Chapter 5

Sam descended the winding stairs from his chambers with heavy steps. After being informed there was yet another ball to be held tonight, he was in no hurry to start duty. Unlike other guards who enjoyed a raucous shift, Sam preferred to work quiet evenings where he was less likely to lose control.

He had been about to start a new book when the small Quartz of Transference he kept near the bed displayed a message about tonight's ball. It was surprising since a farewell for the Nereid would not take place until next week, and there were no mating celebrations planned. This was probably a celebration of someone's hat or new advancement in napping practices, he thought wryly. The Malkina loved any excuse for drinking, dancing, and sleeping in the next morning.

When he was a boy, the occurrence of balls and celebrations in the Underworld were rare and all the more special because of it. Demons could be hedonistic and greedy, but they understood the importance of ritual. Rules had to be followed, and they never did anything without deep meaning.

His chest ached as he thought back to the stories his mother used to tell about the ball that honored his own birth.The firstborn's arrival in the kingdom of Asmodeus, the Venomous One, was marked with great pride, she had said, with feasts prepared, sacrifices given, and oaths sworn. As a boy, he had begged his mother to recite every detail of the celebration. Patiently, she recounted how his uncles had continuously called for more wine, and his aunts bickered over who'd brought the best gift. His grandmother flapped her great black wings as she flew around the kingdom announcing news of his birth, while all the imps bowed before his crib.

But his favorite part of his mother's stories was how his father had cheered when it was announced that Sam was a demon of Vengeance. The Underworld's mystic had seen it in Sam's aura, and she was never wrong. King Asmodeus was a Wrath demon, so having a son who would be driven to inflict retribution upon the deserving dead was a source of great pride.

Sam frowned as he realized he had never asked how his mother reacted to the news of his calling. Was she pleased to have a Vengeance demon son? Perhaps she would have preferred him to have been born a demon of Judgment or of Delusions—something less prone to violence. She was a graceful Shadow demon and the only one of her kind. What if she wished her son had inherited more of her nature than just shadow control? They both shared a strong sense of justice, yet his mother possessed different sensibilities than other demons in the court. "My fated mate is too merciful, too generous," his father would scold affectionately.

If only I had asked more, paid more attention.This was the refrain that spun around Sam's head constantly: regret that he had not soaked up more of his history, his family, everything about the Underworld during his eight short years of life before he was kidnapped and brought to Aurelia. Without his father to teach him how to judge what actions deserved pass or punishment, he found his innate drive to punish difficult to control.

Quickly, Sam jerked his head as if he could shake the painful memories away. He had been in Aurelia for over twenty years now and knew there was no use pining for the past.

As he approached the ballroom, he considered how at least tonight there was no impending threat to worry about as he and Arkaya had feared yesterday. Once she had sent the signal that all was well, Sam had gone back inside, putting the pomegranate scent out of his mind. Later, he had overheard two guards mention something about a lost human on the grounds, but he"d dismissed the idea. Both guards were prone to exaggeration, but Rig especially was fond of telling falsehoods—at least he had been until Sam corrected him of the habit.

Perhaps he needs a reminder…

Pulling open the doors of the ballroom, Sam surveyed the room for any signs of conflict. He found none. Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves as they sipped wine and conversed at tables decorated with clusters of crystal shards.

A small crowd of males gathered around one side of the head table, which sat on a raised platform across from the entryway. This was odd, but not worrisome. However, Sam was surprised to see that Queen Thema was not at the center of the crowd's focus as he expected but was gnawing at a bone several seats away next to Queen Cebna. Standing with his back to the wall, Sam fell into his usual guard posture: wide stance, crossed arms, deep scowl. A few of the castle's resident cats rubbed against his legs, but Sam remained motionless.

After the dessert was served, Queen Thema announced, to Sam's dismay, that the night was about to be ruined by the most pointless of activities: dancing. The ballroom was cleared of tables, and servants quickly swept the marble floor. The chandeliers were dimmed, but moonlight streamed in through the tall windows, giving the room a soft glow.

Sam watched another guard help steady a drunken Lycah about to stumble headfirst into a tray of dirty dishes. A group of teenaged Malkina girls giggled as they walked past a group of Nereid boys. An elder Drago banged his cane on the ground to get his mate's attention. Rig wasn't on guard duty tonight, but Sam saw him scurry past clutching two glasses of wine in his fleshy hands.

Sam stifled a groan when the court musicians began to play. They started with one of his least favorite selections from their repertoire—a quick melody paired with the trite refrain of "My love, my love, I've found you at last."

Sam saw the crowd at the head table had thinned considerably. Thema had stepped off the platform to make her rounds while Queen Cebna dozed in her seat. Others had dispersed, until all that was left at the table were three females surrounded by a few males. He recognized Arkaya, Hollen, and—Sam narrowed his eyes to identify the third and blinked.

All his senses sharpened, and his body tensed.

He then heard three sounds—a gasp, a sigh, and a growl. It took several seconds before he realized each sound had come from his own throat.

Arkaya and Hollen sat on either side of a female Sam had never seen. His heartbeat quickened as he stared, and a shiver ran through him.

Who is she? What is she?

The stranger's features were balanced in a way that was both pleasing and magnetic. She didn't possess the angular, hard edges of the Malkina countenance. Instead, her face held a sweet roundness. Her skin was smooth, and he could see no fur, fish scales, or feathers to place her as one of the Aurelian races. Sam's claws shot out from under his fingernails with the need to stroke the lock of brown hair tumbling over her shoulder. What was happening to him?

Shewas the one the crowd was gathered around, he realized. A visitor so beautiful she could pull attention away from a pair of queens. His breath came in shallow pants. Her figure was more lush than lean, and the graceful curve of her neck reminded him of something he couldn't place, a long-forgotten memory rising to the surface. His palms began to sweat.

To his right, he could hear an argument over vampire staking techniques getting heated, but he didn't even turn. Someone could have been setting fire to the castle or committing murder next to him, and he wouldn't have looked away. Hollen leaned in to whisper something in the female's ear, and she laughed, causing Sam's stomach to lurch at the appearance of her smile. She bore no fangs that he could see.

The stranger moved with an otherworldly fluidity; unlike any creature he had ever seen in Aurelia. Although it was considered terribly rude to ask one's race, he wanted to charge toward her and demand it. Yet his feet felt rooted to the floor.

With a jolt of clarity, his eyes widened. He realized why she'd appeared familiar to him. Desire pounded through him so swiftly it made him tremble.

Demon. She looks like a demon.

Female demons were known for their beauty. Most were born as Tempters, using their charms, curvaceous bodies, and enigmatic eyes as a tool to feed on the emotions and actions of mortals. Unlike the Punisher class of demons such as Sam, female demons spent most of their time among the living.

Demon! What was she doing here?

Who sent her?

Why didn't I sense her arrival?

A wisp of the pomegranate scent he caught yesterday breezed past him. It was not unlike the perfume his mother wore, and the realization made his eyes fly open. Of course! It had been this strange, beautiful demon he had scented yesterday morning. He breathed in again, focusing on the essence of juicy red fruits and honey.

He watched the stranger converse with those around her until Rig approached to offer her a glass of wine. When she accepted it, Sam gritted his teeth as white-hot jealousy tore through him. He watched Rig let his hand linger as she reached for the glass, touching her fingers in a clumsy caress. Sam's nostrils flared as he tamped down the urge to run across the room to snap the idiot guard's neck.

Then, as if the stranger could sense Sam's sudden mood shift, she turned to look across the room and froze. A current of energy seemed to pass between them. Hot, urgent, and potent. Everything else in the room, the realm, the nine dimensions of the multiverse fell away.

Sam's rage at Rig dissolved as he stared into her eyes. She tugged at the shawl she wore around her shoulders, her grip on the fabric tight.

Sam was used to females looking at him with revulsion or sometimes pity for his scars, but her expression held neither. Her eyes were wide, her mouth slightly open, and a blush stained her cheeks. She seemed startled, but she held his gaze.

Another demon here in Aurelia.Why hadn't he realized she was here sooner? In the Underworld, family members could easily pick each other out of a horde of demons by scent alone. His mother used to say that even the Underworld's master perfumer could never create a fragrance as alluring as the hearth smoke musk that clung to Sam's father.

The memory of his parents' devotion to each other brought a single word to his mind. One that made his horns flare with heat and his loins stir.

Mate.

He swallowed thickly and fixed his gaze on the female even harder, studying her. He wanted to move closer to get a better look, but his knees were shaking.

Could this demon be my fated mate?

He'd told himself that fated mates were only a legend, a fanciful tale that sentimental elders used to spin for him at bedtime. But… what if it were actually true? It was said that every demon is destined to find a consort—one to magnify the other's power. What other reason could there be for the intensity of his reaction? The corners of his mouth rose in a satisfied smile.

His change of expression had a noticeable effect on the female. Possessiveness burned in him as he watched the muscles of her throat work. Her pink tongue slipped out to moisten her lips.

She recognizes me. She craves to be claimed.

Heart pounding, Samael took a step to walk across the dance floor to her. He was ready to announce himself as the demon she had come for. Ready to pull her away from the hungry gaze of other males in the room. Ready to fully embrace his violent tendencies instead of holding them back. Ready to claim what he knew was his.

He would destroy anyone who dared to stand in his way.

My love, my love, I've found you at last. Suddenly the refrain of the musician's song didn't seem so trite.

Sam slowed his steps as he watched Rig tap the female's shoulder yet again. As she tore her eyes away, Sam resolved he would not snap Rig's neck but instead tear the guard's head from his body. Demon edicts against killing be damned.

The fool must have asked her to dance because Sam watched his mate rise from her seat and drop the shawl from her shoulders. The sight of all that creamy bare skin was enough to make Sam moan, but when she turned he stopped moving, nearly knocking over a dancing couple. His mouth went dry as he stared at her exposed back. What he saw shocked him.

No wings.

Sam tried to see if the demon had tucked her magnificent wings away or hidden them beneath her dress. Moonlight shone on her hair, and her hips swayed as she walked. But her back was smooth. She had no wings.

Which could only mean one thing…

Not a demon.

He closed his eyes, fighting to control the disappointment that lashed through him like a whip. He watched her smile as Rig placed a hand at her waist. Icy shards tore at Sam's insides as he struggled to control himself.

Male demons were easily distinguishable by their large build, retractable claws, and imposing horns. Those especially prone to beastly drives, like demons of Gluttony, were born with cloven hooves and goat-like legs. Female demons, however, lacked all animalistic features except one—leathery black wings set into their shoulder blades. Their wings were strong, elegant, but easily tucked away under clothing to escape angry mortals if their true identities were discovered.

Where were her wings? Sam squinted to see if he could make out scarring on her back. Maybe she used magic to hide them or lost them in some terrible way. He sniffed the air for traces of sorcery but found only the aroma of dinner and dessert.

And that alluring berry scent.

He clenched his fists as his entire body tensed. How could she smell so good and not be a demon? It didn't add up. Pomegranates didn't grow in Aurelia. He hadn't experienced that smell since he was a boy. Pomegranates grew only on trees that thrived in the Underworld.

And the human realm.

The conversation he had overheard from the guards suddenly came back to him.

Human.

It was true then. Arkaya had found a human in the forest. The guards weren't lying or embellishing the story. The blow of realization hit Sam so strongly he almost sank to his knees.

He stared down at the floor. He was so stupid, so naive. He had known that demon females looked similar to human women, but he had never known how much. He had been too young to see their souls within the Underworld. And the only humans he had ever seen among the living were undead—pale, rotting, vicious vampires like his kidnapper, Zaybris.

He was disgusted with himself for becoming enraptured by a weak-minded, fragile human. The easiest of mortal prey. What had possessed him to be so ridiculously hopeful? Claims to any demonic-fated outcomes were lost to him now, especially after all that he had done before coming to serve Queen Thema. He flinched at the memory.

An anguished roar threatened to erupt from deep in his chest. He pushed it down and turned to storm out of the ballroom. Dancing couples yelped as they darted out of his path, terrified of how his eyes glowed red. Sam flicked his hand to command the shadows to surround him in darkness. They swarmed, eager to serve. He let them drape over him, swallowing him up in their black embrace. He stepped into the hall and slammed the ballroom doors shut behind him.

So stupid.