Garden of Serpents (The Demon Queen Trials #3)(12)

I shook my head. “I feel like you’re repackaging your revenge as ‘freedom.’”

He arched an eyebrow. “The demons in the City of Thorns must be set free. It’s what a Lightbringer is supposed to do. Lucifer urbem spinarum libarabit—the Lightbringer will set free the City of Thorns. It is our destiny, whether you realize it or not.”

“Free so they can feed on mortals again?” I asked. “Like you once did.”

“Yes, I like the idea of restoring the world to the way it once was. You know something is missing, don’t you? We’re creatures of the forest, of the wild. We’re not meant for cities of stone.” He reached for my cheek, then pulled his hand away, his fingers tightening. “We are supposed to hunt—and yes, sometimes that means hunting mortals. That is our nature, love. And we are meant to terrify.”

My eyes narrowed, and I took a step closer. “Demons seem happy here. This place is fucking amazing.”

A lock of his silver hair grazed his cheekbones. “But it’s not enough, is it? This place is a prison of civilization.” Disdain laced his tone. He leaned down, and his breath warmed the side of my face as he whispered, “Why not give in to what you desire? I know that you feel it, too.” The warmth rolling off his muscled body made my breath catch.

Maybe it was the leftover lust magic, but my pulse was out of control.

“I don’t want people to die.” I was reminding myself, wasn’t I?

“And yet, I could hear your heart racing at the thought of freedom.”

I pulled myself away from him, heading for the wooden doors.

Of course I couldn’t expect Orion to change—he’d been like this for centuries.

Don’t you know that you should never let yourself hope?

From the stairs, I turned to face him. “I’m going to sleep, Orion. I’ll let you know when I’ve decided on the next trial.”

“Don’t trust those demons you were with,” he called out.

“I don’t trust anyone.” I gave him a wry smile. “Least of all you.”





7





ORION





By my library window, I sipped a scotch. Books and candles littered my desk. From here, I had a view of the Abraxas courtyard, dappled with red petals, and Rowan’s palace just on the other side. Inside, the windows of her new home glowed with warm light.

I’d watched as she’d stepped inside the heavy oak doors and they’d closed behind her.

I rose and ran a hand through my hair as I crossed through the library. Three weeks ago, when I’d become king, I’d moved into this house.

I always hated the ostentatiousness of the Tower of Baal, and I had no intention of living there. Ever. I didn’t want to be the center of attention—that was for people like Cambriel and Nergal. And now that I was no longer pretending to be a duke, I didn’t need the swanky seaside apartment. I just wanted a little cottage in the shadows.

But I wasn’t exactly deprived here. I had a library, a balcony, bedroom walls lined with books. Everything was tidy, in exactly the right place.

In the evenings, I ate dinner with my cook at the dining room table with a roaring fire. Amon had been my family’s cook before the Lilu massacre. He’d returned to me as soon as he’d learned who I really was. He was the only person here who seemed willing to talk to me about the Lilu, and the only one who talked to me like I was a normal person.

Every night, his two black Labs would curl up under our feet as we ate, hoping for scraps. Castor and Pollux, they were called.

I stepped into my bedroom. This was an old home, built around the time when I was born. The walls were dark wood, with two carved mahogany columns in the center. A little fire burned in the fireplace. In my room, the balcony doors were open, making the flames dance. A single painting hung on the walls: the succubus Lilith, with a snake climbing up her bare leg. Her hair was bright red.

Whisky in hand, I stepped out onto the balcony and glanced up at the stars. I settled into a wooden chair that overlooked the Abraxas courtyard.

With my free hand, I traced my finger over my throat. Even though I’d healed, I could still feel where she’d ripped it open with her claws. When she’d done that, I’d had the distinct impression she’d enjoyed it. The viciousness suited her.

The problem was, she wasn’t going to let herself give in to her true nature.

I heard the little clicks of Labrador claws on the tile floor, and I turned to see Castor ambling over to me, a silvery sheen on his black fur. Moonlight glinted in his dark eyes, and he looked up at me with a distinctly guilty expression. When I noticed the smears of butter on his face, I understood why.

“Castor,” I said. “You absolute glutton.”

He lowered his head and crossed to my feet, where he made himself at home, curling up with a sigh. A salty wind swept over us, rustling his dark fur.

Behind me, the sound of footfalls echoed off the wooden walls.

I turned to see Amon crossing toward me, a glass of whisky in his own hand. His dark brown hair hung over broad shoulders.

Drinks on the balcony—our nightly ritual in these past few weeks.

As he sat down in the chair next to me, my gaze snagged on the jagged scar that ran down his face, from his scalp, across his nose, to his bristled jawline. When the mortals had come for us, he’d tried to protect my mom. I remembered when they’d split his head in half, and I’d assumed he’d died.