To do so would be like looking back over her shoulder—when she should be running away. She’d done that twice with him, and rued both times.

With an inward curse, she gave a light probe into his mind.

She saw the ground rushing closer. She heard his instinct screaming inside him to save himself. She felt his roiling emotions when his body refused to obey—when he realized he was about to die.

A stranglehold of shock. Raw terror.

In such a young boy.

“Do you know why I never yelled on the way down?” he asked quietly. “Because fear had robbed me of breath.”

She withdrew from his thoughts as swiftly as she’d entered them. Tears pricked her eyes, but she willed herself not to cry.

“Now you understand what it feels like, to act in opposition to instinct—to the very will to survive! But I’d relive that night again if it would make you stay here with me.”

She reminded herself that he still planned to kidnap her. He’d considered stealing her soul! He was going to serve her up on a platter to his brother. She replayed how he’d tossed her into that tree and lifted her by her jaw. And his comments.

Someone like you. I’d take your head myself. I should drop you.

If she allowed him to treat her this shittily, then she was no better than he was. When in trouble . . . She turned from him and walked away.

“Melanthe leaving me—not exactly new! I’m sick of pursuing you! All my life you’ve turned from me again and again. Begone, then. Good riddance!”

As she strode off, she heard him cursing her, but hardened herself against him. The sooner she got to the lairs, the sooner she could be back in Rothkalina. She might make it to the castle in time for dinner!

She found the overgrown path they’d traveled upon, then headed away from Inferno. In theory.

For the next hour, she followed the trail, the forest brush growing sparser. Each time thoughts of Thronos flickered into her mind, she told herself: Don’t think about his fall, Lanthe.

She came upon a fork in the trail, with another inscribed rock marker that she couldn’t read. She could go straight or turn left. Imagining the marker read Go left to thread the needle, she turned in that direction, readying for danger.

When nothing happened, she trudged on.

And on and on—for what felt like eternity. Surely day would soon break. She was beginning to think time moved differently on this plane—not uncommon for demon realms. At last, the skirmishes grew louder.

Don’t think about his fall.

Oh, who was she kidding? Thronos hadn’t fallen. She’d lashed out and hurt the one innocent Vrekener among that group. Yes, she’d been a traumatized girl, but he hadn’t deserved the horror she’d meted out.

She’d just admitted to herself that she’d been . . . wrong, when she emerged into a large field, the underbrush giving way to craggy terrain.

For a moment she thought the sun was rising, then realized she was seeing displays of demon power over the plateau. Fire missiles soared. Ice splintered from frozen bombs, hail arcing across the night. Battle magics cascaded like Disney fireworks.

She’d threaded the needle! On one side of her were rivers of lava. Miles across from them were ruins. Both lairs had sentries fronting them, or as Lanthe liked to call them guides.

So which should she enter first? Eeny, meeny, miny . . . She headed toward Inferno.

Sabine would never believe her little sister had found her way here—well, anywhere. Lanthe couldn’t wait to tell her, to talk to her about all the things she’d learned and felt.

She’d also have to come clean about how close she and Thronos had been.

Thronos. With his heartbreaking eyes and tragic memories. With his determined expression.

With his toe-curling kiss and stubborn jealousy.

None of which she cared about because she was going home. No more dwelling on Thronos—just because she’d hurt him didn’t give him the right to damn her to the Skye!

By the time she felt the heat of the lava, her guilt had waned under the weight of resentment. Sorcery began sparking from her skin. Thronos had abducted her, expecting her to give up her entire life for his. She was done being captured, done enduring mistreatment, done muzzling her sexuality.

Melanthe of the Deie Sorceri was an empowered sorceress on the prowl. Even hell should tremble!

When those sentries approached with swords drawn, she smiled. “Well, hello, boys.” With a wave of her hand, she mesmerized the pair, commanding them to lead her into the cavern, protect her with their lives, and tell others that she was their leader’s female.

Then she bade them to take her to the key.

Easy as easy pie.

THIRTY

For most of the night, Thronos had grappled against her sorcery.

He didn’t know what shocked him more: the revelation about his brother, or that Melanthe had bespelled him—without hesitation.

But her persuasion would be useless against demons, or the pest! If she perished, he would . . .

He would what? Vrekeners simply didn’t go on without their mates.

Ages ago, after he’d healed from the worst of his injuries, his own mother had found solace in suicide, unable to live without his father.

Thronos’s brows drew tight. By that reasoning, so long as Melanthe’s life was in danger, then so too was his.

At once, he felt her command fading. In minutes, he’d freed himself from her invisible bonds.

His head swung upward. If he took to the air, he couldn’t see markers warning of danger zones. Chance I’ll have to take. He swooped his wings, shooting into the sky with his usual grinding pain. He hovered over the canopy, tracking her by her sorcery and her entrancing scent.