

It poisoned him.

But Raphael wasn't fighting Irial's power alone. Somewhere deep inside him a foreign force awoke, either rubbed too raw by Irial's cruelty to ignore it or spurned by it. Whatever kept him conscious whispered promises of retribution.

"—even if your power was up to snuff, it would only make this experience more enjoyable for me. " The septic glow of red and black deepened around Irial's body as he released a dark chuckle.

The sound snapped something in Raphael, and righteous anger slashed through him like a torrent of electricity. He was a dog kicked one too many times. This time, he bit back.

Raphael couldn't explain what happened next, only that one moment Irial's boa like grip on his horn was there and the next was not.

Irial shoved Raphael back to the floor with a snarl.

Copper bathed his tongue a second after his head ricocheted off the marble. The world swiveled as Raphael squinted up at Irial. His expression was incomprehensible. A mixture of outrage and insanity, with the vaguest impression of shock and disgust lingering near the corners of his eyes and mouth.

"I would relish in your failure, were it not tied to my own demise."

"Your Grace?" Raphael wheezed uncertainly.

A part of Raphael knew he needed to focus and that Irial's words revealed a new layer to the deadly game he was locked in, but the world wasn't cooperating. With the release of his horn, his vision returned to normal. The sudden visual adjustment accompanied with the newfound pounding in his head left him stunned.

Raphael managed to get his forearm propped up beneath him and tentatively rise when Irial's boot knocked him flat on his back. There's your focus , Raphael thought bitterly as pain eclipsed his rib cage and he wheezed some more.

"Your powers never fail to incite me, half-breed." Raphael stared up at him unblinking as Irial's boot came to rest innocently on his injured side like he was some sort of kickstand. Malice shined back down at him.

Pure malice.

Raphael's blood cooled in fear.

"Tell me… if I called upon you to complete your mission tonight, could you secure the sorcerer?" A heartbeat went by before Raphael gave a tentative nod. The corners of Irial's mouth lifted as his foot pressed down.

Raphael hissed and continued with haste. "Yes, he trusts me and feels the Vranas—that Jakob specifically—have lost faith in him. I can lure him away with the promise of power that goes unpunished. He wishes to explore the scope of his powers. He wants to dabble in dark magic."

The pressure on Raphael's side increased. "It is of the utmost importance that he come willingly . Our Lord's plans depend upon it."

"What plans?" Raphael was in no position to demand answers, but the words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. As were his next. "Is it for a binding?"

His tenacity was rewarded with a stomp of Irial's foot to his gut. Raphael groaned and fought off the urge to roll over and be sick all over Irial's shoes.

A moment later, Irial's boot found its place back on Raphael's ribcage. The power behind its weight immediate as Irial leaned over him.

"Clever mongrel, aren't you?" A sneer curled up his lips. "What of the banshee? Do you possess the means to end her tonight?"

"I—Yes, yes!" Raphael all but growled, trying not to squirm too much under Irial's vindictive humiliation. "I'll rid the world of her presence tonight if it is demanded of me, but I'd planned to do it on the morrow at the ball."

"I didn't ask if you could do it on the morrow—"

"I was told to make her death inconspicuous," Raphael reasoned through gritted teeth.

Irial's foot lifted some and the lancing pain receded some. "Go on."

"The Lunar Court is young . Their last formal gathering ended with six deaths. The time before that, eleven. I'll kill the banshee and plant her body somewhere. No one will think anything of it, should they find a bottle of rhodiola and a knife nearby."

Irial stepped away from Raphael. "And the grimoire?"

"Is in Jax's possession. When I convince Jax to leave the Vranas, I'll tell him to bring it. He's desperate to understand its magic."

A brittle silence took up the space between them. Raphael dared not utter a word more as Irial's features darkened like a coming storm. The room's temperature began to climb.

"I see you have it all figured out then."

Raphael swallowed.

"Yet, you haven't pulled the trigger?"

A line of sweat erupted over his hair line. Raphael licked his lips. "I can exp—"

Before Raphael could utter another syllable in his defense, a wad of spit landed on the side of his face near his eye. His muscles locked up as disgust roiled through him.

"Were your sister in your position, she would have never hesitated or played these games as you have. She has a devotion to serve that you have never shown to possess." Irial's hateful glare raked over him like a wash of hot coals, enflaming Raphael's nerves and making him shake. The heat of Irial's anger coursed through the air. It blistered his skin, taunting him to fight back. "She should have those." Irial gestured toward his horns. "Not you."

A lump formed in Raphael's throat. He tried to swallow it down, but it remained steadfast.

Raphael wanted to dispute every word that came out of Irial's mouth, but he couldn't come up with a single argument… Irial spoke the truth. Layla's dedication to the demon cause and their Lord was above reproach. It was almost obsessive at times, but it often acted as her greatest shield against the demons' wanton malice.

His chin dropped toward his chest. It wasn't that he wasn't devoted to the demon cause or their Lord's mission—whatever it may be—but he could never abandon the belief that they didn't belong. That they would never really belong, even if their Lord decided to make them whole.

How could they, when they were never meant to be demons in the first place?

They hadn't chosen this life, but rather had it thrust upon them. As Raphael saw it, they were simply playing a different game of survival. Not for Layla though. The promise of home had caught and snagged at her in a way that she couldn't let go of. Raphael finally choked down the lump in his throat. Not couldn't, wouldn't let go of.

"Perhaps if you spent more time on your knees at our Lord's altar begging to right your wrongness, rather than whoring yourself to the highest bidder night-in and out, you might come up to scratch. Something to think on regarding your future here," Irial said as he reclaimed his seat.

The spit on the side of Raphael's face dribbled down his cheek in a slow crawl. He ground his teeth against the sensation, simultaneously bearing the weight of Irial's intense regard. One wrong move… one wrong word and he'd fuck himself over completely.

"I summoned you here to inform you of your new directive. You're to keep the banshee alive for the time being. We've discovered a way to toy with the harbinger's mind. She cannot foresee our Lord's plan and spoil them if she cannot trust her own thoughts." A wicked smile split Irial's face as he returned to his seat. "She crosses unknown into places of all-seeing, and we will use it against her for our Lord's purpose."

"I don't understand." Raphael lifted his gaze to briefly meet Irial's. "Have you found a sorcerer who—"

"Your understanding is not required. Your obedience is. Keep the banshee alive. You may delay retrieving the sorcerer and grimoire until my command. Once we have used her to suit our needs, you will dispose of her and bring in the sorcerer and grimoire immediately. " Irial waved a hand dismissively at him.

Raphael rose to his feet and bowed at the waist. "Yes, your Grace."

"One more thing, Raphael. A piece of information to aid in your mission. The grimoire is to be rotated into the banshee's possession soon."

Raphael frowned. "Are you certain, your Grace. Jax is—"

"You question me?"

"No, your Grace, I merely know that Jax is—"

Irial leaned forward, resting an elbow on each knee as he pinned Raphael to the spot with his scowl. "The grimoire will be taken from him and put into the banshee's care. We have a device within the Vranas' household listening at all hours to their private conversations. Some inane decorative piece I am told."

"Thank you for the information, your Grace," Raphael replied stoically. "I will not let it go to waste." Raphael bowed again and prepared to leave when a spike of heat charged through the room. Raphael's anger rose to meet it as Irial's icy blue eyes captured his.

"Do not fail, Raphael. Go, and remember, more than your life hangs in the balance."