Touch of the Demon (Kara Gillian 5)

I laughed weakly. “I’m infamous. Great.”

My gaze returned to the gull-things. I could do this now. I had to do this now. Hands shaking and heart pounding, I shifted to kneel. I grabbed my shirt before I could panic and change my mind, then practically ripped it and my bra off and threw them aside. Breathing shallowly, I knelt half-nude before him.

Helori traced a sigil in the air above us. I flinched before realizing it was just the damn pygah, then scowled at my reaction.

“Be gentle on yourself,” he murmured. “As he was not.” He traced three more sigils around the pygah and set it spinning slowly above us.

“I made it this far, didn’t I?” I replied, though my voice quavered. The resonance of the pygah combined with the other sigils to form an almost palpable cocoon of calm. Slowly, I unclenched my hands, though I still wasn’t ready to look at the pygah or myself yet.

He took gentle hold of my left wrist, straightened my arm, and held it nearly straight out from my shoulder, so that I didn’t have to look down to see the scar where the mark used to be. “Look first here,” he said. “The first evidence of your betrayal.”

Ghostly echoes of the essence agony shimmered through me as I forced my eyes to the long, rippled scar. Sweat stung my armpits. “The fucker,” I whispered.

“He knew when he placed the mark that he meant to use you,” he told me. “Though the way you were used shifted from the original intent.”

My gaze rose to him. “Shifted? What do you mean?”

Helori lowered my arm. “You were initially slated to be used to retrieve Vsuhl, and then to die in a ritual to create a permanent gate to Earth,” he said. “Your value changed once Rhyzkahl became aware of your grove affinity.” He stroked a thumb lightly over the scar on my forearm, then looked back up to my face. “That affinity made you far more valuable and useful, and thus they chose to make you a thrall, so you could be a long-term tool for their use. You would have been powerful, utterly compliant, and obliviously content.”

I’d heard some of this from Rhyzkahl during the ritual, but here, away from the torment, it abruptly clicked into place. “That son of a bitch,” I breathed. I’d never been able to understand why Amkir had treated me with such open hostility from the moment I met him, nor why Rhyzkahl had left me and not intervened in the altercation sooner. It was a test, I realized. Those assholes had set me up. I’d told Rhyzkahl about using the grove power on Mzatal, and they wanted to see if I could do it again.

My anger rose, and I let it keep going, let it burn away at the panic and fear. I scowled up at the pygah, tempted to bat it away. I didn’t want to be calm right now. I dropped my gaze back to Helori. “Tell me about these sigils.”

“United, they are a key to the potency of this world,” he said while dissipating the pygah. “The ritual was not completed, and so this purpose was thwarted.”

I listened carefully, jaw tight. “Why twelve?”

“The twelfth is the unifier, but the ritual failed before it was ignited.”

“So, a sigil for each lord?” I asked.

“Yes, one for each, plus the unifier,” he said, watching me closely.

“Tell me,” I said, holding my anger close to me like armor. “Tell me about each one.”

Helori shifted forward, touched the sigil over my sternum and part of my breasts—the first that Rhyzkahl had carved. “This one represents Mzatal, laid as an anchoring presence for the rest.”

That surprised me. “Why? Is Mzatal stronger than the others?”

“He is the oldest,” Helori stated. “And has proven to be a stabilizer for all of them.”

I pointed to the sigil that spread across my upper chest, above Mzatal’s. “He made this one next.”

“Rhyzkahl,” he said and placed a hand over it while I exhaled a shaking breath.

His hands traveled over my body while he traced the sigils and murmured the names. There was nothing sexual about his touch. It held only ease and recognition.

“Jesral,” he said, touching the one on my lower abdomen that wound up and over the lowest part of my breasts. My lip curled at the name.

“He knew,” I said, hatred flaring. “He walked me to the ritual.”

“He would have shared mastery over you upon completion,” Helori stated.

“Mastery.” I tasted the word. “Fuck him. Fuck them all.”

He nodded agreement, shifted his hand to lay it fully over a convoluted and uneven sigil on my right side. “Kadir.”

A shiver raced over me. “Bad Monkey.”