Phantasma: A dark fantasy romance (Wicked Games Book 1)

FIVE CENTURIES BEFORE PHANTASMA

As Prince of the Devils, Salemaestrus thought he’d long ago experienced the darkest things Hell had to offer. He’d witnessed the gruesome purgatory pits countless times. Had watched souls within them tear each other limb from limb for centuries on end, in the hope of climbing out to a better afterlife. He’d been the harbinger of pain and death, himself, for many souls—mortal and immortal alike—over the last five centuries.

But the moment he realized she had been taken… That was an agony unlike he’d ever known.

It had been nearly a year since he’d vowed to her to never return to the heart of Hell, since he’d seen the rolling, infernal iris-covered hills of Nocturnia. Now he stood before the expansive gates of his father’s palace, shoulders heavy with the weight of his broken vows. But there was nothing that would keep him from getting to her. Not even the promises between them.

The gates, made of onyx flames that licked all the way up into the tempestuous sky, parted for him almost instantly. Recognizing him. Blazing brighter as if to celebrate his return.

He stalked through the glittering, obsidian halls like a Hellhound following the scent of blood. But beneath the vicious fury shrouding him like a cloud of smoke, there was terror sinking into his bones. He could feel her here. Within these insidious walls that she did not belong. Her heart was too soft for this place.

I’m coming, he swore. I’m coming for you.

A line of guards were posted outside of his father’s throne room, waiting for him. It was nothing more than a show, of course. Not even an army would be able to stop his power. It was merely a point to be proven. That he was still the cruel, vicious, Prince of the Devils his father raised him to be. That he could never be tamed.

A vicious snarl ripped from his throat as he unleashed a wave of dark magic over the unit of guards, splattering gore across the pristine, diamond floors, he thought that perhaps that was true. He could not be tamed. Would not be. Except by her.

He would be every bit of good she so desperately wanted to see in him as long as she was safe. But now… now he’d tear the world to shreds.

The double doors were still dripping with blood as he used his magic to blast them open. Beyond them, the enormous, black throne room was sweltering with heat from amethyst-and-ink-colored flames that covered its walls.

The King of the Devils was sitting atop his diamond throne, a crown of ebony flames resting atop his head. He smiled down from the dais at Salem. Purring atop the King’s lap was his favorite little spy. The cat yawned lazily at the building tension rolling through the room as Salem approached his father.

At the bottom left of the dais steps, Salem spotted Sinclair, held captive between two Demon guards. It took everything for him not to charge the fucking bastard and rip him limb from limb. This was all Sinclair’s fault, and he loathed the fact that he’d ever considered the other Devil a friend.

By the murderous look in Sinclair’s scarlet eyes, that sentiment was returned.

Salem bared his teeth at the King as he approached the steps to the throne. “Where the fuck is she?”

His father laughed. “Is that how you greet your father after all this time?”

Salem seethed. “Don’t fucking play with me. If you don’t let her go, I will burn all of Nocturnia to the ground. And the rest of Hell with it.”

The smile never left his father’s face. “Unfortunately, I do believe you would try such a thing. But there’s one little detail you’re missing, my Prince.”

Salem narrowed his eyes as his father stood and transported down the stairs from his throne. The King stopped right in front of him, leaning in to whisper the most bone-chilling words he’d ever heard on his father’s lips.

“I know your True Name.”

Salem felt his blood run cold.

No.

It couldn’t be.

He’d only ever given his True Name to one person…

“Ah, and therein lies the problem,” the King said as he pulled back, with a smile still on his lips but only malice in his eyes. “You can play at being powerful all you want, Salemaestrus, but at the end of the day you gave all of your power away the moment you fell in love with a silly fucking mortal.”

His father said the word mortal like it was a curse.

“But don’t be too upset with her,” his father continued. “After all, mortals are such fragile little things. Haven’t I always warned you of that? It was only a matter of time until she succumbed to the torture. Though, I will say, I was mildly impressed she managed to last nearly three days before screaming your True Name for all to hear. Hoping you would come to rescue her.”

Pain ripped through Salem at the idea of her being tortured, calling his name so desperately, only for him never to come. His vision went completely red as he lunged for his father, wrapping his hands around the man’s throat.

“Why are you doing this?” he snarled. “She’s done nothing to deserve it.”

“She made you a fucking liability,” his father hissed back as he ripped himself out of Salem’s hold. “She made you a weakness to this entire kingdom. I warned you that you’d regret choosing her over your duty to Nocturnia.”

“Then punish me,” Salem demanded. “I’m the one who disobeyed you. Not her. Punish me.”

The second the insidious smile began spreading over his father’s face he regretted his words.

“Don’t worry. That’s exactly what I plan to do.” The King snapped his fingers. “Bring her out.”

The breath rushed from Salem’s lungs as he watched two new guards appear from thin air a few feet away, a body hanging limp between them. He’d disemboweled his enemies, ripped out their hearts, and bled them dry for centuries without blinking. But this… he nearly vomited when he saw the state of her.

He pushed away the Demons that were holding her up, dropping to his knees on the floor as he cradled her body to his. He didn’t care that his father would see the display as yet another weakness. He needed to touch her, to heal her. She was covered in so many bruises and lacerations that there was not a single square inch of unblemished skin on her body. Her dark brown hair was matted with blood. Her crystal-blue eyes were dull with pain. There was a nasty slice in her bottom lip, and she was—fucking Hell —she was missing her incisors.

“Angel,” he whispered, his fingertips brushing over her face in soothing strokes as he worked to keep the terror out of his voice. He didn’t need to make her panic. “I’m here, Angel. You’re going to be alright. I’m going to fix it.”

She swallowed, her watery eyes squinting up at him. “Salem… You’re really here?” A sob erupted from her throat. “You came. You came for me. I told them you would.”

The adoration that she still had shining for him in her gaze made him loathe himself. He didn’t deserve it. He’d failed her.

He buried his face in her neck, petting a hand over the back of her head. “I told you, I’ll always come. I’m sorry it wasn’t sooner. I’m so fucking sorry.”

She clung to him as hard as her remaining strength would allow as if she still didn’t quite believe he was real. Devastating.

Too soon she was ripped from his arms. Magic slammed into his body, sending him flying back from her. He rolled back to his feet in an instant, but his father had already reached her.

Her back was flush to the King’s chest, his arm wrapped around the front of her torso while his hand gripped her by the throat.

“Stop,” Salem croaked. “What do you want from me? Do you want me to beg? I’ll fucking beg.”

“It’s much too late for that,” his father said.

“I’ll return to Nocturnia,” Salem vowed, staggering a step toward them. “For the rest of my eternal life if that’s what you desire. Just don’t harm her. Let her go back to her life.”

“Don’t move, Blackwell,” his father’s voice thundered through the room.

Salem froze in place. A magic hold flooding through his entire being at the invocation of his True Name.

The King smiled as he brought his lips next to Angel’s ear. “Any last words, girl, for your beloved?”

A weight of hopelessness settled on Salem’s shoulders as he was forced to watch Angel struggle to raise her head enough to meet his gaze. And the look of resignation in her blue eyes made him want to roar. He fought against the magic holding him, bucked and pushed until every muscle in his body was trembling with the effort. All to no avail.

“I love you, Salem,” she whispered.

When his father’s command wouldn’t allow him to respond, the King laughed and ordered, “Speak, Blackwell.”

“I love you,” Salem choked out. “I’m sorry you ever met me. I’ll never forgive myself.”

“Please…” she swallowed with effort, “… please, don’t forget me.”

“Never.”

“You promise?” she pleaded.

“I swear, Angel,” he avowed.

Then the King of the Devils reached into her chest and tore out her heart.

Salem roared and the fire bordering the room burned brighter, slithering up the walls and stretching all the way to the ceiling above. His cry was so loud that even the beings in Heaven must have heard it.

The King snapped his fingers, the ones not wrapped around Angel’s bleeding heart, and a Demon servant appeared. The King dropped the girl’s corpse and heart to the servant’s feet, and Salem cursed him for the grotesque display of apathy. “Dispose of her as we discussed.”

The Demon gave a single nod before removing her limp, blood-covered body and disappearing.

“Approach me, Blackwell,” the King ordered now.

“I will fucking end you,” Salem swore as his feet involuntarily carried him toward the man. “I will not rest until I melt every inch of flesh from your bones and dig the forsaken heart from your own chest. I will feed it to your Hellhounds and then I will give them your soul to play with until it is ripped to shreds.”

A cruel twinkle glinted in his father’s eyes. “And how will you do that, son, when I banish you from here and tether you somewhere else?”

Salem snapped. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Did you think taking her away was your only punishment? That part was much too easy to be any fun,” his father carped. “You wanted to betray me so you could play house with your precious little mortal, you wanted to let her wield your True Name? I’ve created a place where you will be able to experience both for however long I deem satisfactory.”

Salem suddenly felt very tired. His father knew his True Name. Every threat he wanted to aim at the man was empty. And now that Angel had been taken… he didn’t have anything left to fight for anyway.

“Don’t lose all hope so quickly,” his father admonished. “I’ve left you a loophole.”

Salem was too exhausted to ask what the loophole might be. No, not exhausted. Numb. Cold.

The King reached out and gripped his son’s face with malice. “Salemaestrus Erasmus Blackwell, I am hereby sentencing you to my newest creation—Phantasma. A place of nightmares that you will rule with no memory of the traitorous little bastard you’ve become to me—and maybe you’ll eventually learn how to deserve your title of Prince of the Devils. You will belong to Phantasma and myself evermore—unless you find the heart and a key to set you free,” the King invoked.

“And if I do set myself free?” Salem wondered.

“You will receive a fair reward. What’s your price?” The King smiled.

“I want every single soul who knows my True Name to forget it,” Salem seethed.

The King laughed. “That won’t bring her back. But you have a deal. If you manage to release yourself from Phantasma, I vow to forget your true name.”

As the magic of his father’s unbreakable vow settled over them, the King snapped his fingers and Salem watched as the other Demon guards he’d forgotten were still in the room, shoved Sinclair forward.

“Sinclair. Please escort my son to your new home. Make sure you go over every little detail we discussed before the game begins, hmm?”

Sinclair dipped his head in a bow at the King’s request before turning to Salem and making a sharp, beckoning gesture with his chin.

“Let’s go, Blackwell,” Sinclair ordered, utter hatred dripping off of every syllable.

Salemaestrus followed his former friend out of the throne room without another word. The only thought echoing in his mind her name. As it would until there was nothing left of him but dust.

Angel.

The King of the Devils watched his son disappear from the palace, waiting until he could no longer feel the Prince’s essence within its walls.

“Poe,” he requested to the empty room.

The cat appeared seconds later, a mewl ringing out of its mouth as it awaited orders.

“Follow them. Report back to me at the end of each game,” he instructed.

The cat blinked out of the room once again as the King transported himself back to his throne. Settling back into its velvet cushions as he snapped his fingers. Four of his servants were immediately lined up in front of him, standing shoulder to shoulder at attention.

He tapped a foot on the ground, thoughtfully, as he tilted his head at one of the servants in particular. “Dahlia. Did you take care of the mortal as I requested?”

Dahlia, a young Demon with a gift for soul-singing stepped forward from the line. She reached into the pocket of her tailored trousers and pulled something out. A golden, heart-shaped locket.

“Yes, your Highness,” Dahlia confirmed as she transferred the locket to the King’s hand. “All that’s left is to choose who will receive the mortal’s soul, and when it shall be released.”

“The soul needs to be reborn to someone who will not balk at a place such as Phantasma, but will have a healthy dose of apprehension in regards to it. We cannot make the game too easy for Salemaestrus after all.”

“A paranormal mortal, perhaps?” Dahlia suggested and a spark of excitement went through the King.

“Precisely,” the King confirmed. “Not a seer. They would have too much of an advantage. A being who will know the consequence of magic and will give the darling little curse I’ve placed on Phantasma heavy consideration before deciding to choose my son despite it.”

Dahlia dipped her head in understanding. “And how long should I assure the necklace be worn before the soul is released and reborn?”

The King considered for a moment. “Let’s give him five centuries. Make sure my magic has time to make him really forget her. Too much sooner and he might still be able to recognize her soul. Make sure whoever you compel to wear the necklace, will never take it off until it is passed to the next host and so on.”

“There is a Necromancer currently residing in the dungeon, your Highness. Hestia Grimm,” one of the other servants chimed in. “The woman who was attempting to create an undead army. Her hatred for Devils and Hell may make her a viable candidate.”

The King smiled as he tossed the locket back to Dahlia. “Perfect.”