“You’re stronger with me by your side,” Mammon growled, his fists clenching tight.
Belpheg casually leaned back in his seat. “Even if this is true, it doesn’t require me to share any power with you,” he pointed out gently. “You see, your soul is bound in servitude to my own, and it has been from the moment you shook my hand.”
Mammon shook his head in denial, but the glimmer of panic in his gaze bespoke his doubt.
“Go ahead,” Belpheg said, nodding toward one of the ceremonial swords displayed on the stone wall. “Try to use that against me. See what happens.”
Though the demon’s gaze narrowed, he stayed rooted in his spot. Clearly anticipating a trap. Well, never let it be said Mammon was a complete fool.
“Go ahead,” Belpheg persisted.
Mammon’s gaze slid back to the sword. Belpheg knew when he considered using it…because the demon bent over, a pained moan tearing from his throat.
“If you consider moving against me, your heart will constrict, rendering you all but immobile with pain,” Belpheg said.
Visibly fighting back his torment, Mammon slowly straightened.
“You’ll face the same fate should you consider fleeing, not that I think you’d be foolish enough to do such a thing.” Belpheg lifted one hand to his jaw, carelessly rubbing his chin. “So you see, your fate is tied to mine. You are, for all intense and purposes, my faithful servant.”
He had the pleasure of seeing the light in Mammon’s eyes extinguish the very moment the demon realized the truth of his words.
Mammon was his puppet. A very convenient, and admittedly more interesting than average, puppet. Nothing more. Yes, he would have the tools to break free of his bonds once he came into his full power, but Belpheg was banking on him never figuring that part out.
As he’d expected, the fight slowly seeped out of Mammon, taking the pain with it. Belpheg got another glimpse of the grim, defeated man he’d spied when he first rescued him from the Council prison.
Mammon wordlessly slunk back down into his chair.
“Glad we’ve cleared that up.” With a cheerful grin, Belpheg rose. “Now, I’d better pay our new guest a visit. She will be the key to your gaining the additional powers you need. We must prepare her for her role.”
He turned, leaving the soul-crushed demon behind as he strode from the room.
…
Mammon watched Belpheg leave the room, the voluminous black robe he’d taken to wearing billowing out behind him. Fury ignited in his chest at the thought of what Belpheg had made him into. What he’d become.
It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. He deserved to have the power he sought, had earned the right to be a co-ruler of the worlds. He wasn’t just some worthless lackey, like that stupid hubrin demon Belpheg kept on retainer. No, he was a powerful scientist, a man of great intellect.
A pawn who’s been tricked into servitude.
His shoulders slumped at the uneasy realization. Belpheg had taken advantage of his weakened state and gotten one over on him. Now he was well and stuck.
If only the dark fae would recognize his true potential. After all, who knew how to rule over the masses better than he? He’d practically managed to take over all of Earth before his confounded sons had turned on him. If ever there was potential for greatness, it was in him.
Yet Belpheg seems to think the same about himself.
He rose from his chair, growing uncomfortable with the parallels he’d drawn between himself and the dark fae. The truth was, though Belpheg was admittedly strong, even stronger than him, he didn’t like the comparison. Something about the dark fae was off. Deranged. And he’d been that way ever since he witnessed the annihilation of his entire clan. Mammon had never been like that.
Had he?
The sick feeling in the pit of his stomach refused to settle as he stalked from Belpheg’s private reception chamber out into the long hallway of the castle. A sudden need for fresh air overwhelmed him, and he turned and headed for the nearest exit, which led out from the kitchens to the rear of the property.
He’d just passed the dining hall when he heard the sound of Thorne’s voice.
“Something wrong?”
Mammon turned toward Belpheg’s flunkey, who leaned against the doorjamb of the dining hall like he owned the place. Fury rose within him at the smirk on the hubrin demon’s face. He closed the distance between them with several assured steps, delighting in how quickly the demon’s expression transformed from superior to alarmed, and wrapped his hand around the demon’s throat.
“Argh…” Thorne choked for breath, closing his fingers over Mammon’s hand and trying to dislodge him. The hubrin demon might be decades his junior, but he stood no chance against him. The fool didn’t have a fraction of Mammon’s strength or mental capability.