The Stone Demon (5 page)

She shivered, remembering once again his gaze and the way he’d spoken to her. As that thought crossed her mind, she saw a pale shape coalesce out of nothing but cool night air.

He
stood waiting for her, three doors down from Miranda’s house.

She instantly recognized the tall, slender figure, who was motionless except for his silver hair, which was blowing slightly in the sudden wind. It felt like something out of a movie, and Donna had no doubt that this was the effect Demian was going for.

Donna knew that Robert was watching out for her from one of the top-floor windows, but she wondered how much he would really be able to see. Demons were masters of illusion—more so than the fey with their glamour, and perhaps even possessed a more powerful kind of magic than the alchemists. At least, once they were at full strength again.

Demian was beautiful, as before. But it was a dangerous beauty. The sort of beauty that you could cut yourself on if you weren’t careful. He stood with his shoulders back, in the black suit that matched his glittering eyes. His skin was very pale, his features all sharp planes beneath the shadows cast by the silver hair sweeping back from his face.

The Demon King smiled as she watched him. Somehow, his smile was more terrifying than any other expression he might have chosen to wear on his wicked face.

“What are you doing here?” Donna managed to say.

“Am I not free to visit my subjects when it pleases me?”

Subjects
? Donna clenched her jaw and gave him the most scary look she could. “You are beyond arrogant.”

His eyes flashed. “And you are
beyond
discourteous.”

Her stomach dropped to somewhere down near her knees, but she stood her ground. “We got your invitation, if that’s what you’re here to check up on.”

He shrugged one shoulder, a gesture she was already familiar with from their previous meetings. “Indeed. I have received a reply from your Archmaster and the Order of the Dragon, as well as from the alchemists here.”

“Oh. Right.” Donna wondered how the alchemists man-
aged to RSVP when there hadn’t been a return address included with the invite. “I’m going back inside,” she added. “So you might as well leave.”

“Won’t you stay and talk for a few moments?”

“It’s cold.”

The air around her instantly heated. For some reason, that made her shiver even more. Demian was powerful—exactly how powerful was anybody’s guess. Two hundred years of incarceration didn’t seem to have slowed him down too much.

“Better?” he asked, raising his eyebrows in challenge.

Donna glared at him. “Please, just leave me alone.”

She felt for the elusive shard of first matter—alchemical
prima materia
—that lived within her, just in case. Catching the very edge of the unpredictable power she had yet to fully understand, she prepared to tug on it, to use it if the Demon King attacked. Her own personal brand of magic was her only defense against him. Donna wasn’t sure what she could really do with it, but at the very least she might be able to escape. The enhanced physical strength of her arms would be pretty much useless against a demon.

“I’ll leave you alone,” Demian said, “when I get what I want.”

Donna crossed her arms. “Which is?”

His lips widened in a sensual smile. “You, Donna Underwood. I will have you for my own. You … interest me.”

Her legs went weak, but she managed to remain upright. What was he talking about? “I’m not a belonging,” she ground out. “I am not your pet. You can’t talk about human beings like that.”

“Nevertheless,” he said, “I’ll make you mine and you will thank me for it.”

Donna dug her nails into her palms. “What do you mean, ‘have’ me? In what way?”

“In
every
way.” His eyes glinted.

Crap
. She had to stop baiting him. Up until now, he’d seemed civil enough, but that could change at any moment. He was a demon, after all. What was to stop him from just taking her into the Underworld by force, Persephone-style?

Demian bowed. “I look forward to seeing you at the masquerade.”

“I’m not going,” Donna said. The treacherous words were out before she could drag them back and lock them away.

“You
will
attend.”

“I’m busy tomorrow night.”

He showed her the edge of his teeth. “Change your plans, or I’ll be forced to change them for you. This ball is more than a social event. It is not a trifle. Negotiations will take place there.”

“At a masquerade ball? Really? Is that how demons do business these days?”

He moved so quickly, she didn’t even realize it until he was almost on top of her. She felt the heat radiating from his body. “Demons always mix business with pleasure. Haven’t your little books told you that?”

Donna tried to hide the shudder that ran through her at just having him so close. It was a strange and sickening mixture of disgust and desire. She knew the pleasure wasn’t real; Maker and Quentin had told her it came from Demian’s natural pheromones and that all she could do was fight against it. So she tried to focus on a thread of fear instead, her pure terror that she was nothing more than prey.

His head tilted to one side as he examined her. “You are … afraid.”

She didn’t have the energy to laugh. “You think?”

“You freed me. You gave my people—what remains of them—hope. Why would I hurt you?”

Donna clenched her hands. “Maybe because I didn’t mean to set you free. I know that’s not what you want to hear, but it’s the truth. Aliette tricked me. I never meant to open the door to your realm.”

“Accident or not, the door opened, and you were the one responsible. Therefore, I owe you a great debt.”

Her throat felt impossibly dry. “You owe me nothing. I intend to put you back where you belong.”
If I can
, she added to herself.

His lips curved into a wicked smile. “You will fail.”

“But at least I’ll have tried.”

Demian grabbed her hands and pulled her toward him so that they were standing face to face. “I won’t allow you to send us back. Not after two centuries. Not after I have tasted freedom again.”

“Then kill me,” she said, amazed that her voice remained steady.

“No,” he said, his own voice like stone.

Donna looked Demian right in the eye and summoned defiance—she was her father’s daughter, after all, heir to Patrick Underwood, a legend in his time. “So, what is it about me that keeps you from just … snuffing me out?” she asked.

“Do not presume to question me.”

All his charm had disappeared—Demian was as changeable as the night sky above London. It was terrifying, but she wouldn’t let him intimidate her. Donna hated bullies, even Otherworldly bullies who were simply being who they were. Demian only knew how to throw his weight around because he was born a king. And although she couldn’t beat him in any kind of direct confrontation, Donna still had a few surprises up her sleeve. Or, more precisely, hidden beneath her gloves.

She let her whole body go limp, hoping to sucker him into a mistake. As she relaxed, the only thing keeping her upright was Demian’s hold on her.

He reacted to her “fall” instantly, releasing her hands and wrapping his arms around her body in a lightning-fast movement that took her breath away. Donna placed her now free hands against his chest and pushed, with all of the iron-clad strength in her arms. She gritted her teeth and put everything she had into it, gasping with the effort of trying to move what seemed to be an immoveable object.

Releasing her, Demian rocked backward, stumbled on the edge of the sidewalk, and adjusted his balance all in one fluid move. His expression was almost comically shocked.

Donna pulled herself upright. “Don’t touch me again,
Majesty
.”

“I do as I like,” he said, clearly shaken. “I could destroy your whole pathetic race. Every human being would serve me. I could rule this world!”

All his courtly manners were gone. Fury remained, sharp-edged like a blade.

“You
could
rule,” Donna replied, feeling the color drain from her face. “But you would be a lonely king. A heartless, pathetic dictator.”

“You will not speak to me this way,” he snarled.

“Why not? What have I got to lose? If you’re going to kill everyone on this planet, there’s not a lot I can do about it. You’ve already made that pretty clear.” She took a step forward, pressing on despite the numb terror that hovered on the edge of her awareness. “And I’m not sure you’ll do it, anyway.”

“And what makes you think you know me so well, young alchemist?”

“I don’t know you. Not even a little.” She took a deep breath. “But if you really were going to destroy everything in a fit of demonic rage—just to get your
revenge
—I think you would already have done it.”

Demian smiled, but it was a terrible expression. “You have no idea what I’m capable of. Your tiny mind would break under the weight of all I have done. If I told you … ”

He let his voice trail off suggestively, but Donna was getting the picture. Demian might be quick to lose his temper, but he was still a manipulative control freak. She recognized all the signs, after spending a lifetime around creeps like Simon Gaunt.

“Yeah,” she heard herself say in a bored voice she almost didn’t recognize as her own. “I’m so impressed by you. Wow, you’re amazing.”

His lip curled. “Hide behind your human sarcasm if it pleases you. I will see you at the ball, and after we have danced and celebrated my freedom, then we will speak of the future. What remains of it, at least. There is much to be discussed after all these years.”

“You don’t need me for negotiations.”

“On the contrary,” he replied, his voice becoming implacable. “You are the one person we cannot do without.”

“
If
I attend.”

“As I have already made clear, you
will
attend the masquerade or I will make you regret it.”

Donna touched the center of her chest, as she’d frequently done these past months as she connected to the power inside her. “Are you threatening me?”

His expression darkened. “I don’t need to make threats.”

“Because you’re so used to people doing your bidding, your Majesty?”

“They usually do,” he said.

“Well, then, you can expect me to buck that trend,” she said.

Demian’s mouth twitched—with annoyance or amusement, Donna couldn’t decide.

“We’ll see,” was all he said. “I am certainly used to having to convince people that my way is the
best
way to do things.”

Donna resisted the temptation to punch the Demon King in his perfect face. He was such a psycho. “You mean, the way you convinced the Order of the Crow to take your ‘invitation’ so seriously? By
murdering
innocent people in London?”

“There are always casualties in war.” His eyes were completely unreadable black spaces. “It is regrettable, but necessary.”

Before she could reply with an appropriate level of contempt, Demian turned and walked away from her. His movements were smooth and sure. Nothing troubled him now—least of all her.

Donna’s heart was pounding so hard it blocked out the distant sounds of the city.

As the king of the demons reached the garden gate of the next house, he stopped and looked over his shoulder at her. It was one of the most incongruous scenes she had ever seen—and it wasn’t like she hadn’t seen a lot of strangeness in her life.

“Until next time, Donna Underwood,” he said.

She shivered as he said her name, hating him for his power. Or maybe she didn’t hate him for that—it was easy to resent power, but she really wasn’t the sort of person who “hated.” No, the thing she disliked in Demian was the way he used his power. The abuse of it.

He disappeared, leaving behind a single black rose on the sidewalk. Of course.

“Show-off,” she muttered, turning on her heel and leaving the flower exactly where it was.

There were several missed calls and a text message from Xan waiting for her when she got back to her room. Cursing herself for being so careless as to leave her phone behind, she scrolled through to the new message. It read:

I heard about what happened. If you get this in the next hour ping me back and I’ll call you.

Worrying that she might have missed her chance to speak to him, Donna fumbled to text back a quick reply and then sat waiting anxiously, her cell phone in her lap. She knew Xan had been hiding something from her these past few weeks—something important—but as usual, she knew not to push him. He would probably talk when he was ready. At least, she hoped he would. He’d been brought up with as many secrets as she had, having to bury his half-fey heritage and practically live a lie. She knew it was a hard habit to break … that natural desire to keep things safely hidden and hold your emotions inside, to fear what might happen if you reached out and trusted someone else.

Maybe hearing from him tonight was a good sign. At the very least, she’d be able to talk to him about everything that had happened in London tonight.

She tried not to think about Demian while she waited, but of course that was impossible. It seemed almost like a dream—a nightmare—that only minutes ago she’d been talking to the king of the demons outside in the street. A regular London street, where passersby had no clue what was going on right under their noses.