He made love to her then, but he was not his old gentle self. He took her, claimed her, almost roughly, thrusting into her again and again, and she gasped and moaned, and it felt good, maybe better than any other time he had loved her. She surrendered to him, to his expert hands, and she was helpless in those hands. All she could do was let him take her, and the pleasure of it tore across her and she cried out into his palm.

"Oh, Tanin," she whispered when they finally broke apart. She lay by his side, sweaty and panting, aching with goodness and relief. "You definitely forgive me." She leaned over and kissed his cheek. "I'm glad you came back. I love you." She looked deep into his eyes. "I truly love you. I—"

She squinted.

She leaned back and gasped.

His eyes were as windows, showing deep caverns full of coiling flames. Dead eyes. Demon eyes.

He sat up in bed. He slowly turned his head toward her, his spine creaking. When he opened his mouth, she saw that instead of teeth he had small, metal shards growing from his gums.

Issari screamed and leaped away.

Tanin rose from the bed, only it wasn’t actually Tanin. The stranger's jaw unhinged, dropping halfway down his chest, revealing rows of those metal teeth. His eyes burst into flames. Hooks and horns sprouted across his body.

Taal. Oh Taal . . .

Issari raised her amulet and cast her light. "I banish you, demon of the Abyss!"

Inside she trembled. Oh Taal, it made love to me . . . it cast its seed inside me . . .

"Be gone, demon!" she shouted, eyes burning.

Her light crashed into the creature, but the demon only laughed. Smoke burst from its body, and it changed forms rapidly, shifting into a dripping slug, a scaly reptile, a twitching centipede ten feet tall, and then took familiar forms: a dying girl with entrails dangling, the one Issari had comforted in the north; Sena, her dear brother, hanging dead from a tree; and finally Laira, sweet Laira, sliced open as her insides spilled out.

"No!" Issari screamed. "Stop this! Leave! I am a Priestess of Taal and of Draco, I—"

"You cannot banish me." The demon laughed, still in Laira's form. "I am no lowly demon. I am not Angel, a daughter of Taal whom you can burn." The demon raised dripping red hands. "I am Sharael, the Deceiver. I met your father, Issari . . . and I made him a vow." The demon licked its chops with a dripping, translucent tongue. "I vowed to make you, his dear daughter, suffer. Enjoy my gift to you."

Issari leaped toward him, prepared to shove her blazing amulet against his head.

With a ripple in the air and a swirl of shadow, the demon vanished.

Issari spun from side to side, trembling, panting, barely able to breathe. Cold sweat washed her.

Oh Taal . . .