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He threw up his hands. “What good will my flames do against celaris!?” And who was this sorceress? He remembered long ago scrying two powerful sorceresses in his flames, the queens of Atlantia, Hecate and Elria. Hecate had been easy to scry, but Elria had shielded herself with celaris magic, making it difficult to find her. Then the Vindictus had attacked them, enslaving Hecate and eradicating Elria. Last year Hecate had broken free of the Vindictus’s spell, but she didn’t have celaris magic. Had her sister Elria resurrected from eradication? He clutched the claw with a trembling hand. That witch was far too powerful for him to beat by himself, but with the flames and the claw, he might stand a chance.
Use the claw,the spiders said.Your enemies shall never pass.
“I know this!” Why were his demonlings giving him advice? He was the master. He knew more than them!
He went to the cavern entrance, disgusted to find his two remaining lechers loitering there, backs slouched against the threshold wall, their mouths agape as they stared blankly at the fuzzy sky. He was even more disgusted by the way they smelled like rotting corpses. He wondered why he kept the big brutes around. They weren’t much use without their brothers, which was why the lechers had failed to find the girl. He remembered with a sneer how they had called her their mate, and he wondered if they would become a problem now that she was near. He thought about barring them from his cavern, but no, if the sorceress was as powerful as he feared, she’d heal them and use them against him. He would keep them for now, but he wouldn’t hesitate to feed them to his flames if they proved too much trouble.
He angrily waved them forward. “Come here!”
They turned toward him, their feet dragging the ground, their eyes vacant pools, their ugly, slack-jawed faces covered in matted patches of fur.
His ire rose. “Come here, I said!”
They moved toward him at a snail’s pace, their bones clacking and popping. He noted by the hollowness of their cheeks that they needed to feed, but he was in no mood to service them when he had to get back to his pretty witch.
He jutted a finger toward the heart of the cavern. “Keep walking.”
They dragged their feet past him, moaning about eating, but he refused to feed them now. Their hunger would force their obedience.
Clutching the claw until black blood pooled around the tip that pierced his thin flesh, he whispered a fortification spell, pleased when a smoky barrier rose up from the ground, encompassing the cavern’s entrance. He repeated the spell several more times until the barrier was harder than an iron door and he could barely see out of the thick membrane. Then he added one more spell, one of disorientation should anyone dare attack his shelter.
“Let’s see if they can get through that,” he chuckled.
By the time he finished, he found the lechers in the flame chamber, their backs to him while they faced the giant spider. She was still on her back, her legs curled into herself as if she was dead.
“Go to your corner,” he commanded.
No doubt they were gawking. Did they understand she was their mate, or were they more interested in her fresh blood? Ire pricked his veins when they refused to move.
He hit their backs with bolts of energy, and they flew forward, groaning while rubbing their smoking backsides. Fortunately, they said nothing else as they dragged themselves to their corner and leaned against the wall, waiting for him to chain them.
He heaved a frustrated breath as he motioned toward his demonlings. “Get me one of her fangs.” He nodded toward the white fangs growing out of her grotesque face.
The demonlings squealed.We cannot hurt her!
He snarled at them as they bobbled like the earth was rolling. “You can and you will!”
They hissed in response.We do not hurt our queen.
Their queen? “She is notyourqueen!” he hollered. “She ismyslave!”
That was the wrong thing to say. He knew as soon as the words escaped his mouth. He struck them with a bolt of magic the moment they advanced, his fingertips burning with the charge.
“Creatures of darkness,
Demonlings of scorn,
Return to the flames from which you were born!”
With a cry, he wrapped them up in one swirling, black funnel, then flung them toward the fire. They were sucked into the pit with ear-piercing squeals, disappearing like water down a drain until there was nothing left but ash and smoke. Such a shame he had to get rid of them. At least his lechers’ temperaments had been more predictable.
Knowing that before he resurrected the witch, he would need a way to restrain her, he went to his adjoining potion room and dug around his many jars and chests until he found what he was looking for, an amethyst jewel suspended on a leather necklace. Though he hadn’t needed it in centuries, it was still good to keep around for these very moments. After shoving the necklace into his pocket, he quickly returned to his flame chamber, anticipation fueling his movements. Soon, and his sweet virgin would belong to him.
He snatched a poker from the hearth and burned the tip in his flames. Then he used it to burn off one of her fangs. He smiled when it fell into his outstretched hand. He went to the spider, whispering a powerful sleeping spell, lest she wake during the exorcism. He called on his magic to thrust the fang into the spider’s big, red abdomen.
Her eyes flew open, and she let out a shriek that rattled his bones. And then the spider crumbled before his eyes, black dust exploding in a cloud, leaving in its place a grotesque gray cocoon covered in black membranes. He blasted the cocoon, too, revealing a young demon witch covered in soot. She laid hunched over on the ground for a long moment, blinking at the floor. He inhaled her scent. Beneath all the rot and decay, he tried, and failed, to distinguish her sweet virgin blood.
He gritted brittle teeth, feeling them crunch with the movement. Had those greedy wolves already stolen her virginity? He let out a low growl. He would make them all pay.
