But now, he smelled of Lyssena, of her skin, of her warmth, of the honey she had eaten and the soft wet minerals of the hot spring where he had held her. For a reason he could not explain, that scent pleased him in a way that was both unfamiliar and deeply satisfying.
Just as it pleased him that Lyssena was beginning to put together the pieces of the human system, that she was starting to question the foundation of the world she had come from, and what she had been told to believe.
She still thought he was a god, but not entirely; she was finally hesitating.
He wanted her to understand, but not through fear or doctrine, not through the human ways of sermons and submission. He wanted her to discover the truth for herself, to unearth it slowly like one might uncover buried light beneath layers of dust and time, and he would be there to guide her.
As he moved, Erevos rounded the high, jagged walls carved from shadow, his gaze scanning the endless paths of the cave system he had claimed for his own, the air around him thick with the silence of undisturbed dark.
So far, there was nothing unusual.
But when he reached the mouth of the outer cave, something caught his eye—a thin streak of red slashed across the stone.
A trace of blood.
And demons, as he well knew, did not bleed.
Chapter Eighteen
Blood Where There Should Be None
Erevos
Erevos followed the scent of blood flooding his senses with a metallic tang that clung to the inside of his throat. It smelled like the armor worn by knights in the human realm, like coins rubbed together between anxious fingers, like pots and trays warmed by fire. These were familiar metals, but strange here, for such things did not belong in The Void, had no place in its vast, airless silence.
And that alone made the scent dangerous.
He did not know what he would find at the end of it, only that it was foul and wrong, and he had to see. So he went.
He passed through the crooked trees, their limbs like hands reaching into the ever-dark, and pushed through bushes with leaves as thin as ash. He crossed stones as smooth as bone and rivers that did not flow with water but with shadow made thick and slow, like ink drawn through silk.
And still the scent pulled him forward.
It led him to a narrow mouth of another cave, one among many scattered across The Void, but this one reeked more than the others, reeked of wet iron and rotting heat, reeked of something fresh.
He walked inside, and the stillness changed around him, growing heavier and damper.
Erevos began to hear something spilling.
Something tearing, wet, and uneven.
Something quickening like frantic steps or breath or both.
And then something breaking.
The deeper he walked, the stronger the scent became, until finally, in the center of the cave, perched atop a stone slick with something dark, he saw a demon. Low and hunched, sitting still in the middle of the cave.
“Erevos,” said the demon, its voice low and wet.
Erevos did not know his name, but he had seen this one lurking in the far corners of The Void before. Now, he feasted.
The demon crouched over the carcass of a deer. It was dead, rotting, alien to this place, for no such creature existed in The Void, and it tore into its flesh with a hunger that seemed unnatural for a creature like him.
Bones, slick with gore, clattered to the floor and rested against his knees, and blood . . . thick, dark blood poured freely down his chest, soaking into the slick sheen of his black skin, coating the ridges of his rib cage and slithering down to something Erevos could barely comprehend.
An organ, hard and pulsing, jutted grotesquely from between the demon’s legs, and he was stroking it, his blood-slicked hand moving faster and faster, pumping with a rhythm.
The demon breathed hard through his jagged teeth, each one glistening red, and Erevos could only stare.
