Summary: A contract is revealed and another sort of vow is made.

A/N: God this is a long one oopsie 3

DISCLAIMER: Any mental illness depicted may or may not be accurate. I try my best to research symptoms, but I am not an expert and often base things on my own experiences. This is a dark story and as the author I do not agree with all the things the characters do, say, or believe. It will also be very gross - lots of violence, blood, and gore. Mentions of s/assuault will be brought up throughout the story. Trigger warnings are in the tags. You have been warned, read at your own risk.

Two weeks had passed before Priscilla and Cassandra had truly awoken as themselves. Edward and Astrid, Priscilla's twin son and daughter had been kept from the duchess while she slumbered. The faithful had feared that the holy light flowing inside her would harm the babes. But when she awoke, lucid and screaming for her children and husband, they were brought to her forthwith. However, as she slept, her body returned to a near-perfect state, leaving her breasts dry to her children and she could not feed them. Still, she clung to them, holding one while the other returned to the wet nurse to feed.

Priscilla had wept when the faithful told her that her husband, Duke Edward Cavendish of Devonshire, had perished in the fire. She had not felt his soul slip past hers into the afterlife. Why had God spared Priscilla and her sister, but not her husband?

Edward had been kind, a very good friend to her over the years. It had come as no surprise to her when he proposed, and her family had no objections. He was a Duke after all. It was a very advantageous match for both parties. And she had grown to love him deeply in the short three years they had been married.

Yes, Edward had been so very kind and so excited to have children with her. He had longed to be a father… and now he would not see his children grow.

They had made a good match, she and Edward. His looks were dark and brooding whereas hers were icy and cool. Both wealthy and kind to a fault. They were an attractive couple, and the Queen herself had even attended their wedding, praising the sister of her beloved Watchdog for the excellent match she had made for herself. It was easy to be married to Edward. It had been comfortable.

But all Priscilla had left of her cherished friend and husband now was his title and his children. And his estate of course, but she was wealthy enough herself. She cared not for Edward's earthly possessions. She only wished he could have spent more time with her and their children.

There was still no word of her brother's – her little nephews.

The faithful had been overturning every stone in the underworld they could think of, exhausting every contact or information rat Priscilla and Cassandra could recall, which was not many for their brains were still adjusting to the awesome power thrust inside them. Priscilla was sure nothing good had happened to the boys; though Cassandra – in her bright optimism – was positive they would be unharmed when they returned.

If they returned.

Priscilla had begun to grow unsure.

And so, as the noblewomen adjusted to the power that fit so wrongly inside their human bodies, they returned to their lives. They dressed for mourning and began to rebuild the Phantomhive family estate. Mirrors in the Cavendish household were covered, every portrait of Edward was hidden away, more out of respect for his widow's feelings than to make sure his soul did not possess someone. Every one of the faithful who served the Duchess wore a black armband to mourn their departed master.

The sisters drew closer together than they ever had been, even more so than any twins in the family before them. One would not have to speak before receiving an answer to her question. Cassandra became like a second mother to Priscilla's children, them crying for her as often as the woman who birthed them. It was like they had become one whole in their grief, even falling asleep next to each other like they had when they were children.

Some in society speculated it was due to their combined grief but the sisters knew it was more than that. It was the abilities they had gained in their near-death. It had linked them somehow, that one sister's thoughts became the others and some of their desires too became shared. As did their dreams. Dreams of children in cages, of vile, despicable things enacted upon them. Of lecherous men and women devouring each other's bodies in acts of carnal torment. Of blood, of viscera, of depravity. Of a deep, black shadow that engulfed all it touched. They dreamed over and over as that shadow took shape, as it reached out its hand to a shining bright star, as the star screamed in rage. They always woke up as the slaughter started; they knew those dreams meant something.

But the whole world moved on around them as if nothing had happened. The sisters began to grow paranoid about the people who had attacked the manor – just how many of them had they been cordial within society? How many had they danced with? Or had they merely been the masterminds, allowing hired rabble to carry out the attack and kidnapping?

If the dreams were to be believed then those who took and tormented her nephews would be dead in the future, or already were. Baron Kelvin had been a good suspect, at first. It was found later by the faithful that he had undergone numerous surgeries and was bedridden.

She and Edward had never liked him. He was obsessed with her family in an obvious way, always staring at them with an awed expression. His wife had recently left him over his surgeries, which was almost unheard of in their circles. The twins could not blame her for it, but they did not reach out to her. Why would she want to engage with them when it was clearly her family she blamed for her misfortune? But his connections were interesting.

He had always taken in poor children and donated much of his wealth to the Renbourn workhouse. And nobody paid attention when street urchins went missing. Nobody but the Phantomhives, and now the Cavendishes too. And since the kidnapping, now… the dots were beginning to connect.

Then, just as the twins and their faithful had begun to uncover the whereabouts of the lost children, many of Kelvin's close acquaintances had been reported missing. Noblemen and women. Gentry. The faithful had begun to grow concerned that they were losing the trail that Kelvin had provided them.

All had been thought lost when he had returned to a half-repaired manor with a butler clad in black.

Her nephew.

Alone.

Priscilla and Cassandra had been back and forth between Phantomhive manor and house Chatsworth often since their "miraculous" recovery, overseeing the rebuilding of the home but progress had been slow. So, when they had received word that the repairs had been suddenly been completed overnight the sisters rushed to their ancestral home, leaving Priscilla's children in the care of their wet nurse and nannies once more.

Had their power been stronger, they may have recognized the threat sooner. They may have even made it in time to rescue both boys. As it was, when Priscilla flung open the door of the home she had known since she was a girl and she and Cassandra stepped over the threshold, they felt nothing more than an uncanny tremor.

Priscilla pulled her black mourning veil from her face in shock.

How was it that the manor had been rebuilt exactly as it had been before? The small divot in the marble floor remained where she had insisted on fencing with Frannie as children, disarming her sister and sending her blade straight into the floor. Minute scratches in the walls that had been painted over from her roughhousing with Cassandra. They never had been "proper ladies" as Frannie had put it.

"Madam," a smooth voice said, drawing Priscilla's attention to the top of the stairs where a man in butler's attire was hurrying toward them. "I am afraid the Earl isn't receiving guests at the—"

"The Earl," Priscilla snarled at the man, passing without a second glance. "Will see me and my sister at once."

"I am afraid I cannot allow that," he said, tone firm as his hand wrapped around Priscilla's bicep, halting her.

"How dare you—" she started, looking up into his face to give him a tongue lashing that would curl the very hair on his head.

Then she stopped, the words dying in her mouth, her throat closing in on itself.

At first, the face looked identical to Vincent's, her brother's, but the closer she looked, the more the features settled into her late husband, Edward's. The same proud, haughty brow; the same jet-black hair, styled in a similar devil-may-care fashion; the same mahogany eyes that shone with intelligence and mischief; smooth porcelain skin and her husband's lush mouth. Edward had looked similar enough to her brother that her nephews had taken to calling him "Uncle Papa" as a joke. They didn't look exactly alike, but it had been such a laugh when non-family mistook them for brothers instead of brothers-in-law.

"Prissy?" Cassandra hedged, using her childhood nickname; hand ready to unsheathe the blade hidden in her jeweled cane.

"Who are you?" Priscilla breathed, sapphire eyes welling with tears.

And why do you wear my husband's face? She wished to say, but could not bring herself to do so.

A wicked smile then curved at the man's mouth, revealing hints of sharp canines and his eyes flashed a brilliant ruby red, pupils slitting like a cat's. Priscilla knew at once why the man made her feel so uneasy and unsettled. She understood why it was even possible for him to appear as a mirror image of Edward.

"I am merely a butler," he murmured.

This was no mere butler but a demon in the flesh.

"Aunt Priscilla, Aunt Cassandra," a cultured, youthful voice carried down to them. Haughty and cold.

Her eyes snapped away from the vile creature to rest on the speaker. Her nephew. He was thin, wan, and bruised beneath his fine clothing. An eye patch… an eye patch adorned his right eye. Oh God, what had become of him?

The demon said he was the Earl… could he be Ciel? Or was he…?

A twin herself, Priscilla had prided herself in her ability to tell her nephews apart. She and Cassandra had been nearly identical themselves until her sister's hair darkened. Both boys had been sensitive about their identities, and so much had happened, she needed to be sure.

"Nephew," Priscilla choked out. "What happened to you? Where is your brother?"

"Dead," the boy replied coldly.

"No!" Cassandra gasped, her hand leaping to her throat.

"Do you know who did this?" Priscilla asked, willing the tears away.

She would not grieve, not in front of the beast who still held her arm. Kelvin was still a lead. He had to be. So many children went missing under his care. So many of his circle of friends were unaccounted for, and if this demon was here with her nephew – if her and Cassandra's shared dreams were accurate – she knew why.

"I have yet to uncover the mastermind," her nephew replied, slowly turning from the stairs. "But I intend to, and I intend to make them pay. Care to join me?"

Priscilla's mouth tightened and she gave the demon a pointed look, jerking her arm away from his gloved grasp before following her nephew. Cassandra grasped her sister's hand in hers, hurrying along beside her, brushing tears away with the back of her glove. The demon butler followed silently behind, a smirk on his wicked mouth.

Once they were settled in Vincent's office – the Earl's office, Priscilla reminded herself – her nephew leveled them with a look. He was suspicious of them, and that hurt. Priscilla and Cassandra were only thirteen years his senior, and they had always been the boys' favorite aunts.

"Aunt—" he stopped himself with a wry smile, steepling his hands on the ornate desk that was much too large for him. "I'm sorry, 'Your Grace', why are you here?"

"We heard that our repairs had finished miraculously," Cassandra snapped, shooting a look at the butler who stood off to the side of their nephew's desk. "And decided to investigate as to why."

"Why do you speak so formally to us, nephew?" Priscilla asked, unable to disguise the pain in her voice.

Emotion was something that was always difficult for her to control. She always felt too deeply– too strongly – and was easily swept up in the current of anger, love, or pain. Now was one of those times; Priscilla was unable to focus on the matter at hand, and only that her nephew had suffered, andwas still suffering. Her beloved nephew who was too sickly to go boating, or riding, or to play with other children always stayed back to play chess with her and Cassandra. Or make puzzles, or read mystery books, or play pretend. Her newly formed heart felt like it was shattering in her chest.

"Formally?" the boy questioned, raising a brow. "You are a duchess. I am giving you your due respect."

"You never called me 'Your Grace', not once," Priscilla insisted.

"I was not the Earl then."

"Answer me this, then," she said, folding her gloved hands primly in her lap. "How old were you before you beat me in chess for the first time."

"Eight," he spoke without hesitation.

Then his eye widened in horror, skin pallid and sallow. Ciel had never been able to be at her in chess. He was a bright boy, but impatient. Sitting and completing a game of strategy was not in his interest, especially against his big scary aunt.

This was not Ciel who sat before her. And she had just taken his king. Even swept away by emotion, Priscilla was nothing if not strategic.

"You are indeed my nephew, but you are not Ciel. Why do you call yourself by your brother's name when you are—"

The butler was before her in a flash, his hand clamped over her mouth like a vise. Cassandra was to her feet immediately, sword drawn and pointed at his head. One wrong move and she would pierce his temple.

"The young master doesn't wish that name to be spoken again, I'm afraid," he said smoothly, ignoring Cassandra's sword point. "I am sure you understand."

"Unhand her at once," Cassandra's voice was low and deadly calm.

The butler looked to their nephew, the boy's face still pale and shocked. "Young master?"

"Un-unhand her," her nephew said, sitting back in the over-large leather chair heavily.

But when the butler pulled his gloved hand from Priscilla's mouth, it came away bloody. He looked down at it in shock, barely registering the faint sensation of pain and the bite mark on his middle finger. When he got over his initial surprise, he noticed that Priscilla's lips were red with his blood and she had retrieved a black handkerchief to wipe her lips.

Then she spat a mouthful of his blood into the cloth, lips curling with disgust.

"She bit me," he breathed, almost to himself, rather than his new master.

"I thought humans could not harm you," the master said accusingly.

"They cannot," the butler replied, heart thundering – a strange feeling tingling through his human form. "At least not with their jaws alone."

The butler felt his master's eye on him, willing him to meet his gaze but he could not look away from the duchess clad in her widow's weeds, spitting another mouthful of his tainted blood into that black handkerchief. When she lifted her eyes to meet his they flashed pure gold, and she stood to her feet, ripping her veiled bonnet from her head.

"I am no longer human," she declared, her voice like thunder – the sound of hit shaking the manor to its very foundation. "The night you were taken, our entire family was murdered. Your aunt and I were brought back from the brink of death."

"Actually," Cassandra interposed, sword still pointed in the butler's direction. "I believe we were dead for at least a few minutes. I couldn't feel my toes for a little bit there."

Ignoring her, their nephew pushed himself to his feet, shaking. "Then how come you are not covered in burns? How are you even standing? Aunt Cassandra, I saw you in the dining room, you were not moving."

The pain in his voice, in his single blue eye was heartrending.

Priscilla gave a mirthless laugh, as though the cruelty of her creator would have amused her, had it not caused this boy so much pain. "God spared us," she spat, tossing down the bloodied handkerchief on the pristine green rug. "I begged him for mercy, for the power to protect my family, and he brought me back. He brought me back wrong, there is something in my soul now that I do not quite understand – but I am alive. Far too late it seems."

"I prayed the same," Cassandra whispered, sword hand trembling – but not with fear, with rage. "Right before the manor exploded and I was blown out the bloody window."

"God?" their nephew scoffed, lip curling and tiny hands balling into fists. "I spit in the face of your god. Where was he when I was suffering? Where was he when I begged for mercy? The only help I received was from Sebastian, and that still came far too late to spare my dignity."

Priscilla's eyes flashed gold again when they rested on the butler. Sebastian… like the family dog? Amusement curled the edges of her lips and she took a step toward her nephew.

"Do not come any closer!" he shouted.

Sebastian moved to stand in front of her, though utterly dazed. So, he was obedient like the dog too. Her nephew always was clever.

"How do I know you are who you say you are?" the boy asked, trembling. "How do I know you aren't some fakes sent to take me again? How do I know you aren't working for those who wished the family harm?"

There was a way, one which Priscilla was loath to employ as she would need to touch her nephew. Without her gloves. She rarely removed them anymore, not even to hold her children.

"If I may, Nephew," she spoke, staring up into the face of the demon who barred her way forward. "I can easily prove to you that we are who we say we are if you will allow it."

"Were you not a higher rank than I, I would command it," he snapped. "Stand aside, Sebastian."

The demon moved, though slowly, as though he were a predator assessing a threat. Priscilla would have smiled if her stomach wasn't filled with lead. Carefully, she unbuttoned the wrists of her black woolen gloves and slid them off, placing them neatly in the reticule that hung about her wrist. Then, she stepped forward.

"I ask that you remove your glove and place your hand in mine," she whispered, heart picking up speed in her chest.

The duchess did not tight lace, but her corset felt at once far too constricting. Anxiety prickled and bubbled under her skin, giving her the sensation of an explosion threatening to erupt beneath her skin. But she had to do this. She and Cassandra needed their nephew to trust her. They needed to save his soul from this demon.

"Why?" the boy asked, eyeing her with distrust.

"So that I may show you that you can trust me."

He gave a familiar roll of his eye and removed the glove, hesitantly reaching out to touch her outstretched hand. Then he paused, his eye widening.

"What is that?" he demanded, gesturing to the brand on her palm.

"I will show you," Priscilla swallowed, taking a small step forward. "'Reach out your fingers and behold my hands… be not faithless, but believing'."

So, with trepidation, the Earl reached out his hand and touched the brand on Priscilla's palms. Instantly their bodies jerked as though struck by a bolt of lightning and they fell to their knees, their hands still touching.

Sebastian made to grab his master but Cassandra was faster, shoving her body between them, her sword at his throat.

"Ah, ah, ah, demon," she jeered. "Your meal isn't in any danger, not to worry. Prissy is just showing our nephew her memories of that night, that is all."

And show him she did. Every detail. Nothing to spare the boy his sensibilities, for he truly had none left. They had all been defiled over that month he spent in captivity; she had seen it in her dreams. However, those dreams could not have prepared her for all of his memories flooding her mind. The kidnapping, the bodies, the fire, the children, the nice man who fed them and betrayed them, the "parties", the defilement, the rituals, the broken bloody body of Ciel on the alter—

Priscilla was the first to jerk away, bile spewing from her mouth as she brought her hands up to catch it. The afternoon meal that she had eaten in the carriage ride over now coated her hands, her gown, and the once-flawless rug. Cassandra sheathed her sword and rushed to her sister, the demon all but forgotten.

"Oh, God," Priscilla choked out. "Oh, God, oh…"

"God has forsaken me," her nephew said, now Ciel and not— it did not matter. That boy had died.

They both had.

"But I believe you," her nephew – Ciel – continued. "I remember seeing you reaching for me as they carried me away. You are telling the truth, though I know not how you live."

"We are not quite sure ourselves," Cassandra said, holding her sister close, andwiping her mouth and hands with her own black handkerchief. "Just that our souls were placed back into our bodies, along with something else."

"Angelic power," Sebastian said, reaching to help his master to his feet.

"I beg your pardon?" Priscilla rasped.

"Oh, Your Grace, I would very much enjoy that, but I wouldn't expose the young master to such indignity" Sebastian crooned, righting his master's clothes before turning to face her. "Your souls were judged worthy of angelic power and you were given your lives back, potentially to fulfill some sort of contract, I presume?"

"You presume correctly," Cassandra answered, attempting to help a shaking Priscilla to her feet.

"And do you care to share what that may entail?"

Priscilla pulled away from her sister, standing to her full height. "That is none of your business. But as it stands, our goals are aligned. At least for the moment."

Sebastian and Ciel exchanged a long look, then turned back to face the duchess in all her disheveled glory.

"And what might that be?" Ciel asked, crossing his arms.

Priscilla smiled as one would imagine a wolf smiling before devouring its prey. "Revenge."

Once Sebastian had snapped his fingers and cleaned up the vomit on the floor and the duchess' person, they retired to the drawing room for a small meal. Priscilla couldn't manage more than a mouthful of tea, but Cassandra ate ravenously – as she had constantly done since her rebirth.

"Your household will need servants," Priscilla remarked, tugging at the jet buttons on her gloves.

"I have all I need with Sebastian," Ciel said, waving a hand at her.

How naïve. He was only a child, but his demon should instruct him better. Priscilla snapped a black lace fan on the table, effectively gaining her nephew's – and her sister's – attention.

"I do not say this for propriety's sake, nephew," Priscilla said sharply. "But for the safety of the manor, and yourself should… Sebastian be on an errand for you. You need not have a full staff, but a handful to keep up appearances and for this protection."

What she held back was that she had suggested something similar to her brother only months before, and had he listened, the attack might never have happened. Being the queen's guard dogs only garnered enemies from all sides. It would have behooved them to have had a pack of trained servants – not to rely on their own strengths. Thankfully, she had convinced Edward of her wisdom, because the servants at house Chatsworth reported a similar attack that was quelled and the provocateurs driven off or killed as she languished in her sick bed.

"I can lend you a handful of my maids, two or three maybe," Priscilla mused, tapping her fan to herlips. "However, they will be loyal to me first, and you by association. We will need to assemble at least a handful more who are completely and utterly loyal to you and only you."

"And how do you propose I do that?" Ciel groused, shoving away his food and tea.

Priscilla noted that her tea was rich in flavor, but had no… substance. Almost as if it had been conjured out of thin air. A quick eye to Sebastian's befuddled face at Ciel's rejection of his food told her that it likely was.

"By rescuing them of course," Cassandra said, shoving back her plate in a most unladylike manner. "Take them out of a bad circumstance, give them good food, stability, a roof over their heads, and clothing and they will worship the ground you walk on."

"But you must make sure they are skilled," Priscilla interjected.

"How calculating," Sebastian remarked, taking up the dishes. "Humans really are so very fascinating. You're talking about the lives of others in your species and how you might manipulate them to suit your needs. Fascinating. Simply fascinating."

Priscilla laughed. "A good butler would remain silent unless spoken to, though you are a devil of a butler, aren't you?"

He merely smiled in her direction.

"Besides," she continued airily. "I never said to treat them unkindly. That is something you must also never do. If you take advantage, if you mistreat them, they will turn on you as easily as a pack of wolves. You must always be kind to your servants. They are only trying to survive this hell we call life as well."

Ciel appeared to mull over her words, staring at his twin aunts intently. Then he straightened in his seat and clapped his small hands together.

"Sebastian," he said, looking up at the demon. "I believe my aunt is right. We must start the search for talented individuals post haste. But first…" he cast a sidelong glance at the spread of perfect food before them. "I thought I commanded you to better prepare food?"

Sebastian's face tightened at the comment, but clapped his hands and the food disappeared.

"It was a bit… salty," Cassandra commented, twirling her hair around her fingers.

"You expect a creature who doesn't eat food to understand how it is prepared?" Priscilla scoffed.

All eyes fell on her again, and she stood to her feet, placing her reticule and fan on the small hardwood table. If this was going to work, she needed to understand this demon – what riled him, what he desired other than souls. She needed to know him. And she needed to gain her nephew's implicit trust.

"I will train him up, I always spent too much time in the kitchens as a child," she said, beginning to roll up the sleeves of her wool gown. "My own chef trusts my opinion more than the rest of the kitchen staff. Besides, it is much too late for us to return home for supper. Cassandra." she turned to her sister. "Please tell the driver to return home with instructions to bring some trunks of my belongings, and to send one of the maids with a message to Nina, our tailor. We will need to outfit the new Earl immediately. We cannot have him looking like an immature child."

Cassandra saluted her sister with a grin, then turned to leave the opulent sitting room, but paused at the threshold. "What about the children? Should we send for them as well?"

Priscilla, who was busy brushing herself with a small porcelain lint brush froze, dropping the implement clattering to the ground. In an instant, Sebastian was kneeling before her the brush in his outstretched hand. Unbeknownst to Ciel or Cassandra, his eyes blazed crimson and his pupils slit once more like a cat's. Or, perhaps a snake was more appropriate as his fallen brother, Lucifer, would have possessed.

A look of terror so strong crossed her features that one would have thought he held out a human heart to her, but she took the brush and placed it back inside her bag. When she turned back, her face was schooled into one of angelic neutrality.

"No, the children and their nursemaids will only be in the way here."

Cassandra nodded, then turned on her heel and left to instruct the driver. When she returned, she would inspect the manor to see about fortifications and appropriate places for weapons caches. As was her specialty; Cassandra had always had a fascination with guerrilla warfare and finding places to refit for such tactics was suited to her quick mind.

"I will retire to my study then," Ciel said, stretching his arms over his head and making to leave the room. "I have mounds of paperwork to look over and Aunt Cassandra will wish to look over the building plans when she returns, I suspect."

"Cassie," Priscilla corrected absentmindedly.

"Hmm?"

"You always called us Prissy and Cassie, never Aunt Priscilla and Cassandra."

Ciel scoffed and waved her off. "I thought I wasn't to appear as an immature child, Aunt."

A sad smile crossed Priscilla's features and she nodded. He was right. If he was to gain the respect and fear of the peerage, then he must appear as mature as possible. Even in private. She watched him go with a heavy heart and turned to the demon next to her.

"To the kitchens then," she said dully.

Sebastian bowed at the waist, gesturing her to walk ahead of him. "After you, Your Grace."

"The trick to cooking is balance," she said, holding up a pair of quail Cassandra had shot for her. "If even one ingredient is out of balance from the others, or the heat isn't just so, then the meal will be off. And while I suppose some of your unhol— sorry, abilities are useful in the kitchen, you mustn't rely on them completely as it will alter the dish you are cooking, which I witnessed earlier."

There was chocolate cake in the oven, along with a bone broth with root vegetables from the garden boiling on the stove. A gas stove was a new feature, something many households were too nervous to employ, but not the Phantomhives who were always interested in new technology. They even had electric and gas lighting before many of their peers. Thankfully, Sebastian had been able to conjure the kitchen exactly as it had been, including some of the ingredients they were using. Others had been found on the grounds, like the quail.

"We must also pick out the bird shot because nobody wishes to lose a tooth to a lead ball," she said hooking a long-nailed finger into the wound and scraping out a pellet.

Sebastian watched her with rapt attention. It would have been quite adorable, almost like the time she attempted to teach Edward how to roast a chicken – which hadn't ended well – had he not kept conjuring things out of midair. Though she did wonder if she could learn to do such a thing.

"I suppose you are only entertaining this because your master commanded it," Priscilla said airily, passing Sebastian one of the birds.

"It is part of our contract that I obey his commands without question," Sebastian smiled.

Rage rose within her, hot and unpleasant in her human skin. The 'angelic power', as Sebastian had called it, burned like the flame in the hearth she had built to roast the birds they were depelleting.

"At least," Sebastion continued smoothly as his black nailed fingers pulled pellet after pellet from the bird's body. "Until his revenge is complete."

Plink. Plink. Plink.

Each pellet that fell into the ceramic dish on the wide oak countertop was like a weight added to her guilt and sin. Why had God seen fit to bring her back to life with this burdensome power? He could have spared her nephews and let her die in peace. But now, here she stood, with a devil in the kitchen of her family home.

"And that is when you devour his soul?" she asked, willing her body to be still and her voice to be calm.

She felt more than anything the glow of gold radiating from her eyes.

The creature probably enjoyed telling her these things, knowing she was powerless to do anything.

"Precisely," he said, presenting her with his clean bird.

Once the birds were cleaned and dressed, Priscilla taught Sebastian about seasoning and stuffing the birds, then set them to roast. Then she set about moistening the chocolate cake with rum and topping itwith rich whipped cream, instructing Sebastian to do the same on the top layer, then they set about decorating it with cherries and chocolate shavings.

There was nary a word said between them that wasn't some sort of cooking instruction or small question. Then, once everything was completed and the birds continued to roast, Priscilla instructed Sebastian on the art of making tea.

Each one has its preferred temperature, and to make them perfectly one must not over or under boil the water. They would be making a regular Earl Grey, simple, but classic for a reason.

"Always offer cream and sugar, but never add it prior unless you are familiar with the person partaking," Priscilla said as she watched him pour.

He was elegant, even more so than Edward who had been slightly brash in his manner. Edward always had a laugh for everyone and was often careless and clumsy. It seemed as though Sebastian was the opposite, subdued and calculated. The contrast unsettled her.

"I myself never take cream and sugar but do enjoy honey," she continued, taking the cup from him after he had handed it to her and sipping it gently.

She almost smiled in wonder as he produced a jar of honey from behind his back, but stopped at the sight of his red eyes and flash of fangs. This was not her husband. This was not her larger-than-life, overly loud, perfect best friend performing a magic trick in the kitchen of their shared home.

This was her enemy.

"The tea is adequate," she commented, taking the jar of honey from him. "Speaking of honey, I am sure my nephew has requested milk and honey at least once?"

"That he has," Sebastian confirmed, cocking his head to the side.

"I used to make it for him. He often would request it when he had a touch of nerves or he took ill." Priscilla smiled sadly down at the jar in her hands. "He was very sickly as a child, while his brother was robust. We must keep him healthy so no one suspects he is not who he says he is."

"So, I should make him milk and honey often?" Sebastian asked curiously.

"Milk is fatty and nourishing, and honey has been used for centuries as medicine, as I am sure you are aware." She looked him up and down. "You must be thousands of years old by now."

"A butler never reveals his age."

"Of course, how silly of me."

They fell silent, Priscilla adding a spoonful of honey to her tea, then tasting it with a wrinkle of her nose. She had made it too sweet but was not one to waste a cup of tea no matter how sweet, bitter, or weak. Exceptfor that awful cup Sebastian had made earlier.

How could she protect her nephew from the nightmare he had already lived? The nightmare he had thought selling his soul would rectify. There was nothing short of selling her soul to this devil she could do, but hers was already marked for Heaven. She could feel the devil's eyes upon her, as though he knew what she was thinking.

"You wish to know the terms of my contract with the young master." It was a statement of fact, not a question.

For all his many faults, Priscilla appreciated his bluntness. "If that is allowed."

"He has yet to command me to refrain from speaking of it."

Priscilla rose an elegant brow. That could be a costly mistake.

"I'll recommend he rectify that immediately," she said, sipping her tea.

"That may be wise," Sebastian agreed, taking a swipe of honey from the jar, andthen making a face at its taste. "I am never to lie to the young master, I am to protect him without betrayal, and obey his every command until his revenge has come to fruition."

"I assume that means that you cannot make a contract with another being then?" Priscilla took another sip and winced at the sweetness.

"As per the terms of our contract, yes," Sebastian leaned against the counter next to her, crossing his arms over his chest in a weary fashion. "Though, it would be against my nature to have more than one contract at a time."

"Are you not hungry though?" she asked, staring into the depths of her teacup. "Would you not have more to eat should you have more contracts?"

Sebastian blinked down at her owlishly then threw back his head and laughed. Priscilla's face flushed scarlet. Had she said something wrong? Stupid perhaps? She knew of the devils who made Faustian contracts with humans from her studies into the occult, but each one was likely to have their own preferences and styles. How was she supposed to know if the literature was lacking?

But now – she realized as her heart sank in her chest – Sebastian had ceased laughing and was staring down at her.

"You are a curious little thing, aren't you?" Sebastian purred, leaning down to make eye contact with her. "And to answer your question, I am starving. I am always starving. It makes my meals taste that much better. It is so much more rewarding when I have the best souls to feast upon, rather than any soul I can."

"That is… disgusting," she said, the tea cup chattering against its saucer in her hands.

"You asked." He grinned.

She turned from him, downing the dregs of her tea in one gulp, then set it on the counter. There were a few tea leaves in the bottom of her delicately patterned cup, and while Priscilla did not partake in divination, she felt as though they spelled death.

"Take care not to get tea leaves into the pot when brewing the tea," she sniffed and began unrolling her sleeves.

When Sebastian did not answer her, she looked up at him with a glare. He was looming over her, and with his black nailed finger, swiped across her cheek. She felt a cool wetness there where he had touched and pressed her fingertips to her face. They came away wet. When had she begun to cry?

Sebastian inspected the tear with cool interest before placing his fingertip to his tongue, curiously. Priscilla's face heated once again, this time from the roots of her hair, down to her décolletage. How dare he—

"Your tears taste sweet," he said matter-of-factly. "How interesting."

"Don't do that again!" she snapped, grabbing at his wrist.

But before she could throw him to the ground as she wished, Priscilla found herself caged against the wooden countertop, the demon's fingers denting into the wood behind her. A wild glint flashed in his red eyes and his grin widened maniacally.

"The young master has not commanded that of me," he said, breath fanning her face. "In fact, he has not demanded anything regarding your safety, so I would be careful how you behave until he deigns to do so, Your Grace."

"I will keep that in mind," she whispered.

Her heart was thundering in her ears, her skin likely fifteen different shades of pink and red. All she could think was that even in this wicked, changed form, his face was so like Edward's. It nearly had her swooning.

Then, Sebastian's wicked grin grew even more threatening and Priscilla realized she was still touching him. Her bare hand still encircled his wrist.

He had heard her.

God damn her.

"Oh, my dear, sweet little angel," Sebastian murmured, bringing up a hand to her cheek. "I am afraid he already has."

Priscilla swallowed and released his wrist as though he had burned her. "I believe the quail is nearly done," she whispered.

"How mundane."

"We should not let it burn."

Sebastian did not let her move. He must be incredibly strong, considering her abnormal strength in life was only amplified in her death, and he was only holding her still with his hand to her cheek.

"There was something you wanted to ask me," he said, head tilted as he gazed down at her with those predator's eyes. "I heard it in your mind in snippets. Something about my contract with the young master?"

"I-I…" Priscilla faltered.

"Go on."

"Did those who hurt my nephew suffer?"

Sharp teeth sharpened further and the air around them began to warp and twist. Black nails became claws. Jet black hair took on the sheen of crows' feathers.

"Immeasurably."

"Will you do something for me?" Priscilla asked, her heart in her throat.

It was Edward's face, but it wasn't. And it was so beautiful and terrible she thought she might die as it descended toward her own. His eyes became heavy-lidded and sensual, his grin dangerous and promising nothing but ruin.

"What would you ask of me, Your Grace?" Sebastian whispered, his breath smelling of cherries and honey and blood.

"When we find those responsible for destroying my family," she started, fisting her scarred hands in his pristine white shirt. "That you would bring them immeasurable suffering as well."

"That can be arranged," he agreed. "For a price."

"I would offer anything, save my soul and the lives of my children," she said.

"Then I will take what you can offer, something you promised only to one other."

Priscilla swallowed, wondering what he could mean when he gripped her tightly to him, a strong arm encircling her waist and his clawed hand snaking into her braided crown. Her eyes widened. Surely, he couldn't mean to—

He did.

Sebastian's full lips met her own with a ravenous hunger, his sharp teeth sinking into her lip in a way that made her gasp, and she tasted honey and hot metal in her mouth when he snaked his tongue passed her lips. For a moment, all she could do was stand still, then she tried to fight and the way he laughed while he held his mouth to hers made her knees weak.

This was the ultimate betrayal of her dead husband. Kissing a demon with his face while he was only in the ground fora month. No wonder Sebastian would accept this as a form of payment. Worst of all, when she fought past her shock and disgust, Priscilla found herself clinging to him, kissing him with ardent cruelty, her tongue tasting the lips that had feasted upon countless souls, and ones who would feast upon the soul who she had vowed to protect.

A/N:

https/open./playlist/3byc3x0vMKdLbrXIL1ZUrT?si=74c234590d4d4412

Here's the playlist guys lol

I am fanning myself about this end of this chapter gosh

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