It wasn’t enough. Nothing was.
On a weary exhale, he opened his eyes, letting Minerva’s image scatter, lost to his memory. The endless expanse of the Underworld greeted him. The shrieks and pleas of victims returned, ten times worse than they had gripped him before. Dots spread over his vision, and the pressure behind his eyes built. He breathed through the sensation until the dizziness passed. One more deep inhale, and he steadied himself, pushing back the weakness only Minerva knew about.
He turned his back on the domain he’d been tasked to oversee and made his way inside, each step slower than the last. Choices, past and present, weighed him down. They couldn’t be ignored, however. He’d picked his path, and the consequences of his decision were inescapable.
At his office, he straightened his spine, then flung the door open.
Lucas, the Demon King, stood with his hands clasped behind his back and his gaze on Minerva’s portrait. He glanced over his shoulder. His plain brown eyes held curiosity. “You summoned me?”
Arawn shut the door behind him. “I am leaving the Underworld, and I want you to maintain my rule while I’m gone.”
Lucas raised a brown brow, the only sign of his shock. “And how do you plan to pull off such a feat? You are tied to this realm, as I am.”
“Through my mate’s connection to the heavens.” Minerva just didn’t know she’d be helping him yet.
“I see.” Lucas faced Minerva’s portrait. “She plans to leave the Underworld too? I thought she’d vowed to remain here under your”—he cleared his throat—“protection.”
Protection. Arawn almost snorted at the demon’s word choice. None of the creatures in the Underworld would dare harm Minerva. No, it wasn’t protection Arawn offered her but relief. Within his realm of desolation, she thrived.
“She will remain here, and you will distract her from the unfortunate side effect of her position.”
“I am an incubus.” A leering grin spread over Lucas’s ordinary face. “The only comfort I can give is sex.”
Arawn didn’t bother responding to the demon’s taunting. For one, Arawn didn’t doubt his mate’s love or fidelity. More importantly, he knew what Lucas wanted above all else, and it had nothing to do with sex.
“Do so, and I will revoke my pardon. You and your flock will descend into the lowest pits of Hell.”
Lucas stepped forward, body tensed and hands balled into fists. “You need me to corral all the demon species. I am their king. You promised—”
“I promised nothing. Fear kept the lesser demons in check before you arrived. It will do so again if you lose your position. Do not forget why you were sentenced here.” Arawn motioned toward the body Lucas inhabited. “Or our deal.”
Lucas’s nostrils flared on his rough inhales. Finally, he cursed. “So be it.”
“Good.” Arawn nodded. “Until I return, then.”
He opened the door and stepped out, leaving Lucas behind in his temporary office.
“You plan to stop Dagda?”
The mention of his enemy sent a wave of anger through Arawn. Sharpened nails punched from the ends of his fingers. Fangs descended, and his jaw lengthened. He embraced the change, allowing the black, scaled beast feared by the humans to claim him. His massive wings unfolded. One flap, then two, and he closed the distance between himself and the demon who focused on Arawn’s wings, envy darkening his eyes.
Arawn crouched and tipped up Lucas’s chin with a curled talon. “That name is not to be spoken. Dagda is dead.”
“The fairy king is not dead.” Lucas narrowed his eyes. “He is Dar now, leader of the Unseelie Court, and transformed into a being even the Triad cannot touch.”
Arawn leaned closer. “Diseased, not transformed.”
He shoved the other male. Lucas flew backward and hit the desk, knocking over the wooden table. Scrolls and tomes fell. A crystal decanter followed. The bottle smashed, spilling wine over the millennium-old works. Neither of them glanced at the ruined pieces. Their gazes remained locked.
“Diseased, yes.” Lucas pushed to his feet. “But be mindful of your words. Dagda is not dead, nor is he weak. He grows stronger every day, and soon he will make good on his promise.”
To unleash his entire Court upon the mortal realm. Only Arawn stood in Dagda’s way.
Arawn allowed his winged form to recede and met Lucas’s accusing glare. Arawn didn’t bother arguing. The demon was right. Instead, Arawn offered the other male the one thing that would guarantee he carried out Arawn’s order without question—hope.
“I will return soon. Maintain my realm, and I will revoke my hold over you. You will no longer need to fear punishment at my hand.”
Lucas sucked in a breath. “You vow it.”
A vise squeezed Arawn’s chest and a sense of foreboding settled over him, but he knew it could not be avoided. Lucas was the only male Arawn trusted enough not only to oversee the workings of the Underworld but to guard the destructive powers it contained.
Arawn nodded. “I vow it.”
“And my followers? Do you vow not to punish them?”
“No, demon.” Arawn laughed. “I do not.”
“But they are innocent. They—”
“They followed your lead. Stupidity landed them in Hell. I cannot take the chance their poor judgment will affect my holdings. Keep them in check, and they will continue to live freely in my world.”
Lucas lifted a lip, but no sound accompanied his enraged expression.
“Do you agree?” Arawn asked. There could be no misunderstandings. Too many lives depended on it.
“I agree to maintain your law as you have set forth, to comfort your mate as if she was my own, and to ensure the creatures you’ve restrained here do not slip through the damaged gateway to the human realm. Is that enough?”
Arawn gave a single dip of his chin, then pivoted on his heel and strode down the hall.
“What is your plan?”
Lucas’s question stopped Arawn’s steps. He glanced over his shoulder. “I will build an army
