Devil's Punch

looks we got from other women, the oh my God, you’re seriously a couple stares, the she must be a freak in bed speculation, didn’t bother me. This time it really didn’t.

Yet I stopped myself from going to him. With Sybella breathing down my neck and a comatose dog to worry about, I couldn’t be making out with Chance. Even though I wanted to. And that was a little worrisome. Not that he wasn’t totally kissable, but when in Sheol, I had to wonder if the demons were fucking with my libido. I wasn’t going to dance to their tune.

So with a faint, regretful sigh, I hauled the least offensive garment out of the wardrobe. In side drawers, I discovered their idea of underpants suitable to my station. Chance’s jaw dropped. And I stifled a scream of frustration.

“Seriously?” I said out loud.

“That’s so…” He was grinning.

“I hate you. Go take a cold shower or something.”

While he mercifully did as I ordered, I scrambled into the ridiculous contraption. The undergarment was all one piece, designed to pinch and push up, and give me a demon-style body with impossible curves. It was a little hard to breathe after I got it on, and then I pulled the dress on. The fabric slithered in a disconcerting manner as I smoothed it down. Then, to my horror, I saw it…moving. Tightening. I went to yank it off, suspecting it would try to kill me, and then I realized it was shaping itself perfectly to my demon-enhanced silhouette.

Holy shit.

Light as air, it felt like wearing nothing at all. There had to be magick involved, because with the dress on, even the horrible corset-thing didn’t bind like it had. Naturally demons would think of something like this since they lived for temptation. And what better way to drive men crazy? I was eyeing the headdress when Chance stepped out of the bathroom. He stopped in his tracks, towel in hand.

“Dear God.” His voice went hoarse.

I admit his expression gave me a purely adrenal thrill, like if I offered him the slightest encouragement, he’d back me up against the wall and do me hard with my elegant gown around my waist. And what woman didn’t love that feeling?

Focus, I told myself.

“There are clothes for you, too.” I broke the spell over him by using my words.

He exhaled and gave himself a slow shake before crossing to get dressed. Then I went to check on Butch. The dog still couldn’t be roused.

Heartsick, I paged through the blue grimoire, muttering to myself. Chance skimmed the other one alongside me. I wanted to believe he cared as much as I did. After all, he’d been there when we adopted the dog. Together, we almost constituted a family. Maybe we were if the rules were generous in their definitions of such things.

A tear slipped down my cheek, and that made me mad. My dog lay like a tiny statue, unresponsive. Even his flesh had gone cold.

He’s not dead. He can’t be.

But if he was, I would ascend and level this place.

Without much hope, I tried a couple of spells, but Greydusk pounded on the door again and worry laced the impatience of its tone. “We truly should not keep Sybella waiting.”

Well, Chance was ready—and he looked like a prince. No shit, he really did. He wore black trousers, a white shirt edged in silver, and a sleeveless surcoat, which wasn’t exactly what I’d call a vest. With a sword belt and a couple of rapiers, he could have starred in an adventure movie.

“Butch will be okay,” he said, soothing me with hands on my shoulders.

I squared them. Sure. Just like Shannon would be. With me at the helm and his luck staining me as we went along, there was no way this could go bad. I kept the thoughts to myself as I stepped out into the antechamber, where Greydusk was waiting for us. Not surprisingly, the demon looked the same as the day before.

“It’s about time,” it muttered.

But that didn’t prevent the Imaron from sweeping me a surprisingly elegant bow. Court manners, I knew instinctively, though why I’d recognize them as such when I’d grown up in a cursed Southern town so small you could blink and miss it, I had no clue. Movies, I thought. Or maybe it was more inborn knowledge that Kel had mentioned, bred in my blood and bone from the genes I carried.

“Shall we?” I ignored the obeisance.

With unpracticed hands, I lifted my skirts and followed Greydusk. Gilder had gone at some point, leaving another hauntingly exquisite Luren in his place. This one was darkness with an inky river of hair and eyes that shone like polished obsidian in his dusky face. I swept past with less than half a glance; that was the way I had to roll here. In Sheol, I might find land mines everywhere.

Greydusk did not greet him, so I passed down the hall in silence. When we reached the imposing double doors, the demon paused. “Remember my warnings. Agree to nothing. You must bargain with her for sufficient freedom to investigate the city and find your friend or she will hold you as her benign hostage.”

“For how long?”

The Imaron replied gravely, “Until your will is no longer your own.”

That was an insidious thought. Sybella didn’t need to move against me. She could just keep me here, close to her, gradually becoming seduced by the constant exposure to heady demon magick. Eventually, my will would falter, and given my performance at the Chasm of Despair, I imagined it wouldn’t take long.

Our time’s limited. Good to know.

I puffed out a fortifying breath and gestured for the demon to show me in. Instead, Greydusk threw open the doors and boomed in an impressive voice, “To the assembled august personages of the Luren court, I present to you Her Highness, Corine Solomon, the Once and Future Queen, now and forever more, the Binder!”

What. The. Fuck.

With an introduction like that, I had no choice but to put some swagger in my step. I entered the room bareheaded, chin high, and I was thunderstruck to find myself surrounded by Luren. The aura was dizzying, so strong I almost blacked out from the collective sensual overload, but the charm bracelet Tia had given me pulsed on my arm. Pain lashed up to my elbow, but it also settled my head. Likely it wasn’t supposed to work that way, but magick never hit dead center where I was concerned. Things went wrong or backward; at the moment, I was grateful I could think.

This was Sybella’s version of an ambush, then. In confronting me with the assembled might of her court, she’d calculated that I would buckle and I’d be her slave—one way or another—by the time I left this room. And without Tia’s help, it might’ve gone down like that.

Beside me, Chance collapsed. My heart twisted with fear, but I couldn’t show too much concern or they would realize how much he meant to me.

Instead, I offered a wintry smile. “It is a pleasure.” Most of the Luren knew I meant I’d rather eat glass than make nice with them, but they did seem impressed by my fortitude. Who the hell knew how long it would last? I skimmed the room instead of approaching Sybella. “But do you truly mean to conduct our business amid such a multitude? How…egalitarian of you.”

By her sharp sound, she knew precisely what I meant. “Guards, clear the room, save for Gilder and Lash.”

In short order, the minions carried out her command. When the influence dulled, Chance stirred at my feet. Greydusk helped him up. I held myself stiff and still, conscious of Chance swaying at my shoulder. It had to be weird for him, hearing me described this way, even stranger that I’d stood against their charms. He’d found me clerking at a dry cleaners for fuck’s sake, but it was no less bizarre for me, remembering that Greydusk had called him a godling. And maybe that was why he’d felt that “click” he tried to explain; it had been our mutually odd heritages perking up.

Greydusk stepped up on my other side, so that I had an honor guard of my own. I felt pretty sure he wouldn’t let Sybella get within touching distance, and I wouldn’t look into her eyes.

Fixing my gaze over her left shoulder, I said softly, “You did something to my pet. Not one day, and you’ve already broken your promise.”

She hissed out a breath at the boldness of my sally. “You dare to call me oathbreaker, here in the heart of my