Dark Desires After Dusk (Immortals After Dark #6)(27)

“I touched the rim.” She put her chin up. “There was transference. I can’t drink it now.”

Instead of laughing at her, he reached behind her seat to grab another bottle. He opened it without contaminating the rim, then handed it to her. “These shorter caps must be a pain in the ass.”

Her lips parted. She’d complained to Mei about the newfangled caps just the other week.

“So, you feeling overwhelmed yet?” he asked.

“A tad.” She took a drink. She continued to feel as if she were reading fiction—as if all of this were far too fantastic to be true.

Even when a thousand-year-old demon sat a foot from her.

“Read the book to me, and I’ll add details or explain things.”

“How can I trust you? You said Valkyrie are docile. In The Book of Warriors, I read about Kaderin the Cold-hearted, an assassin who strings up fangs collected from the heads of vampires she’s decapitated. And then there is Emmaline the Unlikely, who slew her own father. Cut him up into three pieces.” Three. I like Emmaline already. “Clearly, they are the picture of docility.”

“Like I said, I was just having a bit of fun. It’d be like saying sirens don’t like to sing.”

She tilted her head at him. “So if I had questions, you’d answer them truthfully?”

“Yeah, if you answer questions about yourself.”

She didn’t see the harm. “Very well. I’ll start. How many demonarchies are there? Where are they?”

“There are hundreds. Almost every breed of demon—from the smoke demons like R?k to the pathos demons—has a kingdom of some kind, usually in a separate plane.”

“Separate plane? There are such things?”

He nodded. “There are more dimensions than can be mapped.”

“What’s your kingdom called?”

“Rothkalina.” When he said it, his accent became more pronounced, as if even the mention of his home brought on keen feeling.

“How do you get there?” she asked.

“The most accessible portal is in southern Africa.”

And that explained the accent. “So does it look like an alternate universe? Does it have purple skies and a green sun?”

“Nah. Rothkalina looks a lot like the west coast of North America.”

“Oh,” she said, feeling a bit silly. Then she frowned. “But if Omort is a sorcerer, why would he want to take over a demon kingdom?”





12





Clever chit, Cade thought. Few ever asked him that question, though it seemed one of the most material in his mind.

“The land is rich,” he answered. “And the kingdom is strategically located.”

But in truth, Omort had no use for the kingdom, and only kept it because he could. The one who controls Tornin controls the kingdom.

Omort desired what was within the castle.

Before written history, Tornin had been constructed around the legendary Well of Souls—to protect that mystickal font of power from sorcerers like Omort. And the rage demons had been dispatched to Tornin to safeguard the stronghold.

Yet they’d never been told exactly what the Well of Souls . . . did.

“Why are you called rage demons?”

“We get . . . enraged when we turn demonic. Mindless fury and all that.”

“Turn demonic? Like when you fought tonight.”

“Yeah, well, that was just a hint.” In his fully demonic form, his skin would darken, reddening, while his body grew taller and larger. His fangs would elongate, and his horns would sharpen, reaching their full size. In that state, he could emit a toxin from the ends that could temporarily paralyze even an immortal.

She swallowed. “And how often do you get enraged?”

“It’s extremely rare to turn fully. It happens only when a demon’s life or the life of one of his family is in jeopardy.” Or when he claimed his female for the first time.

“Why is Lorekind hidden from humans?”

“Historically, anytime some faction comes out of the closet, they get slaughtered.”

“Like who?”

“For millennia, the witches kept outing themselves—until that last rash of burnings. And all those people in the past who were killed because they were supposedly possessed by demons? They were demons.”

“But how do all these beings keep secret from humans?”

“It’s easier than you think. We mainly stick to crazy cities, party towns. Most humans assume that anything off is a costume or, these days, part of an MTV prank.” He grew more serious. “But every myth is an example of when some Lore creature boned up.”

“What would you do if you got pulled over right now? What if you threw on your hat and a cop wanted you to take it off?”

“A lot of demons would run, collect a couple of bullets, then get out of sight to trace.”

“Trace? I read about that. It means to teleport?”

He nodded. “But not all demon breeds can do it, and of those that have the potential, they have to work at it to master it.”

“I assume you can’t since you didn’t trace us instead of going through the swamp.”

“I used to be able to. For centuries I enjoyed that power. But Omort bound my ability to trace. My brother’s as well.”