Chained to the Devil’s Daughter (Mating the Elements #1)

1

Searra

“H ell’s inner rings remain divided. Devil’s devotees need some strong persuasion. By blade. We must kill them.”

“Hmm, they’ll need some strong persuasion, that’s for sure, ha.” I glanced at Filaris’ no-nonsense stare and took a long gulp of bitter lavaberry wine. “Yes, yes, and death. Death and gore galore.”

It was the same problem we’d faced for months. For all our rallying and sowing seeds, the rebellion was at a stalemate. Most of my advisers believed it would remain so until I grew the balls to name myself regent. Filaris was my suitor this year, hand-picked by Devil. Or so he thought. Really, she was a plant from our neighboring kingdom, Kindra, and had quickly revealed herself to me when she discovered my desire to usurp my father. A demon woman with a dozen years on me and a better fit for any crown, she believed our ploy would take a crap-load of bloodshed.

I hoped to avoid war, though I wholeheartedly agreed that punishment was warranted. Devil, his overseers, and anyone else who would encourage the deathly labor of Hell’s most vulnerable people deserved nothing less than a long, recurring death in the void.

Regardless, the time for being silent was gone. The prisoner was free and burning his way through Hell at this very moment. On my order, no one was to stop him. There was no hiding after taking a stance like that.

“If we don’t hear from my council contacts in a fortnight, we have to move forward.” Filaris prowled around the map on the long oval table, tapping the space between Fyre’s capital city and Hell’s unfinished tenth ring. “We prepare for resistance and take your crown.”

Lavaberry wine churning in my stomach, I nodded. I traced a braid to my shoulder and twirled the end, fingers drifting across the velvety fabric of my neckband.

“With my father’s coffers and help from your Kindra friends, we’ll keep his circle’s loyalty for as long as we keep them paid.” I brought the glass to my lips again, this time without a tremble.

“We must control the inner rings,” Filaris agreed, closing the perpetual circle this conversation had become over the last seven months.

The door crashed against the wall. I jolted back, spilling the remaining wine down my layered black gown.

“Your Highness, it’s urgent!”

Filaris sneered at the intruding guard, a teenage demon named Tartius, who stumbled through a bow like a child learning to toddle. “That’s implied.”

“What is it, Tartius?”

“He’s here! Everything’s burnt. Hell is in ruins, the outer rings destroyed! There’s black fire—”

“ Who , Tartius?” I demanded, knowing his answer already.

“The Ash Render!”

My breath caught. Rumors of the Ash Render had reached the palace by the third year of life without my beloved. The demon who carved Devil’s rings with such terrifying ease. The demon whose magic should be impossible to wield, kept dormant by the implant thrust upon all of the laborers. The demon whose magic was defiant, burning anyway, burning as black as the void that birthed all magic.

“Get. The. Fuck. Out of my way, ” a deep voice boomed from the hallway.

Glass shattered, my hand suddenly empty.

The demon of my dreams and nightmares filled the door frame, a red mass of muscle. Void-dark flames leaked from every lifeblood fissure that crisscrossed his abdomen. His abyssal gaze found me immediately.

“Firefly.”

“Leave us,” I commanded.

“Five minutes.” Filaris’ calm tone barely registered. “You have five minutes, my flame.”

The door shut behind my suitor, and Ash’ren took another step, his hand outstretched. “Firefly. . .”

His legs buckled. The black flames silhouetting his body flickered out. Muscles in his thighs visibly spasmed, and then he crashed to the floor.

“Ash!”

His name broke from my lips like a soul-crushing sob. I rushed to catch him, softening his landing with my lap. Frantically, I slammed a palm against the door. “Filly! Tell the healer. . . Crack tonic. Hurry!”

Filaris’ footsteps thundered down the hall. I shushed and rocked the crumpled demon in my arms. A stranger, by all things considered.

His muscles were icy-hot, and they jumped and twitched under my touch. My fingers ran through his long, shaggy, ash-littered hair. The uneven stubble on his chin prickled as I swiped away the grime coating his angled cheekbones, leaving streaks of gray.

“Ash. I’m here, Ash.”

The door swung open, and Filaris pressed an open jar into my shaky hand.

Where usually a demon’s conduit lines were like external veins, a river system for their fire magic and orange blood, Ash’ren’s were devoid of color.

“Please, Ash! You can’t leave after an entrance like that,” I teased through tears.

Other than his spasming muscles, he lay still as a corpse while I worked the goopy substance into all the rifts I could reach. His chest was bare, but this was not the time to admire his impressive physique. His threadbare trousers were burnt away below the knee. His feet, the canine-like paws and hooked ankles of a demon, were filthy. When the jar was empty, I wiped my hands on my skirts and gathered him in my arms.

He woke with a ragged gasp. Cinnabar eyes shot to mine, their intensity urging my flight mode to take charge. Bad as my body wished to scramble away, I cupped his cheek.

“Hi,” my voice eked out, sounding as small as I felt.

“What—what happened?”

“Nothing a little crack couldn’t fix.” I gestured toward the empty jar.

Ash’ren blinked a couple times before his brows furrowed. Yeah, it most decidedly was not the time for bad jokes either.

“Firefly.” Either my poorly timed joke or my wince at the nickname shook him from his trance, and he stood. “When did you get so crass?”

He held out a hand. I hesitated before accepting, doing my best not to put any actual weight on him.

“I’ve always been crass.” His laugh bolstered the safety of this tentative truce between strangers, and I allowed myself a smile. “What?” Not cursing aloud was the first mini-rebellion I ever waged on my father. “I’ve never been demure . Just because I choose not to voice certain words, doesn’t mean I don’t think them.”

“I know, my coy little bug.”

“Don’t.” Heat seared my chin where he caught me between two knuckles, stopping me from turning away. Forced to meet his gaze, I searched for signs of resentment in his blood-red stare. “Don’t call me that,” I repeated, though my tone had lost its bite. “I’m not who you think I am.”

“Yes, you are.” He ran his thumb over my trembling lip. “I don’t need to know you to know I love every iteration of yourself.”

His gaze dropped to my mouth, and my chest fluttered like I was a teenager again.

I unclenched my fists and snaked my arms around his neck. Softening against him was no chore at all, his groan an echo of the sob that had broken from me when I thought he’d arrived only to die on my doorstep. Equal parts relief and despair.

He ducked his head into the curve of my neck, his hard body pressed against mine like he hadn’t been touched for nine years.

Oh, rings. Nine years without a kind touch. It’d been hard enough to live without his touch, but I’d hugged many people over this season of my life. Ash’ren’s body trembled in my arms, tears sizzling through the fabric of my sleeve.

The levy broke. Tears falling, I stumbled further into the room until my knees hit wood, then used his all-encompassing form as leverage to shimmy my booty onto the table and wrap my legs around him.

“Ash, I—I’m so sorry. For letting him—”

“Enough.” His voice was sturdy despite the tears searing my sleeve. “Never apologize to me.”

“But I—”

“You did nothing.”

“Exactly.”

Ash straightened to his full height. I had to tilt my head up to meet his heated stare, black fire swirling from the tips of his long lashes. I fought every instinct to look away in shame. I’d done nothing to stop Devil. Begged, sure, but words were not actions. I’d been so. . . hopeless. Useless. Then he was gone. Since that failure, I’ve made many more.

“Firefly.” My gut seized. “There was nothing you could have done. The two of us, here, now. That is who we focus on.”

“You don’t know me.”

“I wish to.” I glanced down at his mouth, watching it form the words. “Show me who I walked through Hell to reach, Firefly.”

“By all accounts, you didn’t walk.”

“No. I burned it down.” His nose dipped to trace my jaw, and I choked on a whimper.

“Then you’ve already been an asset to our rebellion.”

“What does an asset earn, your highness?”

His hands roved down my spine to settle on my hips. Nothing had been easy for this past decade, but how my body responded to his was like second nature. Like leaves allowing a breeze to carry them. When he ground against my core, my whole body buzzed, though whether it was from within or the reverberation of his primal growls—or possibly the lavaberry wine—was insignificant.

“A-a place at the table,” I answered breathlessly.

He responded with another dark growl. He sucked my earlobe into his mouth and nipped it, wresting another whimper from my parted lips. My nipples pebbled against linen, begging for his mouth to roam there next.

“I’ve waited to feel your body melt against mine for nine years.” His voice was hoarse. “I’ll not settle for a seat unless it is your warm cunt.”