by Rory Miles
Rem, reading the mood, heads toward the kitchen. “Maybe we pick this up another night?”
“Sure, I’ll call you.”
After his ride arrives and he leaves, I let go of all of my glamour, using the extra pulse of power to feel for any threats. Whatever fae and demon were here before are now long gone. Good thing, too; I need sleep if Lucifer expects me to come back to Avernus so soon after returning to Earth.
The next morning, the vortex spits me out in the same spot as it did for the meeting. I follow the same path toward Lucifer’s tower, knowing he’ll be waiting for me in the executive suite at the top of the twenty-story building. I’m wearing a modest outfit, a high-neck black top and dark-washed jeans and brown boots. Thinking the less enticing I make myself will make Lucifer any less interested in a claim is silly. Though, I can’t help trying.
The city is far less crowded than before; only the demons that work downtown are walking around. Watching the stressed out look on a low born’s face, I have a new appreciation for my position. At least I’m not stuck registering demons and accounting for essence quotas, money stolen, or souls taken.
The automatic black-glass doors swish open and I head toward the same lift I used for the meeting. The main elevator in the lobby doesn’t hit the executive levels.
“I hope you’re having an awful morning,” a red-skinned demon with two horns on her head says from behind the front desk before returning to her computer, clacking away on the keyboard.
For a second I almost pause and ask her what her problem is, but then I remember where I am and that insults are part of everyday life here.
Deciding to make the best of the opportunity, I sneer at her and say, “Go fuck yourself.”
The clacking stops for a moment and she beams at me. “I already have, twice actually.”
I scrunch my eyebrows and shake my head. “Oh, guess what I just remembered? I don’t care.”
She doesn’t respond, thank the devil, and I continue toward my doom. The black diamond button for the executive suite almost mocks me as I press it, glinting and laughing as I head toward a most certain miserable time.
Motors whir as the carriage ascends. It’s interesting that we think humans lower than us but we took some of their technology and built it into Avernus’s infrastructure. Elevators, lighting, plumbing, computers, and stoves. Even we couldn’t come up with superior inventions.
I know plenty of smart demons, but they’re so wrapped up in corruption and fulfilling their duties they don’t explore what their minds are capable of. Such a waste of potential. Avernus should be advancing faster than the human race, given our special abilities and lifespans, but we’re stuck behind. There aren’t even cars in Hell. It’s pathetic.
Thirty seconds later I’m at the seventeenth level and my palms begin to sweat as the red numbers flash on the black indicator. Eighteen, nineteen, and finally, twenty. The carriage gives a slight lurch before adjusting to the correct height. Taking a deep breath, I pull my shoulders back and place a mask of indifference over my face. The doors open to reveal a shirtless Lucifer smirking at me.
“Shera, lovely of you to join me.”
I make a noise of annoyance but clear my throat to hide it. “Of course, High Lord. I’m pleased you invited me.”
He tsks at me, waving a claw-tipped finger in my face. “Don’t lie to me, succubus.”
The elevator doors begin to close and Lucifer slams his hands against them, pressing them back open with an easy breath. He steps back and gestures me forward. Wanting nothing more than to stay rooted in my spot, I force my feet forward. My boots sink into the lush blood-red carpet and I have the sudden urge to take them off. Given his intentions, I decide against such a familiar action. I do hate to ruin a nice carpet with the scum of Earth and Avernus coating the bottoms of my shoes.
Lucifer’s suite is just as obnoxious as the demon. The blood-red theme carries throughout the front room and what I can see of the living room. The walls are painted black, with an occasional white accent wall. He leads me to the living room, pointing out random paintings of famous demons I’ve seen before.
Most depictions are unnecessarily gory and I find them vicious and ugly rather than something to admire. Perhaps my demon nature is different from those of other bloodlines, maybe that is why I lack the admiration for such violence.
The coffee table, centered between a long black leather couch and two lounge chairs, holds a large vase of yellow roses. I settle into one of the chairs and wrinkle my nose at their odor. Their presence a reminder of why I’m here and the danger I’m in. Lucifer went from predictable to loose cannon the other night. If I deny him again, there’s no telling what he might do to me.
He remains standing, a few feet away from me, and crosses his arms over his muscled chest. His black leather pants might make some women drool, but on him in this particular instance, they make me want to laugh. He looks like he’s trying too hard to be dominant. Attractive, there is no doubt about that, but he is appalling to me. Even my baser urges recoil from the Taint he carries, so unlike my reaction to Beelzebub. Probably because even my subconscious realizes he is unworthy of his position. I should have been the chosen one, not him.
Meeting his black gaze, I stay quiet, forcing him to speak first. There are a few tense moments where I’m certain he will slap me, but he swallows whatever rage he feels and the air clears of anger.
“You deny my claim,” he says, turning his head. His cheek jumps at how hard he’s clenching his jaw.
I’d been prepared for some conversation, maybe a bit of flattery, but to be read so easily, it rankles the little bit of demon pride I have. Beelzebub’s influence holds little sway over me, but I’m still riddled with demon traits from the hierarchy. Their influence is faint and mostly I’m able to live my life without acknowledging them. However, in the high lord’s presence, it’s like my subconscious is pointing out every single demon attribute I have.
I realize I’ve taken too long to answer and lift a shoulder. “Succubi are not meant to be claimed.” This isn’t necessarily true, I’m sure I can be claimed by the right person who is willing to share. Lucifer is not that person.
With speed that sets my teeth on edge, he grabs the vase of roses and throws it against the wall. The glass shatters, sprinkling to the floor and getting lost in the long threads of carpet. Yellow petals scatter and float, landing on the blood-red carpet. I blink, and start at the contrasting colors, avoiding the panting demon in front of me.
“You don’t get to decide that.” He squats in front of me, forcing my gaze upon him.
I swallow around the lump in my throat and study him. His eyes are full of ill intentions and I know I’ve sealed my fate. Though, what punishment he chooses is still to be determined. If the Creator listened, this would be when I pray it isn’t the final death. But he doesn’t listen to the pleas of his creations. Hell, we don’t even know where the bastard is. He created Avernus and then disappeared, leaving this seething demon in charge of his empire.
“I didn’t,” I say, looking around the room as I continue. “The Creator did. A demon meant to exploit sexual desires and deviances, to corrupt even the purest into wantonness, and to take that lust for fuel isn’t meant to be claimed and kept by one. The claiming you wish to press upon me is a death sentence.”
His fingers dig into my jaw and he turns my head so I’m once again staring into his black eyes. “Rejection is just the same. I’m High Lord of Avernus, no one can deny me.”
Is that a challenge?
I grind my teeth together and curl my fingers into fists. The second I drop my glamour, I know I’m not strong enough to take him on, but the bruising grip he has on my chin pushes away rational thought. To take on Lucifer, I’d need much more essence than I’ve got stored up. Still, his grip loosens and he lunges for me, smashing his lips into mine.
I grunt and bring my knee to his demon bits, taking satisfaction in the way his face contorts in pain and he falls
off of me and onto the floor. Since I’ve already crossed several lines, I decide to make the most of my disobedience. My vision goes red as I let loose the tight control of my demon; she and I are one, but I keep most of my nature contained, even in Avernus. I like to let people forget how much power I actually have, that way I can show them how very wrong they are when they try to do something stupid, like try to make me monogamous. My body undulates in an almost unnatural way as I slither off the couch and crawl over him. Claw tips draw black blood from his skin.
His own dig into my thighs, but the pain only fuels my anger, and with the rage comes renewed purpose. A wave of lust rolls over me as Lucifer’s desires mingle with the one I’m pressing upon him. I grip his chin in my hand, using my demon strength to squeeze it as he had mine, and brush my lips over his before taking the deepest drag of his essence. Lucifer moans and I feel his cock twitch beneath me. He’s lost in an ocean of pleasure.
His Taint is like tar coating my body, but I don’t stop with one drag. I take two, then three, and just as I’m about to take a fourth his claws dig into my chest. My body goes unnaturally still. Realizing the precarious position I’m in, I give him a smile.
“I thought you wanted to play.”
He scowls at me. “Not like that,” he growls and shoves me off of him with such force I crash into the table. My back bows at the impact and I cry out. Recovering from the pain, I stand and shake out my hands which are tingling with the power I’ve taken. Lucifer rubs his jaw in irritation, a homicidal look washes over his face and I take a step back when he advances but he’s too fast. Before I can stop him, I’m slammed into a box that was hidden on the other side of the couch. The runes meant to keep my demon strength and powers at bay dilute any high I’m feeling. Those enchantments destroy my ability to fight back.
“This is my favorite part,” he says and wraps his fingers around my throat.
I hate this fucking box.
I glare at him as oxygen runs out, promising him a world of pain and regret when I awake. He laughs, knowing I’ll be in no state for any sort of revenge upon waking.
Just before my world goes black, he says, “I will have you, Shera. Make no mistake.”
With those words, the thumping of my demon heart slows and stutters to a stop and my eyes flutter closed. In the fleeting moments before thoughts cease, one word whispers through my mind: destroy. Mark my words, Lucifer will rue every time he put me in this wretched box.
Chapter Eight
Pain is not an adequate word to describe the waking. My demon body revives hours later. First, my trachea mends itself, inch by inch the rings of cartilage surrounding the membranous tube right themselves. The process feels like a million shattered pieces of glass ripping into the sensitive tissue, the tiny tissue-based stitches feel like leather, and my throat is aching like a human’s on the third day of a strep throat infection.
Next, air fills my devoid lungs, the inflation sending a burning fire through my chest and deep into my belly before the oxygen spills from my mouth like dragon fire. Then, my demon heart beats like a kick drum in a too-small room, rocking through my body and rattling my bones.
Thump, thump, thump. Blood pumps through my veins anew and my fingers, once freezing cold, burn with returned feeling. My skin is too tight, dry and brittle. Tongue cottony.
I have survived another death, but that does not mean I’m free. Depending on his mood, Lucifer could keep me in here for days or weeks. Regeneration takes an entire day, so I have some sense of time at this point, but without essence, I’ll begin to go mad. Coming back from the brink of insanity takes several months and I don’t have time to recover from such a state.
When I feel I’m able, I lift my hands and press my palms against the rough wood of the box. I give it a little shove and am not surprised to find it sealed. My breathing has evened out and a cramp seizes my leg; the space, not nearly as long as a coffin, does not provide room to stretch.
“High Lord,” I call sweetly.
Silence answers me.
Damn it all. He’s left me. This is not a good sign. Maneuvering myself fully onto my back, I bring my legs to my chest and take a deep breath before kicking at the lid with all of my strength. The seal does not budge, but I try again and again until my limited strength fails me.
Not even the essence I took from the devil himself can aid me, not with these runes. They block every part of my power but demon regeneration. My scream is guttural as it leaves my lips, nearly destroying the newly healed tissue as I let it rage loud and piercing.
I’ve always stayed neutral, always. Never choosing sides or showing a preference to any of the hierarchy. I’ve never allowed myself to care much what happens to myself, but with Shane’s death so fresh and Lucifer’s threat, my carefree mentality begins to wither.
I’ve died nine times over for his enjoyment. Nine times because I refuse to become his, to bend to his will and become more creature than person. Silly that, my desire to be a person, to want to have a semblance of a life. I’m a demon, meant to mindlessly break any who cross my path. But no, I’m more than that. We all are; we have to be. Otherwise, why give us any thought or will? The Creator made us this way for a reason and I refuse to believe my only purpose is to bring humans to their knees with lust.
Long before the gates between the worlds opened, Avernus was somewhat peaceful. Demons were, of course, vicious as they are now, but life carried on much as it does on Earth. People married, made children and built homes. I’d been forging a home with Anakin and Micah, but when Lucifer stumbled across the gate created by the crazed mage, everything changed. He sent his minions to infiltrate Earth, Faerie and Magusai. The mages and fae beat them back with their magic.
Humans, ever the weaklings, could not. Once Lucifer found such a fragile place, ripe for the taking, our purpose changed from live to take. Quotas, essence. More of everything to fuel Lucifer’s hold on Earth and strengthen his power in Avernus.
I bang my fist against the box. “Lucifer!”
The name doesn’t reach his ears. No one will hear me.
Shane’s face, the moment his heart was ripped from his chest flashes in my mind. My ire grows, beating against my chest as my fist hits the wood over and over. Demon blood trickles from my knuckles and down my arm.
“Stupid fucking high lord.” I sob the last part, hating the weakness inside me. Hating that I’ve finally let him get under my skin. Despising every moment my breath warms the black shadows of the box. I quiet, my tears drying as I accept my sentence. There’s nothing left to do but to wait.
They become my companion, the shadows, and I almost feel at peace when I accept the darkness. I don’t know how much time has passed when I feel the box shift, ever so slightly. My spine is rigid, and when the movement comes again, slight and nearly imperceptible, I suck in a breath of stale air.
“Lucifer?” I ask tentatively.
There is no response but the cage I’m in is definitely moving. I hear the wood groan against what sounds like tile, the angry breaths from whomever is moving the box.
“Let me help,” a voice says.
My stomach drops as the box is forcefully lifted into the air. I don’t feel weightless; if anything, knowing I’m suspended makes me feel leaden. There are no more words spoken, at least that I can hear, and I’m hesitant to say anything.
This doesn’t match Lucifer’s pattern, though I’m not sure I can rely on anything I’ve become accustomed to. For now, I wait, hoping with all my demon heart it isn’t Berith who’s taken me.
“Shera.”
Beelzebub’s rich voice is like heaven to my ears. The lid creaks before it’s ripped away from the box. I shield my eyes from the harsh light flooding into the shadows. Two strong arms lift me from the box and sit me on something soft and plush. A deep burgundy carpet.
I take my hands away from my eyes and dig my fingers into the thick threads, glancing around the room. It’s dimly lit by lamps with sheer black fabric wrapped over
them. The bedspread on the large four-poster bed matches the color of the carpet and looks just as soft. Black satin covers at least a dozen pillows on the bed. A black chaise longue sits under a large window that overlooks a city lit with human electricity.
“We’re not in Avernus,” I finally say.
Beelzebub, who has been watching me with a keen eye, nods in confirmation. “You are in my penthouse in New York City.”
So far from home. “I live in Albuquerque.” He knows this, but I feel the need to say it out loud.
“Had I taken you to your home, you’d already be back in Avernus.”
I push off the soft carpet and stand on shaky legs. Death has that effect on a demon. Using the bed as support, I stumble to the chaise and fall into it on my knees, pressing my palms against the cool glass. The building we are in is tall, if the level Beelzebub occupies is any indication; there are a few others I can see across the skyline of similar height, but there are hundreds below, stories smaller than this tower.
As he shifts behind me, his essence calls to me. My hunger is driving the survival instinct to seek out food. I grit my teeth and ignore the call for a few more moments.
“I need to go home. Jasper will be worried.”
A tall building in the distance has one of those flashing red lights atop it, warning away any planes from flying too low. Beelzebub’s reflection blurs the outside world and I turn to his frowning face.
“You can’t be serious.”
I pull my brow down and narrow my eyes. “I’m very serious.”
He steps with bare feet from the carpet to the tile, inching his way toward me in a deliberate and predatory manner. His eyes swirl with his demon power and he seems to grow in size though that isn’t one of his powers. The gold bands on his arms are barely containing the strength they’re wrapped around. When he’s standing in front of the chaise, he crosses his arms over his chest, making his muscles flex and pop. My hunger gets the best of me and my attention strays to the hard lines of his abdomen.