At Death’s Door

by Kenyon, Sherrilyn

  He hadn’t even thought twice about letting her have the one thing he treasured most. …

  Strange how he could still feel it there even though he’d given it over so long ago to a mere slip of a woman to hold for safekeeping.

  Along with a part of his anatomy he’d deny having if anyone was stupid enough to ask. ’Course it wouldn’t be a lie to deny its existence now, given that Val had possession of that damnable organ he’d never had any use for as it had never done anything other than lead him into the fiery pits of damnation.

  Still …

  He missed that ring.

  Sadly, he missed Valynda more.

  Valynda Moore …

  The mere thought of her name made him smile.

  And that instantly made him sneer in disgust, as he realized what the hell his body had done without consulting him.

  Again.

  “Ye gods,” he muttered to himself, “I’ve gone mad.”

  Perhaps he’d handed over his brains as well as his heart. What would he lose next? His bullocks?

  His dignity?

  Shite! To this day, he still didn’t know how it was that he’d managed to let himself be dragged into the mess that was his wretched existence. Or come to care for a human the way he did his Val.

  And was it any wonder given what his love had done to her?

  He’d ruined her life.

  Nay, he’d ended it.

  Just as he’d done Aclima. He winced at a memory he could never bear to think about for long. If he did, it would drive him mad.

  Furious at himself and the very gods who conspired against them, he downed his rum and fought against the raging anger that had become his constant companion, instead of the one person he’d wanted most by his side.

  “What’s this? You’re looking a bit gloomy, aren’t you?”

  Nibo glanced up from the spiced rum he was drinking to see the tall, dark menace who’d decided to join him in the crowded tavern where he sat alone at this midnight hour. Alone by choice, not because he was a mutant like the beast before him that everyone avoided because he was an ass. Which was why Nibo had deliberately chosen his solitary table that was tucked back into a shadowy alcove, thinking it would provide him with some degree of privacy and anonymity.

  Bugger that. He should have known better. The damned, along with everyone else, were forever seeking him out. For all manner of reasons. Most of which normally pissed him off, and none as much as whatever stupidity would soon be spilling from this creature’s lips.

  With an annoyed sigh over this unwanted interruption, Nibo raked a bored glare from the top of the dark hair, past his mismatched eyes, to the tips of his scuffed black boots. “Stating the obvious now, are you, mate?” After all, Nibo was the loa of the dead. Gloomy rather came with the territory.

  As did a raunchy temper. And derelict disposition.

  Though, given enough rum, he could be persuaded into bouts of cheeriness and debauchery. In fact, he could be downright giddy if the occasion called for it.

  This, however, wasn’t such an occasion.

  Though a good and thorough gutting and denutting of the beast before him might serve to cheer his spirits. At least for a moment or two.

  “Come now, is that any way to greet an old enemy?”

  Nibo smirked as he modified his welcome to a feigned mixture of jolly alacrity. “Jaden … as I live and breathe. To what do I owe this particular hell?”

  A slow, beguiling smile curved his lips as Jaden stepped forward into the dim, buttery light cast by stinking tallow candles that made his one green eye glow with mischievous intent. That eye was a stark contrast to its deep, dark disconcerting brown mate.

  They were the only imperfections in an otherwise well-proportioned face, framed by a mass of black wavy hair that fell loose about his wide shoulders in defiance of the modern fashion of powdered wigs or queues. But then Jaden had never cared what others did. Or what they thought of him, or of anything else for that matter.

  Indeed, like Nibo, he’d left his black shirt untucked and open at the neck. There was no lace or trim of any kind. Or hat, either, as practical fashion could sod off for the night. Jaden’s heavy wool coat was plain except for the brass buttons that bore skulls on them. His black breeches were tucked into a pair of scuffed and worn boots. Plain and simple.

  But there was nothing else plain nor simple about this warrior god. The worn ancient sword at his hip said as much, as did the threadbare leather hilt which testified to the number of lives lost to this god’s nefarious short temper.

  More than that, ’twas oft speculated that a million virgins had lost their maidenheads to this scoundrel. As well as another million demons, who had vied for a place in his bed to curry a favor from him.

  Nibo didn’t doubt that last bit at all. There was something about the demon broker that made him appealing to everyone. Even creatures like him who found the bastard repellent and intolerable. Yet, like a massive catastrophe, it was impossible to look away no matter how horrified one was of the blood and gore of the situation.

  Jaden compelled. It was his sick gift.

  Oblivious to the growing danger, Jaden stepped forward with his unique predator’s lope and sat down at the table across from him. Then, with a reckless disregard for his life, he reached for Nibo’s rum and took a leisurely swig.

  “We have a problem.”

  Nibo arched his brow. “Aye, we do. An asshole just stole me rum, and I want it back.”

  With a laugh, Jaden downed the last of it and poured himself more. “The Malachai has escaped Azmodea.”

  Nibo scoffed about that.

  As the old saying went, kirast kiroza kirent. Conceived in violence to do violence and to die violently. That was the Malachai curse, and the code they all lived and perished by. Born of the purest, darkest evil—a trio of gods, Kadar, Azura, and Apollymi, who had brought them forth into existence to fight against all that was good—the Malachai fed the three primal dark gods and lived for nothing except to cause as much suffering in the universe as they could. Because of that, the last one in existence had long ago been trapped and imprisoned.

  “I should think that a good thing.” After all, if Adarian was missing from Kadar’s hell realm, then he’d be unable to feed the powers of all evil. Thus it would weaken the old bastard who plotted the death and dismemberment of all living creatures, and his return to supreme power. Rather a win-win for the world, if you asked him.

  Not that anyone ever did.

  “Perhaps, but in the process of escaping it seems he took a bit of fluff with him.”

  “Azura?” The queen of all evil and shadows. Given that she was Kadar’s sister and lover—sick as that was—it made sense that the Malachai would kidnap her on his way through the gates of hell and into the human world.

  A special little trophy, as it were, to get back at the two of them for keeping him prisoner all these centuries so that Adarian could maintain their powers while they tortured him.

  But Jaden shook his head. “Think closer to home … mate.”

  He could have done without the bastard’s mocking. “I’d say your mother, but you didn’t have one.” Least none what would claim him.

  Father neither, for that matter.

  Jaden passed him an unamused glare. Then slid his gaze down Nibo’s chest to where a small treasured trinket lay exposed on a chain, resting near his heart. Just as the woman herself did. Always.

  Instinctively, Nibo covered Valynda’s cross with his hand.

  Strange how no one had ever noticed his odd feminine fashion choice that matched nothing else he wore.

  A horrendous sense of dread turned his stomach as he caught Jaden’s meaning. Nay, surely not even Adarian would be so stupid as to dare that affront. “What are you saying, demon?”

  “I’m saying what I’m saying. You just don’t want to hear it. Adarian has your Valynda … and Marcelina.”

  An indescribable rage took hold of him. One that burned so deep
and dark that it actually caused Jaden to flinch. No easy feat that, given his own dark and lethal nature. Indeed, Nibo hadn’t even known Jaden had it in him to back down.

  Until now.

  That would be scary if he were able to feel fear. But he and fear had parted company a long time ago. The only emotions he had these days were more potent.

  And destructive.

  “I see.”

  With the bitter taste of unspent rage scalding his tongue and a deep need to rip something down to its basest atoms stirring in his belly, Nibo rose. He reached for his rum and downed it, daring Jaden with his eyes to speak another word. His breath came in a ragged cadence. That sound alone betrayed his fury that urged him to go on a rampage. Unable to speak, he headed toward the door while the sound of rushing blood filled his ears.

  “Where are you going?”

  To make sure that he didn’t lose another woman he cared about.

  Nibo froze before glancing back at the demon broker who watched him with those peculiar mismatched eyes. “To kick the shit out of the idiot who dared to try and take what is mine. No one makes me out a liar. I won’t rest until I’m baptized in their blood and bile and am tying me shoes with their guts.”

  No one threatened him. Ever.

  If anyone knew anything about him at all, it was that they should never come after what he loved. Not if they had any kind of self-preservation or even a shred of common sense.

  There would be a reckoning for this that would make Lucifer himself flinch and cower. One to make the demons from the lowest pits of hell hide in fear.

  Good-bye. Good luck.

  For the one truth to Nibo was that he had no ability to forgive any slight, and he wouldn’t rest in a world where the one who’d wronged him lived.

  His own twin would testify to that. Which had always made Nibo wonder how it was that everyone feared Qeenan so, simply because he’d been designated as the hitman to the loa. How could they forget the fact that he and his brother were identical twins? Cut from the same set of cells.

  He harbored every bit of the ferocity, venom, and bloodlust of Qeenan. The only difference? Unlike his brother, he didn’t whine about life’s inequities. Nor did he flaunt his skills, which was what made him the deadlier of the two of them.

  No one saw him coming.

  Qeenan was brute force, and he was Le Beau Mort. Elegant in every way.

  Unless it involved Valynda.

  Aye … things were about to get bloody and people were about to get dead.

  Jaden didn’t move as he watched Nibo leave. In fact, he didn’t breathe until he heard someone clapping sarcastically over the din of mundane conversations. Irritated, he turned to see the last person he’d expected to find in this dismal, dank place that catered to human sailors and their wanton slags.

  Tiny and petite, she watched him from shadows that were as dark and mysterious as the lady herself.

  And as treacherous.

  It was something the two of them shared. Ever shifting in loyalty. One never knew where they stood with them.

  Not even their own children.

  Some days, not even he knew where he’d put his chips.

  Which was good, as it kept everyone on their toes.

  “What are you doing here, Cam?”

  With skin that was a pure cocoa and eyes that were a startling and unexpected shade of green in contrast, she approached him slowly and with the grace of a mythic queen. She wore bright orange, rust, and yellow skirts that were hemmed in bells that jingled lightly with her fluid movements. Her long Senegalese twists fell to her waist and were held back from her face in a sophisticated chignon. Beauty incarnate, she was tiny to such a degree that most would discount her. But Jaden was well aware of his sister’s power.

  And her lethality.

  In that, they were like-minded creatures.

  While she considered herself a force for good, she was as quick to kill and harm as any of those who pledged their hearts and swords to his evil overlords.

  “I go by the name Menyara these days, brother, and your powers of subtle manipulation never cease to amaze me. No wonder Kadar and Azura were so hell-bent to get you enslaved to them.”

  He scoffed at her words and tried to ignore the barb that stung deep, as he would never grow used to being enslaved to their siblings, no matter how many centuries passed. Like Cam, he was technically a god of protective powers who hated what he was forced to do in order to survive. “That wasn’t subtle. Trust me. That was the most heavy-handed abuse of my powers ever.”

  “Perhaps. But impressive nonetheless.”

  He would argue, except that he didn’t like to waste time. And no one ever won an argument against Cam. “You’re avoiding my question.”

  “I’m here for the same reason you are.”

  To stop the Malachai from rising to the height of his full power that would enable him to destroy the world, and to keep their brother and sister imprisoned.

  Good goal that, given that it was the least they could do for everyone’s sanity and sakes.

  Jaden glanced around the crowded Caribbean tavern that was filled with humans who were oblivious to the fact that they were on the verge of total annihilation. One step shy of oblivion. While Port Royal was about as filthy a hole as any he’d ever seen, he still had a peculiar affinity for humanity. Why? He had no idea. They’d never been particularly kind to him. Had been even less so to his children.

  And the human vermin were rank bastards to each other. Surely such a repugnant species should be beyond any form of redemption, and yet …

  He, like his sister, was counted among the Kalosum—the powers of light or so-called good. At least until he’d made the fatal mistake of enslaving himself to his brother and sister in a sad effort to spare the life of his own grandchild.

  And for what?

  In the end, evil always seemed to get the upper hand and slap them in the face.

  Then give them a staunch middle finger.

  Trying not to think about it, he sighed. “Have you found Adarian?”

  Cam shook her head. “He’s a crafty bastard.”

  Nay. He was a paranoid one. Much worse, in his opinion. Crafty could be outsmarted. Paranoid was much harder to overtake, as those bastards trusted none and saw danger in every passing shadow and fart. He should know. He’d been paranoid for centuries. It was why he was still alive. Not that that was a particularly good thing. After all, he’d be better off dead at this point.

  Damn him for his paranoia.

  And damn Adarian for his.

  “We’ve got to trap him and clip their powers, Cam. They’re getting way too strong for us to corral. The balance is shifting fast to their favor.”

  Her eyes darkened as she realized what he already knew. They were in trouble and their side was losing. The balance was ever a delicate thing. A certain amount of evil was necessary in the world to motivate humanity to be good and do what they should. They needed to fear the things waiting in the dark to feast on their souls.

  It was good for them.

  But too much of that evil, and they would be destroyed. It would overwhelm them.

  Worse? It would overrun him and his sister and reshape the entire universe into a vast besmirched vacuous hole where demons would rule and they would all be enslaved to endless torment. He gave an involuntary shudder at the thought.

  Having lived for centuries in a realm where his brother and sister had no restraint or anyone capable of reining them in, he was terrified of seeing that unleashed here. It was the last thing he wanted.

  Although, with Adarian Malachai around to fight them, it could get entertaining. Provided one avoided the cross fire.

  And raining body parts and entrails.

  “So what are you thinking, little sister?”

  Cam smiled. “I think we use the tools we have to snip the devil in the balls.”

  He arched a brow at the last words he’d expected to hear her say. “Pardon?”

  �
��We need to kill the Malachai before he raises the dead.”

  Jaden’s blood ran cold as he finally understood what she was saying. “Lillith?”

  She nodded. “Since he can’t locate Apollymi, that’s his answer. To bring back the mother of all monsters.”

  “Can he do that?”

  She shrugged. “Let’s just say I’ve no wish to find out.”

  Neither did he. Because if Adarian brought back the original evil who’d first crawled into existence and she learned what they’d done to her, they’d all be dead in the next heartbeat.

  Lillith was an unforgiving bitch that way, and he had the scars to prove it.

  However, they did have one tiny problem. …

  “You know we can’t kill the Malachai. Not until he has a son to replace him.” That was the sacred covenant they’d made thousands upon thousands of centuries ago to end their bitter blood feud with their siblings. “They” being the light powers and their siblings being the corrupted darkness that conceived the unholy Malachai army that had almost destroyed everyone on the planet.

  The only way to bring about peace and ensure the safety of all was to put down all the demons with Malachai blood. Unfortunately, there’d been a tiny problem in that the Malachai leader, Monakribos, had been the son of their one sister. And Apollymi had refused to see her son dead.

  Mothers tended to be unreasonable that way.

  Like their sister, Lillith, she was petty and selfish, seeing only her own wants and desires, and not the greater good. Apollymi would have burned down the whole world to save her son.

  So, they’d agreed to spare his life and to guarantee him one child to placate their sister-goddess. The sole catch being that only one Malachai could live at a time. Once the son grew in power, he was required to kill his father and replace him.

  That was an unbreakable law that stuck in Apollymi’s craw to this day.

  If their bloodline died out, Apollymi could rise up and strike down the primal gods to exact her revenge on them for what they’d done to her and her husband. It was something they’d all been trying to avoid since the dawn of time.