Guinevere had fallen silent, her demeanor displaying dismay. She’d clearly come to the same conclusion as I had. She was a notoriously happy, smiling, even loving succubus, maybe because of her youth or her naiveté, but all of that had vanished at Lord Zebulon’s announcement. Her usually bright blue eyes darkened to deep blue in a physical hint that her emotions had taken a dark turn.
Guinevere would never survive being sent to Hell for eternity.
Lord Zebulon nodded at me, as if he could see that I’d worked out the dilemma. “I need to talk to Ashmedai,” he said, giving me a stern look.
No words needed to pass between us for me to know his unspoken command. He wanted me to remain here and protect Guinevere while he did his best to smooth the fires in Hell. We needed time to clear her name. Hopefully, Ashmedai would grant us that reprieve.
I gave him a nod of acknowledgment, vowing silently that I wouldn’t fail him. He wasn’t the only one with a soft spot for the pretty succubus.
Lord Zebulon straightened the lapels of his suit jacket and smoothed away the concern in his brow. “I’ll return soon.” He vanished on that last word, leaving only power and the faintest hint of smoke in his wake.
Silence fell over Guinevere’s cheerful kitchen, the lack of sound oddly loud and glaringly disturbed as the timer rang out from the oven, echoing off the high ceilings.
Fuck.
I stalked toward it and slammed a palm on the blasted thing, crushing it like a piece of tinfoil.
Guinevere’s frightened, haunted look didn’t change at all.
I bent down and retrieved her cake tray from the floor, noting the ridiculously bright and happy sunflowers decorating the edge. Just the kind of gaudy bauble I’d expect from the succubus. I set it on the counter next to her elbow and then opened the oven.
“The cake is done,” I said, grabbing her vibrant red mittens from a drawer beside her. “Let’s eat.”
Chapter Six
Zebulon
Guinevere’s eyes followed me all the way to Hell.
Broken.
She knew what Ashmedai’s involvement meant—banishment. And just the thought of it had shattered her.
Guinevere always wore her emotions on her sleeve, making her so incredibly easy to read. It was part of what I adored about her—the innate trust that accompanied her innocence.
She wasn’t inexperienced, just content with life and happy to let everyone around her know it. Her smiles were true and sweet. And that lack of fear over displaying emotion was what led to her proclaiming love for Zane.
He’d called her young, or rather, achild,because it was a naïve declaration to make. But also an admirable one. She’d wanted him to know how she felt because she hadn’t felt afraid to voice her feelings, and that alone took amazing courage. However, it was a misguided infatuation underlined in a lack of living. She’d latched onto him as someone who had helped her, and that wasn’t a proper foundation for love.
Besides, demons didn’t indulge in such frivolous emotions.
Our souls bonded. That went far beyond the mere concept of love. Some would even call love a mortal endearment. Humans couldn’t fathom what a true bond meant, their souls too short-lived to endure such an intense experience.
Regardless, I respected Guinevere’s emotive abilities and her intense need to share her feelings with all around her. It was part of what made her so damn irresistible.
And to see that fear in her gaze, that crude acceptance of her fate, had nearly brought me to my knees.
I had to fix it.
Even if it meant meeting with Ashmedai again so soon after being dismissed from his realm. I stood outside his palace gates, waiting for permission to enter. His Royal Guard had demanded the purpose of my visit at the realm entrance, which I’d promptly provided. And now he was keeping me at bay on purpose, ensuring I felt his displeasure at my presence.
We weren’t exactly on the best terms after my daughter’s little attempt at a coup d'état. If the Archdemon didn’t have her in custody, I would kill her myself.
I felt no remorse for wanting her dead.
She’d defied me in every way, thus earning my disavowal.
Just like her mother.
