Chapter Five

Demetria

Ike's scream roared in Demetria's ears along with the growing wind of the portal. She'd never been in one, or created one, but they were well known for travel throughout the witchy world.

Demetria held onto his coat, praying she wasn't sucked out of it, and a house tossed on top of her or something. When the wind began to die, the portal fizzled out, and she fell to the wet dew covered ground.

The smell was woodsy, like she'd been dropped into a forest after a big rain. The field around her was wet from morning dew, and the sun peeked over the distant hills. The scenery wasn't doom and gloom like the one she expected. It was … nice and poetic.

There were wild purple flowers growing tall, and the sound of a river close by. It almost warmed Demetria's soul to be there, until Ike stood up from a place several feet away, and dusted off his outfit. His clothes were bloody and ripped to shreds. It made Demetria smile.

Way to go, Claire.

When he looked over, she could sense the anger radiating from him in waves. "Your niece shouldn't have done that," he said, walking over to her as she stood up. "She'll pay for it … with her life."

Demetria didn't doubt he would try to make her pay, but without his dark magic, she didn't see him doing anything from—wherever they landed. Maybe he'd take her back home to get it, and she could escape, because escaping here didn't seem in her favor.

"Where are we?" she asked, looking over her shoulder at a huge brick mansion behind them. It fit the landscape with an Irish storybook.

Vines clung to the grey bricks, and traveled up the outside in zigzagged paths toward the sky.

A small curved bridge sat over a creek in front of the house, with wooden railings.

"My home, Demetria. Did you think I lived under a bridge?"

Maybe, or in hell, perhaps.

Ike grabbed her wrist and dragged her toward the house. The only sounds around them were wilderness, birds and crickets, no nearby roads or traffic. They seemed to be in the middle of nowhere, which was just her luck. Stuck in the abandoned woods with a madman warlock looking to eat her soul.

Sounded about right.

Ike pulled out a giant overlarge key chain from his pocket, with a skeleton key, and opened the front door. It was two-stories with a circular staircase and a grand entrance.

It reminded her of something out of a movie, but she knew this one wouldn't have a happily-ever-after.

Ike locked the door back with his hand, which showed Demetria he did have some magic, but not the dark kind. He anxiously ran his fingers into his hair, and began to pace.

Claire had knocked him for a loop. He hadn't expected to lose his pendant, and Demetria loved her even more for it. "Love what you've done with the place," Demetria said sarcastically.

Ike's icy blue gaze narrowed on her. "You'll stay in the guestroom, and as you know, your life has been spared until I get my pendant back."

He slipped out of his waistcoat, hanging it on a coatrack in the corner of the room. "Follow me."

He turned on his heel and walked up the staircase toward the second story. Demetria followed closely behind him, admiring the detail in his home. Had they gone back in time, too?

Ike stopped at the second door on the left, opening the heavy wood, he gestured her inside. Despite being a prisoner and being held against her will, the room was beautiful.

The four-post bed had a sheer canopy above it, with a comforter that

Demetria actually wanted to sink into. Hell, she may need to kill Ike and take his mansion while she was at it.

One thing at a time, of course.

Ike slammed the door behind him, and walked to the middle of the room. The window on the far wall was stained glass in the image of a raging sea. "Where are we?" she finally asked.

Ike turned. "Did the portal knock out your short-term memory? My home," he said again.

"In Australia?" she prodded.

He looked confused. "Why would you think that?"

"Because of the lyrebird. He's native to Australia."

"Yes, she is, but no, we're far from Australian. If you think I'm going to tell you where we're at so you can reach out to your friends, you're sorely mistaken. But we're not there. I picked up my lyrebird many moons ago, when I was a wanderer in search of my purpose."

"And you found it?" she asked, shifting her weight. "Stealing young people's souls because you're old and truly ugly—,"

Ike flew from his spot, glided almost, toward Demetria. Stopping inches from her face. "You best watch your tongue, Demetria. I'm not your mate that you boss around because he lets you. I will rip you to shreds once I get my pendant, and not care how it hurts before

plucking your soul from your body, and then send it to your mate as a gift. I don't care about you. Understand? The only reason you're here and not dead is because that little mutt took my pendant. And when I pluck it from her dead fingers, I will take what you owe me. I saved your life from those witches that day, and you agreed. What do the kids say these days? No take backsies?" The angles of his face looked ghostly, with sunken cheeks and ghoulish eyes.

When he stood back, his smile returned, and so did his handsome face.

It was far more witchcraft than Demetria had ever witnessed. She'd never used her magic to harm someone that didn't deserve it, and in her opinion, she didn't deserve this.

"Now," he said in a soft tone. "I'm parched. I need you in good condition when the time comes. Come downstairs and I'll whip you up something to eat."

He walked around her, leaving the door opened, and Demetri finally let out a breath. The chill in the room left when he did. Tears threatened her eyes, but she shoved them back. This bastard wasn't going to touch Claire or herself.

Because she'd find a way to kill him, and leave the bones for his lyrebird.

She followed him downstairs to the kitchen that was far more modern than the rest of the house. She slid onto a barstool next to the island, and watched as he maneuvered around.

"You don't have a cook? Or a maid?" she asked, hopeful. Maybe they'd feel sorry for her, and let her go.

"I did," he said casually.

"What happened to them? Did they realize you were a soul-sucking demon?" Demetria asked, knowing he couldn't harm her … yet.

He opened the stove and dramatically let it shut. "No. That's the reason I didn't come after you five or six years ago. I was tired of traveling, and decided I would trick my cook into a favor. She didn't last as long as I figure you will. She was in her late sixties. What a waste, really. She made an excellent blueberry pie."

Demetria's lip turned up into a snarl.

She changed her mind. She wouldn't feed his bones to his lyrebird.

She'd hold him in the pack dungeon, and let him rot until he was nothing but bones.