Her Wicked Angel

by Felicity Heaton

  That didn’t sit well with Asmodeus.

  He would not allow his twin to be her saviour.

  “You do not know what you are dealing with, Asmodeus.” The Devil straightened to his full height and black ribbons of smoke twined around his fingers, streaming from his obsidian claws.

  “Then tell me what I am dealing with. Tell me what you want with the female.” Asmodeus wouldn’t cower before his master. The Devil meant to keep him in the dark and he would never allow that to happen. He needed to know why the Devil wanted Liora and what he would do to her if he got his hands on her, not that Asmodeus would ever allow that to happen.

  “I told you, that is my business. I will only tell you that she is dangerous in the wrong hands.”

  Dangerous? Liora was powerful but she was mortal. Her magic was strong, but her body was weak. It wouldn’t hold out in a battle against a strong demon or angel, and definitely not against his master.

  “Dangerous in your hands, perhaps.” Asmodeus held his master’s gaze, unflinching even when the Devil narrowed his eyes on him and his power rose, the air growing thicker around him. “Tell me why she is dangerous and I will consider bringing the female to you.”

  “Lies. You dare lie to me? I created you, Asmodeus, and I can destroy you just as easily. Remember that.”

  Asmodeus glared at him and spat out a vile curse in the black language of Hell.

  “Tell me, Asmodeus, is she worth the pain you will suffer?” The Devil’s tone dripped venom and his gaze gained a cruel edge, his wicked smile conveying his black thoughts and the pleasure he felt from thinking about torturing Asmodeus.

  That pleasure would increase a thousandfold when he actually carried out the terrible acts he was envisaging.

  “I have withstood torture before. Whatever you do to me, I will not break.” Asmodeus tipped his chin up and stared the Devil straight in the eye.

  The male flashed his fangs in a grin. “Who said I would torture you? I have a feeling you will break when I take her from you and torment her before your very eyes while you are under my orders to watch in silence.”

  Asmodeus stood his ground, unwilling to show fear to his master. His power rose in response to the anger beginning to boil in his blood, fuelled by thoughts of this wretched male harming his Liora.

  “You cannot control me,” he said and advanced another step, closing in on the Devil where he stood at the top of the steps, looking down on him. “Not as Heaven can control their angels. I do not belong to you.”

  “You do belong to me, whether you want to admit it or not. I own you. You will bring her to me, Asmodeus.”

  He felt the tug of those words in his chest, yanking him to his right in the direction of his castle, beyond the rough jagged black spikes that enclosed the courtyard. He fought the command but he still wasn’t strong enough to deny the effect it had on his body. He shifted his right foot to brace himself as it pulled him towards Liora.

  The Devil’s grin turned twisted and pleased, and Asmodeus’s stomach dropped. “I see. The female is already in Hell.”

  Asmodeus called both of his curved golden blades to his hands and growled at the Devil. “I will not bring her to you.”

  “Bring her to me.” The Devil raised his hands at his sides, black fire chasing over them, and the oppressive weight of his power increased, pushing down on Asmodeus.

  Asmodeus readied his blades and drew in a fortifying breath. “I will never let you have her.”

  “It is not a question of let, Maggot. You will obey whether you like it or not.”

  The tug came again, stronger this time, pulling him towards Liora. Asmodeus ground his molars together and fought it, focusing all of his strength on denying the Devil’s command.

  “Never,” Asmodeus roared and launched himself up the steps at the Devil.

  The slender black-haired male flung his left hand forwards and shadowy tendrils shot from his fingers and slammed into Asmodeus’s chest.

  Asmodeus flew backwards through the air, his wings streaming before him, the velocity of his flight so great that he couldn’t move them. The impact with the jagged basalt spires that lined the curved courtyard tore a scream from his throat. Fiery heat lanced his flesh and branded his bones. The rock shattered under the force of the impact.

  An ominous crack echoed around the paved area.

  Asmodeus’s head spun and darkness encroached.

  He slid down the curve of the wall, shards of basalt spearing his back and his thighs, and fell forwards. The pain stole all feeling, leaving him numb and weak, his mind whirling and vision distorting. He rolled onto his back and a shadow loomed above him, growing larger. Unconsciousness?

  His vision aligned again and his eyes widened.

  Death.

  He rolled onto his front and scrambled forwards, kicking hard at the fragmented pavement and beating his aching wings.

  The enormous piece of one of the spires crashed into the ground behind him base first and shattered. Asmodeus flew harder, grimacing with each painful beat of his black wings, fire blistering his skin where each needle of rock penetrated his flesh. Small fragments of the falling spire caught his booted feet and his wings, but he pushed on, the thought of being crushed under the weight of the broken rock driving him onwards.

  He made it beyond the fallout zone from the shattered spire and turned towards the Devil.

  Another blast of black took his legs out, sending him face-first into the pavement.

  Asmodeus growled and pushed onto his knees, and then cried out as claws grasped the back of his neck, digging into his flesh like fiery acid. He arched forwards, yelling his agony at the black vault of Hell, tears streaming from the corners of his eyes.

  The Devil lowered his mouth to Asmodeus’s ear. “I had expected a better fight than this. My daughter and her consort gave me a harder time than you have. You disappoint me.”

  The male shoved him forwards and released him and Asmodeus hit the flagstones again. He lay on his front, breathing hard and struggling to shut down the pain blazing through every inch of his flesh and his bones. If he could just lay here for five minutes and catch his breath, he could give the Devil the fight he desired. He was sure of it.

  His master didn’t even give him five seconds.

  He stepped around Asmodeus, slid his right foot under his left shoulder, and flipped him onto his back, twisting his wings beneath him. Asmodeus groaned and held his right hand out, willing one of his blades to come to him. The Devil stepped onto Asmodeus’s throat and pressed down. He choked, all of his agony focusing in that one spot, driving him close to the edge of oblivion again.

  Asmodeus gave up trying to call his blade as darkness encroached, crowding like shadows at the corners of his vision. He wheezed, desperate for air, and weakly lifted his hands to the Devil’s foot. He fumbled with it, too tired and dizzy to grasp it and push it off his throat.

  His master stood over him, cocked his head to one side, and stared down at him.

  “Such a disappointment. Bring her to me, Asmodeus.” The Devil’s eyes brightened, a corona of crimson encircling his golden irises. “Do not disappoint me again.”

  Black shadows streamed from the Devil’s shoulders, rising and shifting, becoming dragon-like wings. His eyes burned red, his lips twisted in a sneer that exposed his vicious fangs, and he shoved his foot down hard onto Asmodeus’s throat.

  Darkness claimed him.

  CHAPTER 8

  Liora strolled through the black-walled corridors of Asmodeus’s castle, enjoying the cooler air inside and tailed by his hellhounds.

  Well, she was hobbling and snooping, but it made her feel better if she pretended she wasn’t doing anything wrong.

  When he had left her, disappearing through the black vortex that she presumed teleported him elsewhere in Hell, and closer to his master, she had pottered around the grounds of the imposing castle. Romulus and Remus had tracked her every move, keeping close to her heels. Clearly, they took their duty ser
iously and were determined not to fail their master. She had tried to lose them, but they were quicker than she was in her somewhat battered, bruised and shaken state, so she had given up.

  She had actually begun to feel safer with them around. Hell wasn’t a particularly quiet place. Every few seconds there was a distant shriek or piercing cry of something that sounded big and armed with rows of sharp teeth and even sharper claws.

  Romulus and Remus snapped to attention whenever the call echoed around the distant black mountains that surrounded the featureless basin below her. Sometimes they bared their own black fangs and closed formation, pinning her between them. Remus had even licked her hand when the cry had sounded closer and she had tensed, her heart beating wildly, sending adrenaline rocketing through her veins.

  Differentiating between the two immense black hellhounds hadn’t been hard once she had realised that Remus had a floppy ear. She smiled again at the memory of how Asmodeus had corrected it for him, his air that of a doting but frustrated father. It did wreck the hellhound’s deadly and frightening appearance, and that had softened her initial feelings towards them both, making them less scary and threatening.

  When she had reached the far end of the walled grounds, she had peered over the edge. Her head had turned and her stomach somersaulted at the sheer drop to the valley far below. Romulus had moved between her and the wall and nudged her backwards, forcing her away from the frightening drop. The hellhound hadn’t stopped nudging her until she had been a good five metres from the wall.

  Liora had turned then and paused, frozen by the sight of the black castle. It was strangely beautiful and enchanting, made of tall cylindrical towers topped with conical roofs that reached high into the thick hot air. She had drawn such castles as a child. It had a fairy tale air about it.

  The enchanted castle of a dark prince.

  Where was her dark prince now?

  Liora ran her gaze over the black walls inside his home. They were unadorned. She had walked through several empty rooms and through endless bare corridors. She could hardly call it snooping when there was nothing to peek at.

  Romulus and Remus stalked behind her and she had the feeling that she was slowing them down. She hobbled on and focused on her magic. It was still weak and it would be a while before it was strong enough for her to use on her sprained ankle.

  “Maybe I could ride one of you?” She looked over her shoulder at her two dark guardians. They were as large as she had pictured, their ears easily reaching her shoulder, and were thickly muscled too. “Could you support my weight?”

  They stared blankly at her, red eyes not giving away if they could understand her or not. Asmodeus spoke English. She shook that thought away. He had said they understood him when he spoke a demonic sort of tongue. They hadn’t understood her earlier. She should have pressed Asmodeus to teach her a few commands, just in case she needed them. They seemed complacent and hadn’t shown any sign of wanting to attack her, but she still couldn’t bring herself to trust them one hundred percent.

  They had dark auras and unnaturally strong energy. It set her magic on edge and she was having a hard time convincing herself that they wouldn’t harm her so it would relax and she could focus on recuperating.

  She doubted they would obey her even if she did speak their language.

  Romulus trotted on ahead, loping down the dark dimly lit corridor. Remus huffed and followed, and they turned left and disappeared from view. Growls filled the silence and she hurried forwards, afraid that Asmodeus had been wrong and there was an intruder. Her limited magic sparked around her fingers, draining her strength as she tried to use her natural energy to enhance it.

  She rounded the corner and sighed, her magic fading again.

  The two hellhounds rolled around in the corridor ahead of her, growling at each other and trying to grab each other’s scruff.

  It wasn’t the first time they had done this.

  They acted like puppies sometimes, bounding ahead of her and shouldering each other, snarling and growling at the same time. It made it difficult for her to believe they were several hundred years old.

  Liora smiled as she watched them playing and her thoughts turned back to Asmodeus. He had raised them from puppies, saving them from death. It was proof of the good in him that he hid so well from others. If Apollyon were aware of what Asmodeus had done, he wouldn’t view his twin as evil at all.

  Romulus and Remus got to their paws and came to her. Surprise claimed her when they pushed under her palms, causing her to rub their heads between their tall pointed ears.

  Liora petted them as Asmodeus had, stroking their short satiny black fur.

  “Do you love your master?” she whispered and they both lifted their heads, looking up at her with bright red eyes, and wagged their whip-like tails with enthusiasm. Liora smiled at them. They definitely loved their master and she had a feeling that he loved them in return.

  They moved off as one, scouting the corridor ahead.

  Liora followed them, allowing them to lead her deeper into the castle and up a set of stone steps to the next floor.

  It was a whole different world.

  The stairs ended in a large rectangular room filled with ornately carved black stone furniture. Shelves lined most of the walls, crammed with books, some of which were tomes and many of which looked extremely old and worn. Long low cupboards filled the gaps between them on the wall to her left.

  She rounded the large rectangular table in the middle of the room, drawn to the cupboards and the incredible array of knickknacks on top of them. None of them seemed to go together. Everything on the main table at her back was the same, and on the smaller tables dotted around the expansive room and the mantelpiece of the huge fireplace behind her. It was a bizarre and colourful collection of random items, and many of them were antiques, dating back thousands of years if she had to guess.

  On the cupboard before her was a small black and gold statue of an Egyptian cat that she knew was a goddess, a very simple candlestick that looked as if it had been fashioned from ivory, and countless other things, including coloured glass bottles, cutlery, shells, dolls and toys. She picked up an old, worn brown bear. One of its eyes was missing and the left arm was about to fall off.

  Liora moved on to the bookcase that stood between the cupboard and the next one, and ran her fingers over the spines of the books. He had so many of them. She plucked one that had been bound in green scaly leather from the shelf and leafed through it. She didn’t know the language written on the crinkled paper. The ink was faded too, almost impossible to make out in places. Elaborate and beautiful illustrations filled some of the fragile pages. One of them was of a dragon.

  She ghosted her fingers over the lifelike image and then closed the book and set it back on the shelf.

  Further along, she paused again, her fingers resting on the spine of a large tome. Power. It flowed through her fingertips and up her arm, gifting her with some of its strength. Liora grabbed the black leather-bound book from the shelf and flipped it open. Familiar writing greeted her. A spell book.

  She closed it and held it to her chest, and looked at the others around it. She touched them each in turn, feeling the power they contained. Some of that power felt familiar to her, but others were different, new and exciting. She wanted to tear each book from the shelf, curl up beside the fireplace and devour them. She could learn so much from these books. Ancient spells that had been lost in her world.

  Remus whined behind her and she looked back at him. He wagged his tail and she took the hint. She set the book back on the shelf. When Asmodeus returned, she would ask him if she could read them. Maybe he could help her with them. Her grasp of languages wasn’t exactly extensive and something told her that not every witch would write in the ones she knew. Asmodeus was old, probably as ancient as these tomes. He might be able to speak the languages and help her decipher them.

  The hellhound moved off to play with Romulus. The way the other canine snapped at his
heels and Remus bent his head made Liora feel that Romulus was the older of the twins. The leader of their small pack.

  Liora moved on to the next cupboard and frowned at the collection of items crammed on every inch of the black surface.

  The more she looked at the items, the more she felt that Asmodeus had tried to make his castle a home by filling it with things that a normal person would have in theirs.

  The books, the statues, toys and dolls.

  The pictures in front of her.

  The frames were a mishmash of modern and antique, in colours ranging from blue and white through to solid silver. Many of the old photographs and pictures they contained didn’t fit the frames, and some of them looked like photos taken from people’s wallets. Two or three of the frames just contained the sample picture that had come with them.

  Liora touched the silver frame closest to her, staring at the small wonky faded photograph of a seascape it contained.

  A sense of sorrow rose up within her and the longer she stared at the picture, the stronger it grew.

  Asmodeus had tried so hard to make this place feel like a home, yet he had said it wasn’t his home. He didn’t feel that it was. He was filling it with things that weren’t his, a bizarre collection of broken, faded, worn items.

  More than ever, she felt he was missing something.

  Companionship.

  He tried to fill the void within him with these objects and with his hellhounds, but he still felt alone.

  She had seen it in his eyes at times and could sense it in him.

  He struggled to be around her during those instances, turned uncertain and awkward, and it was normally then that she had a sense of hope or positive feelings inside him. Warm feelings. Good feelings.

  She felt sorry for him when he struggled with himself and his emotions, so unsure of himself and afraid of what he was experiencing, driven to fight it because he feared it made him weak and he would pay in blood if the Devil knew he harboured good within him.

  Liora had only known him a short time, but there had been many instances when she had felt that he was trying to be normal and that he wanted to be like others. He wanted to be good, even though it wasn’t in his makeup. The Devil had distilled evil in his blood and moulded him into a violent, cruel man.