Author's Note

In celebration of Amazon Prime Video's newest series Panic, I am thrilled to be teaming up with Amazon Prime Video and Wattpad to write this exclusive chapter that puts my characters from this story into the world of Panic!

I hope this chapter intrigues and inspires you to learn more about Panic. Visit the #PanicWritingContest on Wattpad for the chance to put your creative writing chops to the test and learn more about the show!

To find out more about the contest, prizes, and how to enter, check out the #PanicWritingContest here: wattpad.com/AmazonPrimeVideo

Don't forget to watch the series premiere on May 28th, only on Amazon Prime Video, here: http://primevideo.com/

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Azima Rousseau had been through Hell and back... but nothing compared to this.

In all her life— in all her travels— she had never come across any city or village like... she leaned back and read the name on an illuminated tower in the distance.

Carp.

Definitely no longer within the Parish's jurisdiction, she immediately assumed someone — or something— else was in charge.

In one moment she had fallen asleep next to Rahn in their home on the apple orchard, having just finally gotten Alisa to sleep in her bassinet, only to wake up on an overgrown field surrounded by rusted farming equipment to the sounds of yelling and cheers.

Shaking off the mental haze, she watched, hidden, from a distance, as young men and women walked themselves across a dangerously elevated length of metal connecting two dilapidated towers as if possessed...

If she was where she believed she was, she also knew its denizens could control more than just the minds of the weak-willed. Time, space, even—

"Azima."

Even the dead.

Everything stilled and stopped.

Including her heart.

Slowly she turned towards the voice that she never thought she'd hear ever again. That, for the last year, she considered what she could have sacrificed for just another moment with its source.

But there he stood. Dressed more plainly than last she saw him, his ember eyes glowed with demonic delight as sharp fangs protruded over his sardonic smile. Even his ruby skin seemed to flare with its own inner fire.

She wanted to run to him, to hold him close and lose herself in him again. Instead, she held her ground, the struggle of the last year forcing her to remain in place.

"How?" Azima forced out instead.

Malecoda pushed off the tree he had been leaning against and prowled to her with that arrogant saunter that made her body heat through to the core. "You know better than anyone that demons can't truly die."

The weight of the realization knocked the breath from her. "But it... I was there. I did it... I saw you—"

"Did you?" His smile curled with his suggestive tone.

Azima blinked, willing herself to think back to the war, to that moment she had tried so hard to block from her memory. When she knew they were the only solution to sealing the Rift, and she was so ready to sacrifice herself for him. For them all...

She couldn't allow herself to remember. Not when there were more pressing circumstances in play.

"Where are we?" she inquired, avoiding the situation and returning to surveying their surroundings with her voice hoarse and eyes burning.

Malecoda lifted his eyes to the sky, his nostrils flaring as he inhaled the unusual scents. "This is no level of Hell I know of."

Another loud cacophony returned their attention to the two towers, where one of the participants was now holding onto the metal plank, legs dangling over the abyss below.

"We need to get out of here," Azima murmured, "before whatever has power over them takes control of us."

"I tend to agree." Malecoda offered Azima his hand. "I know somewhere we can go to wait it out until we can figure out our way home."

Home...

Hand in hand, he led them through the dense, overgrown forest until they found an abandoned shed on the outskirts of a cornfield. There they remained while they tried to understand what level of Hell would have summoned them. Was it Abaddon exacting his vengeance? Or Gorgo attempting to make amends? Whoever it was, Azima was on the defensive. Regardless of how much she wanted to give in to her own primal urges with the demon prince she believed she lost a year ago, back at her side.

But they fell into their natural rhythm, like a part of her that had been missing was finally back into place. And she allowed herself to smile, to taste, to feel—still uncertain as to what brought Malecoda back to her but not going to deny herself the pleasure of his return.

One night, for what felt like weeks after their arrival of losing herself to the demon prince, when they were without any answers as to how they got there or a solution as to how to leave, Malecoda returned to their abandoned shed, hurried and motivated.

"We have to move," he announced as he began gathering the small collection of supplies and food stores they had hoarded in their travels.

"Why, is something coming?" Azima was immediately on the alert, wishing she had her blade strapped to her back, instead picking up the rusted axe she had found in the corner of the shed.

"Someone," he corrected. "Many. And the last thing we want is to have to explain ourselves should we be discovered."

He wasn't wrong. Azima could hear a ruckus in the distance and they didn't have the time to concoct an explanation.

"Where will we go?" she asked as she began to pack whatever she could get her hands on.

"There's a greenhouse, on the other side of the field. I saw it while I was hunting. There is light from within— there's a chance we can seek shelter there while we regroup and plan our next move."

"What is our next move?"

"That's entirely up to you, Azima Rousseau."

She scowled at the demon prince but knew they didn't have the time to debate. She could hear footsteps getting closer and they had to move. Quietly they crept from the dilapidated shed and into the cornfields, the stalks taller than Malecoda's antlers.

In the darkness they ran, the rustling of cornstalks surrounding them. Screams began to sound in the distance, and instinct had Azima moving faster. Too fast. She had just heard Malecoda's warning of, "Watch out!" when the metallic snap or a hidden beartrap dug its vicious teeth into Azima's ankle.

With a scream all her own she collapsed to the ground, the axe flying out of her hand, with Malecoda immediately at her side. The pain was numbing and she knew she'd succumb to it in a moment if it wasn't for the demon prince urging her to breathe through it.

"You have let me remove it," he whispered in her ear, and she didn't dare ask him how he was going to go about doing that. Not as he was already moving, prying the trap open and pulling the teeth free of her flesh as she let out an excruciating scream.

The blood flowed freely— even in the shadows, she watched it seep into her pants. Malecoda was already removing his shirt, tying it around her leg to staunch the bleeding. She was in too much agony to appreciate the beauty of his bare chest as the muscles beneath his ruby skin worked with his efforts. The smell of her own blood was nauseating— she could only imagine what it was doing to him.

"I know it hurts, but we can't remain here," he said as he stood, wrapping an arm around her to bring her to standing.

She couldn't put any weight on the leg and needed to us him to support her weight. Ahead of them, the shouting grew louder, more aggressive, paired now with an unnatural wailing sound cutting through the darkness like a banshee on the hunt.

"You need to go," she ground out.

"I'm not leaving you here like this."

"Yes, you can. You should."

"Why?"

"Because It should have been me." The words choked her as she said them.

He didn't ask what she meant. He didn't need to. "No, it shouldn't have."

"How can you say that?"

"Because if you had died, Alisa would have died with you."

She stopped. "You knew?"

Malecoda glanced down at her and nodded.

"Why didn't you say something?" she pleaded.

"Because then you would have hesitated."

"But—"

"And now you know that I'll always be with you."

It wasn't enough. "But I want to be with you."

"No— not now," He shook his head. "Not yet. Not when there are so many others who need you more."

"Please." She wasn't going to allow him to make such a choice for her again. She leaned into him, needing to feel him, that sense of stability only he was able to provide.

If he answered, she couldn't hear. Not as an explosion hit the ground next to them, sending dirt flying into the air. Another loud explosion hit the ground before them, and she knew they couldn't remain where they were— she knew they needed to start moving.

Another explosion by their feet had Malecoda wrapping his arms around her and pulling her away back down to the ground. The impact however was not on solid ground, but metal.

On his hands and knees, Malecoda began brushing away the dirt beneath them to reveal what looked like a metal panel inlaid in the earth. Digging his taloned fingers along the edges, he pried it open on a hinge like a door, to reveal a dark shaft with a ladder leading downwards. There was no indication of where it led, but they were running out of time to figure it out. As movement through the cornfields towards them sounded like someone running in their direction.

"It's time, Azima," Malecoda urged.

"Time for what?" she huffed.

"Time to go home."

"But I am home." She knew the words sounded pathetic once she said them, but it was true. She never felt like she belonged anywhere anymore without him. Not even with Rahn or their orchard of the life they tried to live. "I can't leave you again."

"I told you," he said, surprisingly gentle as a clawed hand cupped her cheek. "I will always be with you."

He wiped away the tear that dared escape her eye as he leaned down and placed a too-careful kiss on her lips. "Please," she begged again.

"You have to wake up, Azima." The demon prince stepped back, now motioning to the ladder. "You have to go."

"What—"

"Wake up! Now!"

Azima didn't remember hearing the explosion, but the force that knocked her down was sudden and unexpected. She felt like she was falling, unable to grab ahold of the ladder to slow her descent while bracing for an impact on the ground she couldn't see. Instead, Azima woke with a start to a void of darkness and a screaming infant in the bassinet next to her bed.

"Azima, wake up!"

Rahn was leaning over her, his shadowed face close enough for her to read the concern written across it. He had been shaking her, roughly by the feeling of his hands gripping her shoulders.

"I'm awake," she assured him, her throat dry.

Letting out a sigh, he released her and moved to stand from the bed.

"Was it another dream?" Rahn asked as he lifted Alisa from her bassinet to his shoulder.

"No," she lied as she brought her hand down to her previously injured ankle. Though she couldn't feel any signs of the wound or injury, it remained warm and tender to the touch.

No, it was a nightmare.