Kimba blinked, momentarily thrown. Cookies? Sometimes she really had to work hard to decipher her dragon bond’s human comparisons. She knew she wasn’t using the analogy to beat around the bush. Rory went straight for the emotional jugular, and it was as precise as dragon fire. Kimba leaned back, letting the questions settle before she spoke.

  “You’re right,” Kimba admitted, her tone honest. “There is darkness. Lucifer’s tried to reach Osiris—he’s tried to use that old connection to lure him back into the underworld. We don’t know all his plans, but he no doubt wants the gate opened, and we know enough to be careful.” She paused, letting Rory read the conviction in her eyes. “But Osiris isn’t alone this time, and he isn’t the man he was before. We’re using our soul bond to keep Lucifer out, to keep Osiris anchored to the light. Closing the rift will help even more. It’s not easy, and it’s not perfect, but I believe in him. I wouldn’t risk you, or Aurora, or any of us if I didn’t.”

  Rory looked away, jaw working. “It’s just . . . I want to believe you. I really do. But I’ve seen what happens when the darkness wins. I’ve felt how seductive the darkness is. I’ve watched it eat the witches’ coven alive as they tried to control it. It’s not something that can be brought to heel. And we’ve all lost too much already.”

  Kimba reached over, tucking a wild strand of hair behind Rory’s ear. “Me too, kiddo. I can’t live in fear of what might be. I can feel Osiris’s genuine change. A bonded can’t hide the truth, not really. If we’re paying attention, we will feel their intentions. He wants nothing more than to be the man he was, or better. I’m going to believe him until he gives me a reason not to. Also, I truly believe, in the end, the good guys win. Sometimes it takes longer than we want, and the cost is higher than it should be. But we’re not fighting alone. And we’re not giving up.”

  Rory’s mouth twitched with the ghost of a smile. “You’re such a sap, you know that?”

  Kimba grinned, bumping her shoulder into Rory’s. “Takes one to know one. Besides, I hear sappy is the new tough.”

  Rory rolled her eyes, but she didn’t pull away. She leaned into Kimba’s side, letting herself take comfort in their bond. The fire crackled, the shadows eased, and for now, hope was enough. “You know, I thought it would be weird.”

  “What?” Kimba asked, enjoying the heat of the fire, even if she didn’t really need it because of the draheim part of her.

  “You being human,” she answered. “To me, you’ve just been this big, scaly beast. Seeing you as this feminine beauty, all dainty and crap, I just thought it would take time to get used to it. But you’re tough as nails, even if you look like a life-size fairy.”

  Kimba arched a brow at Rory. “A life-size fairy?”

  Rory shrugged. “Calling it like I see it.”

  “I think you need glasses. More badass than fairy.” Kimba turned her nose up as if she was really offended. She wasn’t. But distracting Rory was worth playing along.

  Rory tapped her chin. “You think Aston would think I was hot in glasses?”

  Kimba pinched the bridge of her nose.“How did we go from I look like a life-size fairy to Aston thinking you’re hot in glasses?”

  “Easy, I’m always wondering what he would find appealing. Gotta keep things interesting. You know what they say.”

  Kimba waited for her to finish but when she didn’t she nudged Rory. “No, I actually don’t know what they say, whoever they are.”

  Rory thought for a minute, the shadow of the flames dancing across her face. Finally she said, “Me, either.”

  Kimba sighed as she wrapped an arm around Rory. “Don’t ever change.”

  “I won’t,” she assured her. “Unless it makes Aston find me more appealing. I mean, if he’s suddenly not trying to get me naked whenever we’re alone, then I’m totally changing.”

  Kimba laughed. “Fair enough.”

  CHAPTER 23

  “Chaos is a language, and only those who speak it fluently can command the world.”

  ~Viscious

  The world was a feast for those who thrived in the dark. Viscious prowled the broken edge of a city skyline, a silent, invisible force perched atop a rooftop where the wind howled and the night was thick with the tang of smoke and fear. Down below, shadows flickered—demons, slick as oil and twice as slippery, slithered through alleys and abandoned shops, their laughter echoing off brick walls. A car sped past, screeching tires and then, in a heartbeat, a tragic collision. Another Mark was made.

  It was happening everywhere. Viscious watched, arms folded, a smirk curling his lips. The other dark elementals had their acolytes out in force tonight—clever little monsters with a talent for chaos. They created Marks by orchestrating “accidents,” by whispering into the minds of the desperate and the wicked. A shove here, a broken brake there, a moment’s inattention that became a lifetime of regret. And always, always, the race: get to the Mark before a light elemental did. Win a new servant, gain another soul for the dark. The rules were simple, the stakes high.

  He relished it, the thrill of the hunt. But his mind kept circling back to one Mark in particular—the girl. Aurora.

  Why was Ra taking so damn long? he wondered, jaw tightening. He’s had plenty of time. It’s not like he couldn’t just scoop the girl up and walk through a damn portal with her. The bond he’d forged through him should be more than enough to keep him compliant. Unless . . . is he wavering? No. He wouldn’t break his promise. There was too much at stake. Were the light royals involved?

  The thought irritated him, a smoldering coal under his skin. He could go himself, tear through whatever protections the light had set around her, but even Viscious knew better than to charge in blind. He needed to be smart.

  So, he reached out—subtle, careful, sending his consciousness sliding along the thread he’d wound through Ra’s blood bond–and sought the girl in the fragile landscape of her dreams.

  He found her, drifting in a field of winter light, uncertain and alone. Aurora . . . His whisper curled through the dream, warm as a campfire, gentle as a secret.

  You’re powerful, he told her, his voice the perfect blend of comfort and temptation. You don’t have to be afraid. If you learn what it means to be an acolyte, you’ll have strength, freedom. You’ll never be at anyone’s mercy again. Not the world’s, not anyone’s. Ask Ra—he’ll explain. Find him alone. He can teach you how to never be afraid again . . .

  He wove the words with honey, spun the promise like gold. Power. Safety. Belonging. He was careful not to push too hard, not to awaken her suspicions. A gentle nudge. A seed planted.

  But just as he was about to draw her deeper, the dream fractured. A foul, sulfurous stench invaded the cold air—like rotten eggs and burnt flesh. Viscious’s concentration snapped. He was yanked out of the dream, back to the rooftop, where a demon stood awkwardly at the edge, trying and failing to look casual.

  The demon scratched at his horns, eyes darting everywhere but Viscious’s face. “Uh, Lord, King, your royals highness, Viscious, sir.” The voice was oily, high-pitched, and about as subtle as a marching band in a library. “I wants to meet you. You are a legend among all the legends.” The demon rocked back and forth on his clawed feet as he swung his arms awkwardly. “And, well, I’s just thought I’d say hi.”

  Viscious arched a brow, letting just enough fire spark in his eyes to make the demon shuffle his feet. “You thought you’d say ‘hi,’” he repeated slowly.

  The demon blinked, then nodded as if he actually understood. “Yeps. ”

  Viscious seriously wanted to punt-kick the hell spawn down the hill, but he prided himself on his self-control, and kicking a demon, even if he deserved it, definitely didn’t show self-control.

  “You’ve met me. I’m sure I have surpassed what you ever imagined,” Viscious said dryly, then with a flick of his hand he sent a whip of fire out. “Be gone with you. I have important matters to attend to.” The demon went flying as the fire burned him and an unnatural snarl mixed with a yipping sound filled the air. So much for self-control, Viscious thought with a shrug.

  Viscious returned his gaze to the city below, his mind already reaching again for Aurora’s thread. He would have her—one way or another. The world was burning, and he was the king of fire. It was only a matter of time before everything—light, dark, and in between—bowed before him.

  He opened a portal, feeling for the magic of the other dark elementals, and then stepped through. He stood in a ruined cathedral, the stained glass high above fractured and bleeding color across the cracked stone floor. He relished places like this—sacred once, now hollowed out by grief and time. It was where darkness felt most at home.

  A cold wind slipped through the gaping windows, carrying the faint, sweet scent of fear. The city outside was restless, sirens echoing, distant and unheeded. It was the kind of night when children didn’t sleep well, when parents locked doors and whispered prayers to gods that no longer listened. He smiled, sharp and slow. The hunt was on.

  At the sound of voices, he turned to find the other dark royals gathered, each one haloed in shadows and the essence of their corrupted element: Lamia, the Dark Air queen, with hair that whipped and twisted as if caught in an invisible gale, her eyes pale and storm-bright; Nimue, the Dark Earth queen, her skin dappled with moss and her presence heavy as a landslide, eyes the color of rich, upturned soil; And Radagast, the Dark Water king, limbs of liquid grace, his eyes deep and turbulent like a midnight sea, his very aura damp and cold. The dark royals moved with purpose, silent but electric, the air around them crackling with anticipation and power.

  In the nave, a small shape huddled between pews—curled up, knees to chest, eyes wide and rimmed with red. The Mark. Viscious could see the fracture in her aura, a jagged wound left by violence and loss. Her parents had been dead less than a week. The soul was still raw, still bleeding.

  He crouched, boots echoing on stone, and the child’s head snapped up. There was defiance in her, even now.

  “Who are you?” she whispered, voice thin but steady.

  Viscious let the shadows dance around his hands, not quite touching her, dark fire flickering along his knuckles. “I’m someone who can make it stop hurting,” he murmured, his voice velvet and venom. “Someone who understands what it’s like to lose everything.”

  Behind him, Lamia’s presence brushed the child’s hair with a sudden, chilly wind. Nimue crouched, the stone floor cracking under her weight, her earthy scent mingling with the incense of old prayers. Radagast’s eyes glittered, a puddle of shadow collecting at his feet.

  Demons flickered in the corners—Lucifer’s minions–their forms indistinct but their hunger palpable. They ringed the cathedral, cutting off escape. Viscious, though annoyed by their presence, did not completely resent them. He could admit he slightly respected the old devil’s efficiency.

  “Why should I trust you?” The Mark’s eyes never left his face.

  He saw the wound in her soul throbbing, the temptation to reach for light, but the dark was closer, so much easier. “Because the world above doesn’t care about you anymore,” Viscious said, gentle as a lullaby. “But we do. We care enough to take away the pain. All you have to do is let go.”

  Nimue extended a hand, her nails black with earth. “We’ll give you power, little one. We’ll make sure no one hurts you again.”

  The child’s lip trembled, anger and sorrow warring in her eyes. She glanced toward the ruined altar, as if searching for a sign. There was none.

  A whisper of movement—light elementals, too late, pressing at the doors. But the demons closed ranks, snarling, their eyes pits of black fire. Viscious felt a surge of triumph. The balance was shifting. More and more, the light was being shut out. He offered his hand, fire curling in his palm.

  She reached for it.

  The moment her fingers touched his, Viscious felt the rush—her pain, her rage, her hope twisted into something new. The fracture in her soul widened, and he poured his darkness in, shaping her into what she was meant to be.

  The light elementals smashed through the doors, shouts echoing. But Lamia’s wind rose, a howling gale that pushed them back. Nimue’s earth cracked beneath their feet, and Radagast’s shadows swelled, the air thick with the stench of sulfur and sorrow. The child—no longer just a Mark—stood, her eyes reflecting the cathedral’s broken colors, but already there was something else in her gaze: the hunger, the promise of vengeance.

  Viscious rose, drawing her close. “Welcome home,” he whispered.

  He felt the weight of Ra’s bargain then, like a coiled serpent in his chest. Soon, he would collect. Soon, Ra would have to choose how he wanted to spend his eternity.

  As they vanished into the night, Viscious glanced up at the shattered glass and grinned. The world was breaking, one soul at a time, and he would be there to gather the pieces.

  Lucifer paced, boots clicking on the polished bones that made up the floor of his private chamber—a throne room carved out of the agony of centuries. Shadows clung to him, cowering as he seethed, the air thickening with each pass. He could feel it: the pulse of the gate in the Dark Heart forest—the Devil’s Heart, as the soul bonded liked to call it—growing weaker, the rift shrinking. The darkness he’d so carefully threaded into the world was receding, cut off by the meddling of those damn soul bonded and their infernal hope.

  He bared his teeth, frustration boiling over, and sent a goblet of black wine flying. It shattered against the wall, splattering viscous liquid that smoked where it hit the stone.

  Crecious, the little demon who once served Osiris and now lurked on the fringes of Lucifer’s new court, edged into the room, wringing his hands. He looked like he’d been stepped on, set on fire, and then made to apologize for the inconvenience. “Um . . . sire? You called?”

  Lucifer spun, eyes alight with a rage that would have sent lesser demons scurrying for the deepest pits. “Do you feel it, Crecious?” His voice was silk stretched over blades. “The gate. It’s closing. Those cursed soul bonded are actually doing it. The power I spent centuries cultivating is slipping through my fingers like sand. Like your loyalty, for that matter.”

  Crecious blinked, his ears flattening. “I—I was always loyal, my lord. It’s just, um, Osiris used to have such . . . dramatic punishments. And, well, you seem to prefer . . . ah, creative ones.”

  “Don’t flatter yourself.” Lucifer stalked closer, his shadow swallowing Crecious whole for a heartbeat. “If they close that rift, I lose access to half the power I’ve got funneled into the human realm. My demons will be nothing more than party tricks—sulking in alleys, making bad deals for lost souls who barely know how to sin properly. It’s embarrassing.”

  Crecious winced. “It is a little embarrassing, sire. I’ve gotten reports that some of the lesser demons have started, um, getting distracted with a thing called social media. From what I understand, it’s humans doing stupid stuff and then making it viewable for the entire world. One demon tried to possess a golden retriever. It was . . . not dignified.”

  Lucifer let out a hiss of disgust. “Pathetic. I’ve been freed. I’ve got demons roaming the upper world. All that work, all those wonderful tragedies and evil acts, and now it’s being undone by a handful of lovesick children who think the world can be saved with hand-holding and emotional breakthroughs.”

  He raked a hand through his hair, jaw clenched. “And Osiris—Osiris has the gall to stand in my way after he took everything from me. Ungrateful, self-righteous—” His words broke off in a snarl.

  Crecious shuffled his feet, glancing sideways as if hoping for an exit to open beneath him. “Should I . . . send more distractions, my lord? Start a rumor? Set a few souls on fire?”

  Lucifer leveled him with a look. “If you want to be useful, Crecious, watch the gate. Listen for the soul bonded. Find out how close they are to closing the rift for good. I need to continue working on this child, Aurora. She’s my ticket to the gate being opened, I can feel it.”

  Crecious bobbed his head, relief and terror mingling on his face. “Right away, sire. I’ll . . . just . . . um . . . go now.”

  Lucifer turned away, staring into the deep, swirling shadows where his power once flowed without limit. He could feel it: the gate growing smaller, the magic slipping from his grasp. His fingers curled into fists, claws biting into his own palms.

  “This isn’t over,” he muttered, voice low and lethal. “Not by a long shot. You can close the rift, soul bonded. But the darkness always finds another way in.”

  CHAPTER 24

  “Trust is a fragile thing. In the beginning of a relationship, it has yet to be established, and as it blossoms, like a rose, it can easily be crushed.” ~ Aurora

  Aurora sat bolt upright in bed, heart pounding, the echo of Viscious’s voice still slithering along her spine. The room was gray with pre-dawn light, rain tapping restlessly against the windowpanes. She pressed a trembling hand to her forehead, trying to separate dream from reality. Sometimes, when she woke, the impressions faded fast—half-remembered warnings, a voice like velvet promising power, and another colder and crueler, whispering that Ra was lying to her.

  But this morning the words clung like cobwebs, sticky and persistent.

  He’s hiding something from you, Aurora. Something that will change everything.

  She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting off exhaustion. She hadn’t slept through the night in days—every time she drifted, the dreams came. Lucifer, the lord of the underworld, was apparently fine with her knowing who he was–all charm and honeyed deception, painting a future where she was untouchable, powerful, unafraid. Viscious, a royal elemental, was shadow and flame, urging her to ask questions, to pull at the secrets Ra kept close.

  She’d trusted Ra. As they’d gotten to know one another, she’d believed he was her protector. But now, doubt gnawed at her. She needed answers, not more half-truths.