Page 60 of Infernal Bindings

I stick my tongue out at him because that’s what he always says. To be fair, he almost follows through on the threats too. It’s been months since I got to be the one in front. I’m about to flip him off when I notice the dozens of witches standing near the castle’s horseshoe drive. They stare at us open-mouthed as I tug off my helmet and plop it onto the handlebar.

I flash them my biggest fuck-you smile and twine my fingers with Daemon’s, all but daring them to say something. They don’t. With Salios’s power thrumming through my veins, and Daemon’s ability to channel magic directly from Hell, we’re two of the most powerful people here—even more powerful than my mother.

That’s crazy to think about.

Head held high, I pull Daemon toward the entryway, leading him up the stone steps. I’m still a little sore from all the sex we had—maybe a lot sore—but I barely feel it, too high on adrenaline for it to matter. As we near the heavy wooden doors, security staff comes into view. Two big, burly men carrying machine guns like we’re in a war zone.

Unlike the gaping witches, they don’t hesitate to intervene. They raise their guns, but Daemon merely snaps his fingers, and the weapons disappear. “Demon,” he reminds them. “Recently fed too. Trust me, you don’t want to try any spellwork right now. It’s not a fight you’re going to win.”

The two of them glance at each other, then at him.

Before they have time to decide how to react, the entryway whooshes open and Christopher appears. “Annie?” he asks. “Daemon?”

His gaze drops to our linked hands, and my stomach twists itself into a pretzel. God, this part sucks. Even now, I feel the mating bond tugging on us, drawing my face to his. And it’s not enough. He’s not enough. But I wish he was because he’s a good man, and he deserves better.

I swallow. “I’m sorry, Christopher.”

For a moment, his green eyes glisten but then he blinks the moisture away and forces a smile. “It’s okay,” he whispers, the words breaking. And I know it’s anything but. Even now, this man is patient and understanding. Fuck, this would be so much easier if he committed the murder and was secretly an evil villain.

“Daemon, can you give us a minute?” I ask, but Christopher shakes his head.

“It’s fine, Ann, really. I’ve been waiting for this moment ever since you told me what Salios looked like.”

My brows furrow, but it’s Daemon who explains.

“Archdemons appear differently to everyone. For greed, it’s who you view as the most powerful. For pride, it’s who you most respect. For lust…”

“It’s who you most desire,” Christopher says. “That’s why I stopped you back at the apartment. I knew you didn’t want me—not like him.”

And yet Christopher helped me anyway, knowing I wouldn’t choose him, knowing I was in love with somebody else. My vision blurs, but I force myself not to get emotional because I’m not the one getting heartbroken here.

“I’m sorry,” I repeat, and God, it sounds so fucking lame.

Christopher shrugs. “Witches live forever. You have a long time to change your mind.”

“About that…” I bite my bottom lip.

“You’re not here for your baptism, are you?” he asks, and I shake my head. Sighing, Christopher glances first to Daemon, then to me. “What do you need me to do?”

Christopher, Mom, and the other elders stand in the center of the rotunda, the ceremony well underway. The glowing orb buzzes around the room, landing on a witch I don’t recognize, yanking them toward the baptismal pool.

Wrapped in Christopher’s invisibility spell, Daemon and I watch the recruit recite her oaths, die, and be resurrected by Azrael. Both of us are touching Christopher’s shoulder, waiting for the last witch to go before we confront anyone—not because we’re kind, but because Christopher asked us to. Another reschedule is impossible this late in the year, and accidents happen. If a witch died waiting for their baptism to be rescheduled again, he’d never forgive himself. Given the circumstances, waiting is the least we can do.

Another witch goes, then another—all indoctrinated into the same faction that stole my father from his family and tried to keep me from the man I love. A group that kills Septem witches, despite the treaty, with a Regent who despises Daemon enough to frame him for murder.

Disgust worms its way inside me.

God, I hate that Christopher doesn’t hate them.

The ceremony ends. The witches clap so loudly my eardrums ache. And then, just as the overhead lights flip on, I release my hold on Christopher. Following my lead, Daemon does the same, and that invisibility spell disintegrates. Several people gasp, an elder included. Whispers break out across the room, several thousand eyes on us.

For the first time in my life, I’m not self-conscious. Just as many demons have seen me naked, humiliated, and exposed. This is nothing in comparison to that. I don’t feel vulnerable either. In fact, I feel powerful—I am powerful. I know it, the elders know it, and the angels know it too. That’s why Daemon and I, especially combined, are such a threat. It’s why they tried to separate us and rein us in with that stupid mating bond.

I clear my throat, not loudly, but the sound echoes throughout the rotunda.

“You can’t be here—” one of the elders, Matthew, says. But Daemon merely snaps his fingers, and his mouth clamps shut. A drop of sweat slips down Daemon’s forehead—the only indication that he’s pushing his magical strength. In the back of my mind, I’m faintly aware that even though he fed yesterday, we’ve teleported three times. I make note of it, but don’t draw attention to him by asking if he’s alright.

“Anyone else have something to say?” Daemon asks, lips twisted into a cruel smirk.