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Megaera let out a low, deep bellow. “What’s wrong with your hands?”
Eyes hardening, the girl waved those bloated sausages in her face. “Look at them!”
“Ahh, so the transformation has begun.” Megaera tapped her chin with a smile. She was almost sorry to see the Fae go, for how badly she wanted to eat her. “Can you hear me, Gaea?” Megaera called.
A sibilant hiss came out of the Fae as her eyes turned deep crimson. “Yess!”
The Fae shrank back, a horrified look in her eyes as they shifted back to a pretty blue lined with lavender. “What is happening?”
“My sister is taking over,” Megaera taunted in a sing-song voice, “mind and body.”
“No!” the Fae shrieked like a berchta, her large, luminous eyes filling with tears. “I will throw myself off a cliff before that happens!”
“In that case, I’m glad you have come.” Megaera rubbed her hands together. “I’ve been waiting centuries for my sister to join me. You will not take her from me now.” She motioned toward her demonlings as they finished gorging on their mannus. “Put her in a cell.”
The spiders crawled off the pod, their red eyes glowing even more with fuel in their bodies as they advanced toward the table.
“No! No!” The Fae scrambled off the table, holding out her hands. “Please!”
Megaera clucked her tongue. “Do you think your pathetic cries will sway me? I butcher mothers and feed their babies poisoned milk. My demon heart cares nothing for humans or Fae,” she said with a sneer. “You are food to me, nothing more.”
The girl continued to back away as the demonlings advanced. Then her eyes widened when she spied Megaera’s butchering blade hanging from the slate wall. She lunged for it, but Megaera was faster, blasting it away with her magic. She struck the Fae with another blast, inwardly smiling when her head made a loud crack as it banged against the slate. She let out a moan and crumpled to the ground like a ragdoll. The demonlings swarmed her, carrying her toward the cell.
“Soon, sister,” she whispered while rubbing her talons together. “And we will finally be together.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Damas
Resurrected demon
inhabiting King Fachnan’s corpse
The demon Damas, known by his new unfamiliar name as King Fachnan, paced the floor of the great hall, cursing the wild grass beneath his feet and the white witch who’d shattered the ceiling. The weeds had finally invaded the hall, growing over everything, around table legs and over chairs, destroying what was once no doubt a beautiful room.
The sound of his wyvern’s cries coming from the outside garden was like an anvil to his skull. Damn those fire mages for injuring his wyvern. He should’ve shifted into his true form and crushed every one of them. If only his true form didn’t put a bigger target on his back, and if only he didn’t fear damaging his host body. He needed a green witch, or he feared the wyvern would succumb to his wounds, and he would soon decompose past the point of healing. Whatever magic had allowed a demon to resurrect a corpse didn’t allow them to heal a host body a second time without a skilled healer.
For three days, he had scoured the city for any signs of life, but there were none. He’d found only one apothecary with shattered bottles and scattered herbs and had no idea what to do for the wyvern’s injuries, other than pack mud into the wounds. The mud might have made the injuries worse, for they were starting to smell. Though it was hard to tell, as the decay from both their bodies smelled the same.
“Greetings, King Fachnan, or should I say, metamorphi?”
Damas spun around with a snarl, nearly tripping over a tree root while glaring at the winged fire mage who faced him. He would’ve run his sword through the mage, save for the flash of red in his eyes.
Demon.
Though he recognized another soul from his world, that didn’t mean they were allies. Damas still might decide to kill him. He slowly circled the fire mage, one hand on the hilt of his sword while he examined the intruder. He had typical dark Ravini hair and wings and an olive complexion, but one side of his face looked like a melted ball of wax, his ear and hair missing, no doubt after a confrontation with other fire mages.
“Who are you?” he demanded.
The mage bowed slightly, his wings pinned behind him. “I am known by the unfamiliar name of Gordin.” He stood, arching his one good brow. “And you?”
Damas’s top lip curled back. “You may call me Fachnan.”
“Assuming your host’s name so easily?” Gordin let out a burst of laughter that made Damas’s blood boil. “You are a true Naraka.”
“What do you want?” he snapped, in no mood to be scorned by this demon.
Gordin stepped forward, holding out a hand. “A bargain?”
