The mage laughed—a greasy, throaty sound that slithered down her spine, settling in her stomach with cold dread.
She bolted to her feet, but there was nowhere to go. The mages surrounded her, terrifying in their hoods and shadows.
Fuck staying calm. Fuck staying in character. It was time to roast those motherfuckers.
Jaci lifted her hands, calling up her hellfire.
Nothing happened.
She took a deep breath, visualized the fire, the smokey taste in her lungs, the heat, the sparks.
Still, nothing fucking happened.
“Save your energy, witch-demon. You’re going to need it.” Gray-Eyes dangled a talisman before her eyes, a small silk pouch full of herbs and stones.
Jaci didn’t have to ask what was inside. Likely a lock of her hair, stolen from the demon who’d been chatting her up. She knew a proximal binding spell when she saw one.
Shit. It didn’t matter that she was half demon. Witch magic, hell magic… whatever spell they’d concocted, it fucking neutered her.
Dread turned to rage, lighting her up inside in a way her neutered hellfire did not.
The mages had fucking played her. The demon had played her. And she’d walked right into it.
Devil’s balls, that vampire was making her soft. Stupid.
“Need it forwhat?” she asked, though she suspected she already knew the answer. Group of deranged men, secret rooms, trapped witch. What the fuck else could it be?
The mages only stared at her.
“Seriously, boys?” She folded her arms across her chest and rolled her eyes, as if the weapons of wit and sarcasm were just as effective as hellfire. “Does this whole D&D charade actually work? This is a bar, for fuck’s sake! If you’re looking for some action, I’m sure there are plenty of witches out there just dying to throw a drink in your face.”
“We’re not interested in tainting ourselves with your flesh, witch-demon. It’s your blood we’re after.” Gray-Eyes hit a button on the wall, and the conference table—which she now saw was built on a platform attached to a mechanized track—slid forward, revealing a dark stairwell that smelled like seaweed and dead fish and undoubtedly led to some dank, unnameable hell Jaci had no interest in exploring.
“Well, thanks for the offer,” she said, “but that’s a hard pass. I—”
He shoved her down the stairs, the others crowding in close behind. She’d just gotten her footing when the conference table slid back into place, blotting out the last of the light from above, sealing her in a fucking tomb.
“Move.” Gray-Eyes—at least, she thought it was him—pushed her down a long hallway, nothing but bare rock walls slick with condensation. The fish smell grew stronger, the sound of the sea louder. After a few twists and turns, they arrived at the mouth of another chamber, no more than a small cave, the interior lit with hundreds of black candles tucked into its grooves and hollows. The floor was bare save for a sigil painted in red and surrounded by a circle of salt.
Pure, undiluted fear shot through her body, turning her legs to Jell-O.
Jaci knew the sight of a ritual sacrifice when she saw one.
And worse, she knew the sigil of hell’s oldest succubus.
Her fucking sister.
The other mages filed in behind her, each one choosing a candle, then gathering around the circle. Hoods drawn low, they began to chant in Latin, too softly for Jaci to make out the words.
“What the hell is this?” she breathed, her voice a shaky whisper.
Gray-Eyes shoved her to her knees and fisted her hair, yanking her head backward. Then, pressing an athame to her throat, he said, “Viansa, Dark Priestess of the realms, She Who Carries the Dark Flame, She For Whom the Gates Will Fall, sends her regards.”
Chapter Thirty
Over the bloody awful taste of his third vodka tonic, Gabriel nearly missed the scent of trouble. When it finally hit him, he knew it wasn’t the mood-setting sort, but the deadly one.
It was his witch. Her blood. Her fear.
