12. Chapter 11

It was getting dark outside, but I didn't feel the least bit tired. Devon proposed I take a shower and get dressed, while he went to talk to his men. The shower had been calling to me ever since he had showed me how it worked and I was all to happy to follow his suggestion.

Standing under the spray of water was even more amazing than I had envisioned. I decided that I liked this new time with all its amenities. And I liked being with Devon. The love I felt for him was the only real thing in my life right now. I wished I could remember more of our time together, but as long as we were together now, I would be happy even without them.

When I stepped out of the shower, I luxuriated by wrapping myself into one of the warm, fuzzy, oversized towels and used another for my hair. Clad like this I walked back into my bedroom, feeling a pang of disappointment for Devon not being there, but distracted myself with the large closet he had pointed out.

The female in me came to life. Even though my father had been well off, he hadn't liked spending much of his gold on me. Now, the sight of this large closet filled my dead heart with joy. I was sure it would have beaten faster than a horse could gallop but pushed the momentary melancholy back that tried to wiggle its way into my mind.

Determined to enjoy this moment, I browsed through the many clothes hung from many racks or were folded up neatly on shelves.

"I don't know why, but whenever I came to a new place, I bought something for you and put it in here."

His voice startled me from behind. I hadn't even heard him come in.

"Devon."

"This dress," he pulled a white garment down that would only cover my legs to my knees. "I bought in Paris. Thinking how lovely you would look in it and wishing it was you and me walking down the streets."

I leaned into him as he hung the dress back up, watching him pull out a thick looking shirt next, "This is a sweater. I bought it in New York forty years ago," he laughed, "I guess by now it would be considered vintage."

"This purse," he held up a large olive-colored leather satchel printed with initials LV. "I got in London for you."

"And here," he opened two small doors built into the wall. "These are all for you."

Breathless, I stared at the largest jewelry collection I could have ever imagined seeing. Not even the jeweler in our town had had these many rings, bracelets, necklaces, earrings, and things I had never even seen before.

"You did all this for me?" I asked.

"Well, there's more, but I didn't want to overcrowd your closet," he laughed derisively.

"But you thought I was dead." I turned to face him.

"I talked to you too, sometimes," he said with such a sad expression it knotted my stomach.

I linked my arms around his neck. "I love you."

He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, "Say it again."

"I love you."

A smile tantalized his lips, so I repeated. "I love you."

With a loud sigh, he pulled me against his chest, holding me so tight I was sure he would have squeezed the breath out of me had I still needed it. "I missed you so much!"

"I thought you had a war council to hold," I smiled at him.

"I can't concentrate right now," he admitted, "I needed to see you."

I loved hearing that.

"Also," he admitted, "there are too many blanks still. It would help to know what exactly we are up against, why my father wanted you so badly," he caught himself, drew his hand through his hair, before he rubbed the back of his neck looking uncomfortable as one could get.

"I mean… of course, I know why he wanted you so badly, you're the most beautiful woman—"

"Devon," I said with a sweet smile.

"Blanche?"

"Shut up, I understand."

"Okay, good." The look of relief that washed over his face was adorable and had I not already been head over heels with him, that would have done me in.

"I'm ready, but I've already tried, but everything is still black except some small snippets that don't make any sense," I admitted.

"I have ways… I can make you remember if you're comfortable with it."

I stared into his cloudy eyes, and for a moment, I thought I saw little flames dancing in them. It didn't repulse me, though. Instead, I only felt curiosity. My love for this man grew stronger with every minute we shared, and so did my trust.

"I want to remember what happened to us." I pushed my chin forward defiantly.

"My little flame, so strong, so brave." He sat down next to me and caressed my cheek, which I instantly pressed into his hand, reveling in his touch, needing it.

We didn't say another word. Instead, I lost myself in his hypnotizing gaze. A shudder moved through me. Memories didn't assault me all at once. It was more like a story that slowly unfolded, just like it had back then.

… I was collecting berries when my father's men came upon me. I tried to run, but there were too many of them, and they were too strong. Within a few hours, I found myself in my father's basement.

"You stupid bitch. Do you have any idea what you have done?" My father asked, striking me so hard in the face that I was propelled against the wall, where I lay shivering.

"Making a deal with Satan is hard enough, standing him up… a death wish. Is that what you want? To see me dead?"

I preferred not to answer his question. Devon told me that my father had planned to have me mated to Satan. As much as I trusted and loved Devon, a part of me had still held on to hope that he had been mistaken. Hearing the admission now from my father's lips hurt so deeply it stung my heart.

"You bargained me out to the Devil?" I managed.

He rolled his eyes. "That's all you're worth. Do you truly think any reputable man would marry you? You should have been killed the moment your cursed mother gave birth to you."

My mother. He seldom spoke of her; when he did, it was only to curse her.

"I'm your daughter," I objected.

"Ha! Daughter, I have no children. I raised you as mine because Satan asked me to. And now that he has finally come to collect you, you run away."

"Not your daughter," I whispered, and for some reason, the very idea of that filled me with immense gratitude. I wasn't his daughter. I nearly jubilated.

"Whose daughter am I, then?" I asked, getting back to my feet with the help of the rocky wall behind me.

"The last fae named Cecily gave birth to you twenty-one years ago in preparation for the Magnus Eventus Walpurgisnach, the most celebrated event during which Satan himself presided. An event that is now past, because of you!"

I had to know. "Who is my father?"

He stared at me derisively, "Your father was Aglain du Cumpoun. He was the last great, real archdruid."

Nothing he said meant anything to me. The names he threw at me were those of strangers, but I was glad I wasn't his daughter. Still, my father had been an archdruid and my mother a fae?

I thought I was dizzy when the barrels along the wall began to shift, but then I realized they were being moved. A tall man emerged from the other side, and for a moment, I thought it was Devon, but then I looked at the man's eyes and realized my mistake. His eyes looked like Devon's, but they were dead and cold.

"You dared request my company?" the man said in a voice that sounded like Devon's.

"Forgive me, Your Highness. I thought you might like to know that I finally got my ungrateful daughter back."

The man didn't even look at me. Instead, he stared balefully and full of loathing at my father. "Why my father hasn't disposed of you yet is beyond me. You failed to deliver human. You mocked the King of the Underworld."

"It wasn't my fault that the stupid child ran aw—"

The man waved his hand, and my father fell silent. "In whose care did the great King of Hell leave the girl?"

"Mine, Your Highness, but—"

"Yours!" the man nodded. "I will inform my father that the maiden has been found. He will decide on how to punish you both."

"Please, my prince, surely it's not too late to—"

"How often does the Magnus Eventus Walpurgisnacht happen?" the Devon twin asked in a dangerously soft voice that sent shivers down my spine.

"Every four hundred and thirty years," my father responded without appearing intimidated.

"Every four hundred and thirty years." The stranger repeated. "And how long does a human live? How long does a human woman retain the ability to give birth?"

"I will have her ready for the king of the underworld in four hundred and thirty years. I swear to you. She will be at the Brocken, just like she is now. Able to bear the king of hell another son."

What ? I recoiled. "No."

For the first time, the stranger looked at me. His cold gaze swept over me from head to toe, and a sneer lifted the edges of his lips, much thinner than Devon's.

"That is her?"

"Yes, Your Highness."

"She is pretty enough to find his favor. Very well, then. I will inform my father that she will be ready for him. Only because I'm curious to see how you think you're going to pull this off. But I'm warning you. Not many people are being given a second chance to prove themselves. It's nearly unheard of."

Sir Jonathan bowed deeply to the prince of the underworld. "I understand. I will not disappoint you."

"Not so fast!" a familiar voice bellowed.

"Devon!" I cried, moving forward, but Sir Roger's hands held me back.

"Ah, my wayward brother. The one who thought he could outdo me. Do you have any idea what you have done?" the prince of darkness greeted Devon as he entered.

Devon wavered only a moment. His eyes were glued to mine to assure himself I was all right before he answered the other man.

"I did outdo you," he said with pride, "Adramalech."

So this was his brother. The one who was supposed to take me to the Brocken.

"You still don't get it, little brother, do you? You didn't simply outdo me. You crossed our father. You destroyed plans he worked on for four hundred and thirty years. And not only that, events took place, events you have no idea about, that make her"—he pointed his finger at me—"invaluable."

Devon's worried gaze met mine and sent chills down my spine. If my arrogant demon was worried…

"Seize him!" Adramalech suddenly screamed, and from the darkness of the hidden tunnel stormed an army of vile creatures you would only expect to see in hell.

"Take her away," my father yelled at Sir Roger, who pulled me down a hallway.

"No!" I screamed, kicking and flailing.

"Blanche!" Devon screamed my name.

"Devon!" I screamed back as Sir Roger mercilessly pulled me forward.