Chapter 29

ANITA

Igrunt when Stuart's fist plows into the tender side of my ribs, the blow stealing the oxygen from my lungs. Determined not to give in to the pain, I straighten and wheeze as I struggle to take my next breath.

The guards watch the beating like it's a show, and I'm committed to keeping up my part of the performance. Without breaking eye contact with Stuart, I lean to the side and spit a glob of blood to the floor. "You hit like a girl. Are you sure you don't want to have your minions take over?"

I barely finish speaking before his knuckles crack across my face, splitting open my brow. Pain explodes across my cheekbone, but I quickly push it to the side, the discomfort more of an annoyance. Though it's been a few years, my body remembers the regular beatings and welcomes the pain like an old friend.

The key is not to dwell on it.

Accept it, then focus on what comes next.

After twenty minutes, my body is liberally covered with bruises, but thanks to my warning, Stuart is careful not to break anything…not yet anyway. Heck, my clothes are barely even stained with blood, but it's only a matter of time. When I don't crack, Stuart is bound to lose his temper, then the real fun will begin, and they'll break out the knives and other torture devices.

Unfortunately, my powers are much stronger now, and they refuse to be contained. My family's attempts to force my powers to manifest are finally working. With each blow, my fires rage hotter, and I'm not sure how much longer I can keep it repressed.

The magic restricting cuffs are helping, but they aren't keeping up. Despite the frost decorating my wrists and the ice slowly creeping up my arms, a soft glow gradually brightens the chains.

It's too soon.

Soren hasn't found the contract yet.

I need to keep them distracted longer.

A fist sends my head whipping to the side, and I don't immediately straighten, allowing my hair to cover my face and hide my conflicting emotions. While I would love nothing more than to burn everyone in the room to a crisp, we need that contract or all of this will be for nothing.

As blood drips off my face, I remain unfazed by the brutality, the metallic smell as familiar to me as my own scent. Knowing it will aggravate Stuart more, I let out an amused chuckle, then roll my head back on my shoulders and smirk up at the douchebag. "Dude, I mean, are you even trying?"

It's all I can do not to look at my men, not wanting to draw attention to them. Stuart and his soldiers are so focused on me that they forgot their existence.

Insanity darkens Stuart's expression, giving him an almost monstrous appearance. I find it ironic that while my family detests beastlings, they are the ones who act more like feral animals.

Stuart always hated that he could never break me. I think that's what actually made me his target. If I would have just bowed to him, I would have been dismissed as one of the many meek little sheep. Unfortunately, submitting is just not part of my nature.

Breathing heavily, Stuart takes off his jacket with jerky movements, then turns toward his desk. He once more picks up his penknife, which is more knife than letter opener, then heads toward me with a deranged smile.

Knowing what's coming, I instinctively pull on the chains binding me, then still when they actually begin to stretch.

Fuck!

The guys better hurry, or the jig will be up soon.

As the knife nears, my powers react, and it feels like my bones are being replaced by molten lava. I grit my teeth, then curse when it looks like floating embers are lighting up my skin from beneath.

Stuart is oblivious, not stopping until he's standing in front of me once more with a smirk, completely unaware of the danger. "Not so cocky now, are we?"

He presses the tip of the knife against my cheek. I wait for the agony as he cuts into my flesh, only something much worse happens.

The tip of the metal heats, then glows cherry red. I'm unable to pull my eyes away as metal beads at the tip, then drips from the blade like a drop of water. The room falls silent, everyone seeming to hold their breath when it happens again.

Before the second drop can land, Stuart curses and throws the heated blade across the room with a clatter. He looks down at the burn seared into his palm and grimaces.

"What the fuck?" one of the guards behind me whispers, then hastily steps back.

Instead of fear, a triumphant grin takes over Stuart's face, and he runs his fingers over the burn like it's a badge of honor. "I knew I would be able to break you eventually."

It's all I can do not to roll my eyes at the idiot.

Apparently, he has no sense of self-preservation, but I'm okay with that. I grin at him, then slowly lift my arms and pull on the chains. "Are you sure about that?"

His smile vanishes as he watches the metal slowly stretch then crack. He takes a step back, a furrow appearing between his eyebrows. "Stop that."

One of the links snaps, then pings across the floor. The guards immediately lift their weapons and take aim.

"Put your fucking guns down!" Stuart yells at the guards, a scowl on his face. "We need her alive. You fire, and I'll kill you myself."

It's not an empty threat, and most of the guards lower their weapons. Only one hesitates. Garvey doesn't even blink as he grabs his sidearm and shoots the man in the head.

"Got it!" Soren shouts, and everyone turns to look at him, just as he sweeps a row of books off the shelves to reveal a safe. Before anyone can react, shadows spill into the room. As the darkness thickens, I can barely make out Porter and Cassius moving.

Screams pierce the air and gunshots ring out. Though I know it's part of the plan, my chest tightens in worry for the men. Not wanting to get caught in the crossfire, I drop to the floor, snapping the last of the chains as I do.

Unfortunately, they thud against the floor, giving away my location.

A body tackles me, landing on me so hard that my breath leaves in a whoosh. I instantly recognize Stuart a second before he grabs my head in both of his hands and slams my skull against the floor.

I buck, trying to throw the fucker off, but the smack to my head leaves me dazed. When I'm not able to unseat him, I go with plan B and reach for one of the many blades the guys placed on me…only I can't reach them.

Desperate to get free, I reach up to claw his eyes out.

Only I'm too late.

My head cracks against the floor a second time. Stunned by the blow, my hands fall uselessly to my sides. His weight presses against my lungs until every breath is a struggle. Without being able to see anything, I feel like I'm drowning in darkness.

With the chains gone, my control shatters, and there is no holding back my powers. Heat swells and consumes me from the inside out, incinerating my every thought. My skin is literally ablaze, and panic tightens my throat when the fire doesn't abate.

When the pressure becomes too much, flames explode out of me and spill across the floor like liquid fire. No matter how much I try to call it back or snuff it out, my power refuses to obey as the flames rage out of control.

Adrenaline floods my veins, and I can understand why people become addicted to it—using my power is almost orgasmic. The more the fire consumes, the more the euphoric feeling spreads, and the more the fire feasts.

Stuart releases my head, then clamps his hands around my throat and squeezes. This time, I'm not sure if he just wants to stop me or if he's honestly trying to kill me. Either way, the flames don't like having their oxygen cut off and refocus their rage on a new target.

Flames ripple through the air between us, and Stuart releases an agonizing scream when the fire slowly eats its way up his arms. His shirt doesn't have a chance to melt, the heat so intense that the material just flakes away to ash. Without his shirt, I have a perfect view of his flesh as it literally sizzles and melts off his bones.

My eyes widen when meaty chunks of tissue plop to the ground, and his bones gradually begin to char. I should be disgusted, but my powers don't allow for any emotions other than hunger. The fire is almost gleeful about catching its prey and greedily gorges on his flesh. Not wanting his human goo to drip on me, I feebly reach out to push him away.

Unfortunately, the instant my palm touches his chest, my hand sinks into his body. His flesh is like Jell-O, oozing between my fingers, and I gag at the warm, squishy sensation. His ribs are brittle, offering no resistance, and they easily crumble under my light touch.

My eyes widen when my whole hand disappears into his chest. Light appears under his skin, giving him a jack-o'-lantern appearance. His bones gradually glow like cinders, and I shudder when the remaining fleshy parts of his body slowly melt, turning into a runny sludge.

In a matter of minutes, his flesh becomes a puddle around me, leaving only the charred remains of his skeleton. Cinders flare along his bones like tiny dragons clawed their way inside them. The little beasts systematically work their way through his skeleton, burning out the marrow and erasing every piece of his DNA. When I jerk my hand out of the cage of his chest, I bump into the fractured shards of his ribs, and his body collapses like a burned log from a dying campfire.

Ashes whoosh through the air like a cloud, leaving behind sooty stains wherever they land. It's only when the grime streaks my skin that I realize I'm once again bare-ass naked…and worse, covered in nasty Stuart germs.

Ew!

When I glance around the room, I notice the shadows have vanished. Porter and Cassius are standing over the guards' still forms, covered in so much blood that it drips from them.

They are staring at me, and I brace myself to see disgust and horror in their eyes.

Only there is none.

Neither man even blinks at the destruction. Cassius grins like a proud papa, his fangs on full display, while Porter just plants his boot on the back of Garvey's neck. The soldier grunts, his arms flopping as he tries to drag himself away, looking like he's bleeding from every pore. Eyes locked on mine, Porter leans down and wraps his hands around the man's skull, then gives it a sharp twist.

Bones snap loudly in the silence.

When Porter releases his grip, the body thumps to the ground, and he slowly rises to his feet. He steps toward me, only pausing when his boot hits the outer edges of the ring of fire.

I try to kill the flames, except it's like pouring gasoline on top of a blaze. I push myself upright with shaky limbs, but the muscles in my legs quiver too much to attempt to stand without toppling over.

When my fingers pass over the flames, I marvel that the fire actually feels good, like soaking in a hot bath. The wounds inflicted by the others slowly seal shut, even as I watch, then vanish altogether. I lift my arm, flexing my hand, turning it this way and that.

It doesn't have a scratch or even a blister on it.

"Here," Soren says, shoving a scroll against Porter's chest. Without hesitation, he steps into the flames and boldly strides toward me without a hint of fear. Flames lick at him, crawling up his legs, but he doesn't burn like the others.

He kneels, then gathers me in his arms and settles me on his lap. "I've got you, kitten."

I peer up at him, relief almost making me giddy. The flames gradually creep back toward me and slip back under my skin, but instead of dying down and going back to sleep, they flare up hotter than ever, searing my insides until it feels like I'm being crushed.

I wrap my arms around myself, curling up to ease the pressure, but agony spreads through every inch of me. I peer up at Soren, barely able to catch my breath. "Something is wrong."

"Nothing is wrong, kitten." Soren tightens his hold until his grip is just short of painful, worry turning his eyes nearly silver. With a strained smile, he gently pushes my hair away from my face. "I think you're finally coming into your demonic powers."

When it feels like my insides are being lashed by pure fire, I'm unable to hold back a whimper. Eyes squeezed shut, I desperately clutch Soren close and mutter into his chest. "Then why does it feel like I'm dying?"

The silence is loud, and I realize the truth.

If I'm not strong enough to contain my new abilities, then they will rip me apart from the inside out.

Just like all the others.

SOREN

Ituck Anita tightly against my chest, as if I could hold her together by sheer will alone. Hellfire sears my insides despite, my natural resistance, and my skin reddens wherever we touch, yet I refuse to let her go.

The only way to fight fire is with fire.

My beast growls in agreement seconds before my own flames ignite. The overwhelming heat abates just a fraction, allowing me to suck in a small breath. Pressing my cheek against the top of her head, I close my eyes and focus on keeping Anita from incinerating in my arms.

The instant my eyes close, images of that piece of shit beating the crap out of her fill my head. I normally relish the sound of flesh hitting flesh, the feeling of pounding my opponent into a meaty paste of blood and gore. I love the ache of bruised knuckles, the burn in my muscles, and the satisfaction of a job well done.

Knowing Anita was at the receiving end of the beating had my insides twisted up in knots, and I swallow the bile trying to choke me. Each time she grunted or moaned or taunted Stuart, doing her part of the plan to distract him, my beast would snarl in my head and demand I avenge her and rain hell down on the fuckers.

The sooner I found the contract, the sooner it would stop, and I could kill the fuckers and bathe in their blood. It took everything inside me to keep my back turned as I hunted down that damned scroll and not rip the fucker's limbs from his body and present them to her in a bouquet.

My beast chuffed in my head in agreement.

Would Anita like their hearts?

For beastlings, carving out our prey's heart and offering it to our mate is like a declaration of love. Unfortunately, Anita took care of the fuckers before I even had a chance to take vengeance and prove my devotion. My beast is still pouting at the missed opportunity.

Demonic energy slithers into the room, a familiar icy chill so cold, it burns. The energy has the same bitter brimstone flavor as the contract I retrieved from the safe. It brushes against my skin like centipedes crawling across me with their creepy as fuck legs.

I stiffen, my head snapping up, and my beast growls in my chest. My arms automatically tighten, crushing Anita against me as I search the room for the demon who thinks he's going to claim my mate—her father.

Shadows swirl and coalesce in the corner, looking like a brewing thunderstorm. Purple and red lightning shimmers in the depths as the barriers between the realms tear open. It takes incredible power to create a portal, especially without being summoned. Most demons aren't able to exist in this world without possessing a host.

Her father must be a powerful high demon.

Not good.

If it came to a fight, we wouldn't stand a chance. The demon could shred us into a bloody mist with barely a twitch of his pinky finger.

First, a leg emerges from the nothingness, then the rest of the body slowly follows, until a debonair man steps into the office. Smoke rises from his clothes like he literally stepped out of Hell, which he most definitely did.

He has the appearance of a man in his fifties, which means he's incredibly old. His dark hair has a touch of gray at the temples, giving him an affable appearance.

Nothing could be further from the truth.

The man is fit, his warrior's frame dressed in a fancy burgundy suit that shimmers black when he moves, and I'm not sure if the fabric is real or made of pure magic. With a white shirt underneath, the black trim and black tie stand out. Everything about him screams wealth.

A sparkling gold chain is tucked into his vest pocket, but it's the matching gold pin that twinkles in his lapel that captures my attention—a crown.

Marking him as fucking royalty.

He's one of the seven princes of Hell.

We are so fucked.

He prowls more than walks, comfortable in his own body in a way that says he roamed Earth long before humans ever evolved. Though he's nearly seven feet tall, his height makes him look slim. Despite his broad shoulders and thick chest, his body can barely contain his demonic magic.

It's his black eyes, however, that give away his identity. A red sheen shimmers in their depths. It's so similar to Anita when she's playing with hellfire that it's uncanny.

His shrewd gaze surveys the room, a snarl of distaste curling his lips. When his eyes land on Anita, everything about him stills, then he clasps his hands together and gives the creepiest fucking smile. "Excellent. She's still alive."

Despite knowing I don't stand a chance against him in a fight, I growl at the asshole. "You can't have her. She's already claimed."

"A mate?" His eyebrows lift in amusement, completely unperturbed by my threat. "How quaint."

Porter and Cassius come to stand behind me, adding their support. Cassius drapes his shirt around Anita, covering her nakedness, and I tuck it close around her. The protection is flimsy at best, but it's the only protection we can offer her at the moment. It doesn't burn away on contact, which should be a good thing, but my gut sinks with dread.

It means her powers are now focused inward, trapped inside her body. Without an outlet, she's basically a bomb waiting to go off. I glare up at her father, daring him to take her from us, which is stupid since he could easily annihilate us with a wave of his hand.

But he doesn't.

Why?

"You're a powerful demon. If you wanted to rule this world, you could do it without breaking a sweat." My beast hunkers low in my chest, ready to tear into the demon the instant he tries to take her. "So what do you want with Anita?"

Hardness enters his eyes, and demonic power floods the room, enough that the foundation of the building rumbles. "My contract is with the Kerringtons. I've come to claim what I'm owed."

"Over my dead fucking body," I snarl, carefully shifting Anita so she's behind me and out of the line of fire.

The demon prince chuckles, tugging on the stiff cuffs of his shirt. When he smiles, a double set of fangs flash, and the room practically bows outward with menace. Massive horns slowly emerge from his skull just above his temples and arch eight inches into the air. The ridges and scars show the battles he survived, a clear display of his powers.

As an intimidation factor, it's effective, but there is no way in Heaven or Hell that I'll leave her at the mercy of her father, not while I have breath in my body.

"That can be arranged," the demon replies, the low baritone resonating in my bones like a tuning fork, and my hellhound whimpers when it feels like my beast is being squashed under his boot.

Despite the blood that trickles from my nose, I slowly push to my feet and face off against the demon. If I am going to die, I will die on my feet, defending my mate.