Page 135 of Fated Rebirth
He cared enough to die for me.Again.
I was too broken to process it properly. Too shattered by the sight of Hyacinth dying beneath my hands, too overwhelmed by the sheer volume of blood and the wet sounds of his labored breathing and the knowledge that I was watching another thing I loved slip away.
But somewhere beneath the shock and grief, I felt it.
Gratitude. Love. The knowledge that Rowan would sacrifice anything—haddiedfor me already tonight—and was willing to do itagain.
My peripheral caught movement at the portal door we’d come through. Reality rippled like a heat shimmer, and the air distorted as Damien stepped through with the casual grace of someone taking an evening stroll through a garden rather than a muddy field full of horse shit.
He strolled across the field towards us, unhurried, taking his time. He took in the scene with those amber eyes that saw everything and felt—what? Amusement? Satisfaction? Sympathy?
I couldn’t tell, and I didn’t care. I could only hold Hyacinth’s head as his lifeless body grew colder. I begged—aloud, internally, or perhaps both—for this to be a nightmare, for this to not be happening.
Please god, please. I can’t lose my baby.
“Demon, I will pay whatever boon you deem appropriate.” Rowan’s voice was raw, stripped of everything except desperate sincerity. No pride. No bargaining. “If it is within your power, save this horse.”
Damien stopped a few feet away, careful not to step in the spreading pool of blood. He tilted his head, studied us with a look of curiosity as if trying to understand human attachment, human love, human grief.
His smile was a crescent moon on a cloudless night. “Very well,mi aves fénix. Let us discuss the terms of our contract.”
Epilogue
Violet
“And this,” I murmured, brushing blood from my knuckles against the glossy sheen of my coat, “Is where we will pause.”
Edward’s head lolled forward, his breath ragged and wet. The bruises across his skin were already deepening from the rope, flesh discoloring as time slowed around him. He wasn’t dying quickly. No, that would’ve been merciful. He was unraveling, inch by inch, as was evident by the puddle of piss now below him.
Rowan stood against the wall, arms folded, his face unreadable but his eyes fixed on Edward with a detachment that chilled me. He had seen bodies rot, had seen death claim people in crueler ways than most could stomach. He knew what was coming—how Edward’s body would swell, how the nerves would scream until finally, mercifully, they gave out.
I exhaled, stretching as if from nothing more strenuous than a rehearsal, then slipped the heavy overcoat from my shoulders. Underneath, crimson silk clung to my skin, shimmering like fresh blood beneath the low light. A slinky, shiny red slip that gleamed with every movement, paired with black heels that clicked across the concrete floor.
My uniform of power and decadence.
“I’m due on stage in a few minutes,” I said to Edward softly, almost like a lover whispering a promise.
He didn’t stir. His head lolled again, spit sliding down his chin. I crouched, tapping his cheek with a manicured finger. No response.
My patience snapped, and I slapped him sharply across the face. His head jerked up, eyes rolling until they finally locked on me. Anger burned there, diluted but alive.
“Be a good boy and wait for me,” I crooned, patting his head as if he were nothing more than a dog.
Rowan came forward then, his presence filling the room with a quiet gravity. He extended his arm, the picture of composure even here in the stink of fear and blood. I took it with ease, rising gracefully.
The door creaked open wider, and Ciriatto stepped in, the boar-faced demon who prowled the Second Circle. His gaze flicked to me, then to Rowan, then finally to the half-conscious figure roped to the chair.
Edward’s eyes shot open so wide I thought they’d burst from his face. He kicked and writhed against his restraints, yelled his muffled screams into his gag, and looked near to tears with fear.
Ciriatto stared at him for a moment before turning to me. “First time?”
“Seeing a demon?” I asked with a laugh. “I imagine so. How can I help you, sir?”
“He asked me to tell you that the girls have been looking for you,” Ciriatto said. His voice was low and respectful, though his eyes gleamed with an unspoken understanding.
I smiled, sweet and sharp, leaning briefly into Rowan’s side. “I imagine he was worried I would lose track of time having fun down here, but we were actually just leaving. Would you be so kind as to take care of our guest? He needs to stay alive for the remainder of our love play.”
Ciriatto’s curled, the sharpened teeth between his tusks gleaming. “With great pleasure.”
I didn’t look back. Didn’t need to. The sound of Edward’s gagged screams and Ciriatto’s lumbering steps towards him were enough.
Rowan’s arm tightened around mine, steady and grounding. He bent his head to press a kiss against my temple, a gesture that was both intimate and a declaration of our relationship.
As the door shut behind us, the muffled beat of music from above began to thrum louder, a reminder of the stage waiting for me. The world of velvet, smoke, and sin welcomed us back as the basement—and Edward’s final hours—faded into the shadows behind us, awaiting me to finish my story.
