His hands dug into the earth while his body shook from the sheer force of her anguish. Whatever doubts he’d had at taking Viscious up on his offer fled at that moment. He would do anything, absolutely anything, to rescue Shelly from Osiris’s clutches, even if it meant being indebted to the dark fire king and aiding the dark elementals. He would not sacrifice his soul mate, not even if it meant the rest of the world had to burn.

  Shelly’s voice cracked and died as she lay on the floor, surrounded by broken fixtures and furniture. The shattered pieces were a fitting picture of her own fragmented form. Though her body looked whole on the outside, she was nothing but wrecked within.

  Warmth abruptly filled her body, and Shelly’s heartbeat slowed as his voice—Ra, her love—filled her mind.

  “I’m coming for you, Shelly. Just hold on a little longer. I swear to you, I will get you back, and I will never let you leave my sight again.”

  Her hands opened and then closed as if she could somehow hold onto the sound. She wanted to keep playing it on repeat in her head. And though she uttered his words over and over again in her head, the emotion that had come with them had fled, leaving her empty. “Ra, please. Please.” It was the only word she could force from her mouth. She repeatedly begged for him to return to her. But only silence answered her pleas.

  How much time did she have before Osiris would come for her? How long would it take Ra to save her? If she had to give herself to Osiris before Ra could get to her, how would she be able to face her soul bonded once she’d allowed another male to have her?

  Shelly’s eyes landed on a piece of the shattered lamp. Sharp and jagged, it stared back, beckoning to her. A quick flick of the wrist and her torment would be over. Never in her life had she considered such an option. But now, she entertained the idea of making it all go away. The tears that had abated came back in full force. She didn’t want to die, but neither did she want to spend an eternity with Osiris.

  “Hurry,” she whispered and hoped Ra could hear her.

  Osiris kicked the creature that walked beside him. Its constant groveling irritated him, with his continual stuttering and wringing his clawed hands. “Is there anything I can do, my lord?” it asked.

  “Dammit, Crescious, leave me the hell alone,” he barked at the small demon. “Go spy on some of your fellows and see if there is anyone who needs to be tortured.” Ah, torture. Perhaps that would make Osiris feel like himself again. Maybe if he spent more time doing his hellish duties instead of attempting to woo that damnable woman then he wouldn’t be having these accursed feelings—feelings he’d never had before. He was the damn lord of the underworld, with emphasis on the damn. He shouldn’t even be able to have these types of feelings for anyone, especially someone so … so … oh, what word was he looking for … pure. That was the word. Shelly was just too pure. Her devotion to her so-called soul bonded was entirely too pure. Osiris had to admit he’d underestimated the fireball. Why does she have to challenge me at every turn?

  Crescious scurried off, muttering curses under his breath. Osiris stared at the wall of souls that writhed and moaned in their tortured state. As he looked at them, he searched for something within himself, some sign that he felt anything but contempt for his charges.

  But why would he? They’d earned their place in hell, after all. They certainly hadn’t gotten here because they volunteered at the elderly home or sacrificed their money or resources. Should he feel bad for them?

  “I belong with them, after all.” He continued to stare. If their transgressions were abhorrent, then his were multiplied a thousand times over. “Dammit,” he roared as he felt a twisting in his gut. The heart that beat in his chest sped up as he realized, for the first time in his existence, he felt something other than hate, disgust, or abhorrence.

  “It’s not possible.” He breathed out as he clutched at his chest. “There is no way this is happening.” Bile rose in his throat, and an overwhelming sense of shame cascaded over him like a crushing wave.

  Osiris threw back his head and released his rage with a roar that shook the foundations of hell. He heard giant boulders fall and strike the floor. The wailing of the souls grew louder. He heard claws on the floor, and his eyes snapped downward. A pair of demons kneeled before him. He could see the blackness of evil within them. For once, he didn’t revel in it. Osiris was disgusted.

  Before he realized what he was doing, the lord of the underworld threw out his hands, and hellfire shot from his fingertips. The flames hit their leathery flesh, and both demons gave an ear-piercing shriek. They lit up like gas-soaked torches. Within seconds, they were nothing but a pile of black ash on the floor. Osiris’s body shook with the need to destroy something, anything. He used his power to move through the levels of hell and reappeared on the seventh floor. The oppression and sickness that permeated this place was nauseating on a good day, but today it nearly brought him to his knees.

  He, the lord of the underworld, felt abhorrent by the filth that inhabited this level. The thought made him sick. Osiris couldn’t think of a time in his long existence when he’d ever felt like vomiting. Why would he? He was a supernatural being. Yet at the moment, he had to swallow down the bile that rose in his throat.

  “What the hell!” he bellowed and released more of his power. Hellfire engulfed his body and exploded outward. He shed the human guise he usually wore and let his demon form—the one he’d allowed Shelly to see—rise to the surface. Osiris heard the screeches and wails of the demons and souls that were too close when he’d lit up like a Roman candle. Satisfaction coursed through him at their demise.

  Curses flew from Osiris’s mouth. He turned in a circle, letting his fire touch anything his eyes landed on. He pictured all the crevices and dark places that he knew existed in his realm. The lord of the underworld sent his fire into those concealed areas, knowing there would be wicked ones hiding there. When Osiris felt he’d extinguished enough of the evil souls and demons on this level, he took himself to level six.

  Osiris didn’t think about what he was doing. He knew he could ponder his actions all damn day and not come up with an answer. Osiris had no idea what was happening to him. He just knew it couldn’t be good. The lord of the underworld couldn’t lose control. If he did, the demons would sense his weakness, and the dominion he held over them would wane.

  Level after level, Osiris attacked his own realm, taking out the damned souls and the demons. With every soul he wiped out, Osiris felt a link in the metaphorical chain that tethered him to the underworld fall away. By the time he stood back in his throne room, he was breathless and covered in sweat. He ran his hand across his forehead and stared at the wetness on his palm. This wasn’t normal, obviously. He was impervious to the heat in hell. The devil didn’t perspire.

  “Shit,” he muttered. He walked over to the throne and fell back into it, feeling exhausted, something else he shouldn’t be able to experience.

  “Master.” Crescious suddenly appeared ten feet away. The little demon’s eyes fixated on the floor as he addressed Osiris.

  “I didn’t call for you,” he snapped.

  “No, my lord.” His voice shook right along with his diminutive form. “But there is disturbing news traveling through the realm.”

  “Oh?” Osiris’s spine stiffened. “What news would that be?”

  “You … there is … I mean…” Crescious stuttered.

  “Spit it out, mongrel, or leave me in peace.”

  “There is talk amongst the demons that you used hellfire on souls and demons.” As Crescious looked up at Osiris, he let out a squeak and quickly backed away, as if putting space between them would save his pathetic hide.

  “What I do with my hellfire is my business. Perhaps those who are gossiping like wretched humans need to be reminded of this.” Osiris purred as he pictured himself lining up the demons and torturing them, slowly, before using his hellfire to send them to the deepest pit of hell where the suffering was unending. The pain there would make the torture they currently endured feel like a bee sting. “Pass along a message, Crescious. If they continue to question me, I will take action.”

  The demon didn’t move, though his hands, tipped with lethal claws, fretted even more fervently than usual.

  Osiris sighed. “What else?”

  “There is talk”—Crescious paused and visibly swallowed—“of an uprising.”

  Osiris threw his head back and laughed. “Again?” he finally said. “Have they so quickly forgotten the last time? Or the time before that? My power is absolute. Can’t they come up with something more original?”

  Crescious frowned. “Like what?”

  Throwing out his hands, Osiris said, “Anything. Attempting to free souls, attacking the human I’ve brought to hell, although that would be a particularly foolish thing to do. But riding the coattails of Do— a demon whose name doesn’t even deserve to be on my lips? Well, that’s just sad.” Osiris shouldn’t have been surprised. Demons weren’t particularly intelligent.

  “I will tell them.” Crescious gave a low bow and then disappeared.

  “Well, that didn’t take long.” Osiris ignored the souls stacked one over the other along the wall, writhing and wailing in agony, trying to get his attention. Already, the control he’d wielded over the underworld must have felt weaker to the demons. Losing control wasn’t something he did. That he experienced emotions that should be impossible for his black soul might as well have been a flashing neon sign on every level, declaring him flawed, weak, and unfit to be king.

  Osiris would have to squelch all opposition as soon as it arose. He pushed to his feet and returned to his human form, straightening the suit jacket he wore, along with his usual attire of slacks and a dress shirt. “There really is no rest for the wicked.” He searched for the power of each demon that showed doubt in their thoughts. He ignored the annoying voice in the back of his mind that asked him if he could even still categorize himself as one of the wicked. That was a preposterous question.

  “I am the king of darkness, dammit,” he growled. “And no one will take my throne.”

  Chapter

  Ten

  “Longing, craving, thirsting, yearning, and a relentless ache that started deep in my gut. These are just a few of the ways to describe how I felt in Aston’s arms. Was there lust? Absolutely. But lust wasn’t what drew my body to his. It wasn’t what made me tremble beneath his touch. It wasn’t what sucked the breath from my lungs as he gave me what I needed and took what he needed. What allowed me to surrender myself into his arms, to make myself vulnerable in every way, to become one with him, was his choice to love me and share his soul with me. He didn’t have to. But instead of letting my shattered soul destroy me, Aston saved me.” ~Rory

  “If you two keep that up, you’re going to give the dragons something to talk about for the rest of their existence. It will be a story passed down through generations. Remember those two humans who bared their lily-white backsides, while making noises no being should ever make in the presence of another?”

  Kimba’s voice was like a bucket of ice water on Rory. She attempted to push Aston away. Though he allowed her to pull back from their kiss, he didn’t so much as budge from where he was pressed tightly against her body.

  Rory turned to look at her dragon BFF and saw the creature standing just inside the portal that led to the dragon realm. Rory’s cheeks blushed as she cleared her throat. “So, uh, I found him,” she said, her voice going up an octave.

  Kimba tilted her head and looked at them. “Uh huh, I see that. How’d that happen? Did you fall on his face?”

  “I wish,” Aston said at the same time Rory snapped, “No. Geez.”

  She looked up at Aston and frowned. When she’d first met him, he’d been hesitant and careful with her. He’d never been forward or dominant. The change was unnerving. “Are you okay?”

  His hands squeezed her hips. “I’m a bit miffed at being interrupted during so pleasant a situation, but now that I have you, I’m great.”

  “Wow,” Kimba said. “Your soul bonded flew out of here and grew a pair of—”

  “Kimba!” Rory shouted, before the dragon could finish. The damn dragon had picked up a lot of Rory’s sayings since she had taken up residence in Kimba’s realm, and Rory wasn’t sure she appreciated the beast’s change in vocabulary.

  “What?” Kimba huffed. “I’m just not used to males being so docile with their mates. Dragon males are downright possessive, not to mention growly.”

  “We’re not dragons,” Rory reminded her.

  “Yeah, that’s too bad for you.” Kimba nodded, her lips pursing on her muzzle. “Better luck next time.”

  Rory pinched the bridge of her nose. “Why are—” she began, but stopped when she felt Aston’s lips graze her neck. Mother of tadpoles, she mentally moaned and tried not to make an audible noise. What on earth had gotten into him? Rory had noticed the bond growing stronger with every touch since they’d been reunited. She’d also noticed Aston couldn’t stop touching her and that he’d had to physically distance himself from her when they’d been at Cornwall coven. At first, she’d thought it was just because he’d been worried about her and needed to assure himself she was okay. Or maybe he had hated their separation as much as she had, and he was making up for lost time. But Rory suspected there was more going on, something she didn’t understand.

  “How about you two come on back to your cave, and then we can discuss why you’re back here and why he’s”—Kimba nodded her head toward Aston—“trying to make offspring with you despite having an audience.”

  Rory tried again to put distance between her and Aston but he wasn’t moving. So, she did the only thing she could think of that might snap him out of his strange enchantment. She tilted her head up and pressed her lips to his neck. He made a sound that caused her stomach to flip. Focus, Rory. She mentally kicked herself. Then she opened her mouth and bit down, hard.

  “Freaking A!” Aston growled and dropped his hands from her hips. He grabbed Rory’s shoulders and pushed her back, but didn’t release her. “What was that for?”

  Rory didn’t want to take a chance that his sudden lucidity would slip away, so she grabbed his hand from her shoulder while shrugging the other one off. “Come on.” She pulled him toward the portal where Kimba sat watching, amusement dancing in her eyes. “We need to convince some dragons to help us, remember?” Rory pulled hard hoping to hurry him along.

  The portal snapped close as soon as they stepped through. Kimba lowered herself down, and Rory began to climb up Kimba’s scales, but suddenly a powerful gust of wind lifted her and plopped her down on the dragon’s back. She felt Aston’s arms wrap around her from behind.

  “Thank you,” she said, slightly breathless.

  “Just one of the many perks of having an air elementalist for a soul bonded.” Aston’s deep voice made his chest rumble against her back.

  “What are the others?”

  “I was about to show you a few before we were so rudely interrupted.”

  “Hold on.” Kimba pushed with her powerful legs and beat her massive wings. The trio rose into the sky, air blowing Rory’s hair back and making her eyes water. She loved it. The feeling of being so far above all the problems in the world. When she flew with Kimba, it was just her, the beautiful sky, and the breeze that caressed her skin. A grin spread across her face. She leaned back into Aston and let herself live in the moment.

  The flight was over much too soon. Kimba landed on the ledge of the cave Rory called home, and Aston once again used the surrounding air to float them to the ground. Rory started to explain their situation to Kimba, but the dragon shook her massive head.

  “You need to deal with your soul bonded and figure out what’s going on there. You can’t help anyone else if you two are distracted by your own issues.”

  Rory huffed and rubbed her palms down her thighs, wiping away the sweat that had gathered. “You’re right. I’ll let you know when we’re ready.”

  “Try to keep it down this time.” Kimba dropped from the ledge and then rose with beating wings.

  “You’re not funny,” Rory called out, knowing the dragon would hear her. She stood there for at least a minute before she finally got the guts to turn and face Aston. Rory nearly squeaked when her head almost bumped into his chest. How had she not realized he had snuck up behind her?

  “Um, Aston… I think… I mean,” she began. His hands landed on her hips, and Rory’s mouth snapped shut. Aston ran his palms up her sides, over her rib cage, working his way inward. She gasped and then grabbed them, giving them a good zap. He jerked back and frowned at her.

  “Why do you keep hurting me?” He shook his hands, trying to make the sting dissipate.

  “Because you won’t stop touching me,” she said through gritted teeth.

  “You used to like it when I touched you.” Aston’s voice dropped, and his eyelids lowered into what every female knew to be bedroom eyes. “In fact, I distinctly remember a time that you begged me to touch you.”

  She snorted. “I did not beg.” She totally did, but Rory was not about to admit that out loud.

  “It’s okay to admit it.” Aston smiled with a wicked gleam in his eyes.

  Rory shook her head, trying to clear the lust that threatened to take over her mind as she felt his emotion through the bond. “I’m serious, Aston. There’s something going on with you.”