I counted seven demons. The minimum required to form a coven.
I swallowed. What’s he planning?
Kismet’s eyes tightened when she saw me, but her reaction quickly melted into smooth apathy before anyone could notice.
I frowned at El Diablo. He was the only demon not showing his face. Then my eyes drifted to the walls and ceiling—all made of polished wood.
If his whole body were on fire, the ship would easily burn down.
So under that hood he must have been wearing his human face He doesn’t want anyone to see how he looks as a normal man, I thought. I wondered if it embarrassed him or made him feel weak. Perhaps he couldn’t be himself around anyone without feeling doubt and vulnerability.
It made me feel strangely sad.
El Diablo chuckled as he approached us. He lowered his arm, and his flames warmed my already flushed face.
“I see these chains do nothing to deter your blossoming romance,” he said. “It’s sweet, in a way. You must be saying your final goodbyes.”
I clenched my teeth and rose to my feet along with Oliver. His hand remained wrapped around my waist.
“Why are we here?” I demanded. The gravelly crack of my voice made me sound a lot weaker than I’d hoped.
El Diablo spread his arms. “We are aboard the lovely Vizcaya, a Spanish vessel. My intel informs me the Spanish will not last long in this battle. It’s only a matter of time before this ship is destroyed, along with its occupants and any . . . evidence I may leave behind.” I heard the smirk in his tone.
I stiffened. Evidence? I remembered the clues left behind from the blood ritual I’d investigated with Oliver, Elena, and Manuel. Was El Diablo going to perform another ritual and hide the evidence with the sinking ship? If Alba’s coven couldn’t find it, they would never know what had happened here.
“I wanted to inform you that your death will not be in vain. I should be thanking you for presenting such a magnanimous gift. To sacrifice a Timecaster is no small feat. I was hoping to Ascend in the next decade or so, but with the power you present, I can achieve this much sooner. Today, in fact.”
My blood ran cold as I numbly tried to process his words. Ascending . . . to the Fourth Tier? Was that even possible?
“And I have you to thank for it, dear Oliver,” El Diablo said, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction.
My heart stopped for a solid beat. Thunder roared in my ears from a nearby explosion. “What are you talking about?”
El Diablo laughed, the sound harsh and grating. He pointed a fiery finger at Oliver. “This man has betrayed you. He works for me.” El Diablo dipped his head into a bow. “So I thank you, my loyal servant, for finally delivering my prize to me.”
Chapter 29
“WHAT—WHAT ARE YOU TALKING about?” I whispered. My gaze cut to Oliver.
His jaw clenched, and his eyes remained fixed on the floor. His nostrils flared and his eyebrows creased as he whispered, “I’m sorry, Desi.”
Time froze. My heart stopped.
Betrayal sliced through me, deep and merciless. The cavity inside me opened up again, swallowing my inner peace. The walls in my chest shuddered and fell, and my resolve and certainty crumbled with it.
My parents’ faces swam in my head, their eyes wide and vacant and lifeless. With my armor gone, the pain from that loss flooded through me like a waterfall of blood and death.
I wanted to hunch over and scream. I wanted to collapse and shut out the world. But somehow, I remained upright as I stared numbly at Oliver’s face. His eyes were closed, and his eyebrows pinched together. Agony and devastation pulled his lips downward.
His face looked so broken I might’ve pitied him.
If he hadn’t just admitted he was working for a demon lord.
“How—how long?” I whispered, my voice trembling.
Oliver’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. His expression crumpled as if pleading with me for a way out.
“How long?” I screamed. My fingers shook as they balled into fists.
“Since we rescued the Santeros,” Oliver muttered.
Horror pooled into my stomach. So when we’d opened up to each other in his mother’s flower shop, when the shapeshifter killed Manuel, when Oliver consoled me over Manuel’s death . . . he’d been working for El Diablo.
When we’d kissed . . .
The quivering of my fists intensified until I struck Oliver across the cheek so hard he stumbled backward.
“You lying bastard!” I shrieked.
When Oliver righted himself, I shoved his shoulders and backed him up against the wall.
“Desi—”
I smacked him again.
Shock and indignation widened his eyes. His cheek glowed red from my slaps. I waved a shaking finger at him, my lips trembling.
“Don’t,” I growled. “Don’t speak to me. You are nothing to me.”
He flinched, his eyes hurt. His mouth opened and closed again, but he must’ve realized he couldn’t say anything to fix this. He swallowed audibly, his eyes shining with tears, and he nodded.
“Get on with it,” I said loudly, turning back to El Diablo and his cronies. Perhaps death would bring a sweet release from this raw, gaping hole in my chest. This agonizing, crippling wound like someone had carved a chunk out of me. It throbbed and festered with such intensity that black spots danced in front of my eyes.
Can’t. Breathe.
“Yes, I can see I’ve prolonged this long enough,” El Diablo said, but the amusement in his voice indicated he was enjoying this display. “Howard.”
Howard stepped forward, his lips pressed together as he clutched a large jar of something gray and powdery. His eyes darted to Oliver, his lips pulling down in an apologetic grimace before he crouched over and sprinkled the substance on the ground. He shuffled around us until the powder formed a circle around me and Oliver.
“Draw your blades,” El
