by Nina Levine
She was here for a reason.
And unlike everyone else in this fucking building, it wasn’t to beg a demon for the precious gift of an immortal life. It was to take something from him.
2
The club pulsed with noise.
The reaping nights happened once a quarter, and every desperate wannabe vampire in the city threw their hat into the ring.
Immortality.
More heady than any drug….
All it cost you was your soul.
If Raphael was the lure Heaven used to draw others to their cause, then this was the bait Hell offered. No prizes for guessing who was winning the recruitment battle. The demons’ propaganda—that Heaven was no longer open for business—was a crushing blow. Who wanted to save their soul when there was no guarantee of a peaceful forever?
There was no Heaven anymore.
There was no ever-after….
And maybe crossing to the dark side, kissing ass and cloven feet and whatever else worked, could at least earn you a reprieve.
The club promised everything that Heaven couldn’t.
A sea of emotion pressed against her skin; lust, greed, envy…. Semi-naked bodies grinding against each other. Sex and sin beckoned.
Seraphine pushed her way through the crush, before fetching up at the bar. She’d have been marked for observation already—thanks to that stolen invite—but the point wasn’t to enter unobserved.
The point was to draw attention.
And the wings were doing that.
Everyone here was dressed in black. Leather. Lace. Chains. Red lipstick. It was a desperate attempt to fit in with what the humans thought of demonspawn.
To wear these wings was like a fuck you to every demon in the place.
She knew they’d get her the attention she needed—to carry out her theft, she needed to be targeted, not glossed over in the crowd. She needed to be chosen as one of the initiates. She needed access to the dark halls upstairs, where Azazel ruled with his merciless whip.
And there was nothing the denizens of hell desired more than corruption.
A hand clamped down over hers, pressing her palm to the sticky bar as she fanned herself with a handful of ten-dollar bills.
“Pretty girls like you shouldn’t come to places like this,” said a voice in her ear.
She fought the urge to drive her elbow back into the bastard’s throat.
Not the kind of attention she needed.
It took all her strength of will to plant a fake smile on her lips. “Or what?” she asked over her shoulder. “You’ll spank me?”
A human stared back at her, a spiked collar around his throat. “Is that what you want?”
“Ugh. What is up with the creeps in here?” Tay asked, flaring like a beacon in her head. “I thought you promised me some hot demon ass. Stomp him, Sera.”
As much as she would have liked to, that wasn’t the sort of attention she was looking for.
Sera ignored him as the bartender—an imp—turned her way. “I’ll have an Angel Fuck, thanks.”
“Naughty,” Tay whispered.
The imp leered at her, his forked tongue wetting his lips. “I’ll bet you would.”
“Hey.” A hand caught her chin, forcing her attention back to him. “I was talking to you.”
No. You were treating me like a dog. She pasted a smile on her lips. “Does this attitude work on the ladies here? Or are you trying to play tough guy for the boss men?” She pushed at the human’s chest, using a little of her supernatural strength, and he staggered back. Shocked. “They’re not going to pick you. So crawl off back into your little hole and choke on that collar.”
His eyes seethed.
But help came from an unexpected source.
“You heard the lady,” said the imp. “Choice is choice, you little glob of camel spit. Fuck off and let her drink her drink.”
The creep slipped back into the crowd. If they’d been alone, she might have had to deal with him a little more roughly, but he was a coward at heart. They always were.
Sera gave the imp a slow nod as he leered at her. She took her drink, slapped a pair of tens on the bar and then sucked at her straw.
“You enjoy your drink,” he said, before turning back to tend someone else.
The reaping was a contract between demon and human.
It couldn’t be forced.
No mortal could be coerced to join Hell’s ranks. The battle between Heaven and Hell was all about choice.
Demons weren’t interested in rape. Seduction was the game. Temptation. Sin. There was no fun to be had in force, not for sex. Not unless it was consensual. No, the best drug for a demon to feed on was surrender. Lust. Lies. They’d choke you in it, if they could.
“Yay, imp?” Tayla asked dubiously.
“Yay, imp,” she repeated. “Now… to find a certain dark lord.”
“Ooh, on it. Let me hack the camera feed. I will track that lecherous piece of ruin-on-a-stick. Give me five.”
Sera leaned on the bar to wait.
What the mortals in here didn’t know was that the Chosen had most likely already been whittled down to a list of ten. Finances would have been picked over; private lives torn apart; wives and children and mistresses surveyed…. For all that demons liked to twist humans into knots of guilt with temptation, a guy who cheated on his wife was not someone they’d pick to turn vampire.
They wanted loyalty.
They wanted someone who was strong enough to resist temptation.
They wanted someone who would sell their soul to become a vampire, and sign away one hundred years of service of their newly immortal lives and mean it.
Five humans would sign that contract tonight. They’d be led into the back rooms where—she presumed—Azazel offered them the final kiss that stole their souls.
Of course, it wouldn’t be as pretty as it was made out to be.
More fucking propaganda. The kiss of afterlife…. She’d seen those words blazing across a dozen billboards in the city. More like the kiss of a knife across your throat as you were pinned over an altar, the demonic contract still wet with your blood. To become a vampire was more than just signing over your soul. You had to die first.
That was always in the fine print.
“Holy shitballs. I have a problem,” Tay breathed, as her attention returned to Sera.
“What?” Every inch of her came alert.
“You know how I said I liked working for #TeamSaveYourSoul and couldn’t see why anyone would actually want to join #TeamKissHellsAss?”
It had been Tay who had coined such terms.
“Ye-es.”
“I found our Prince of Ruin.” A squeak echoed in Sera’s head. “Sera! He’s…. He’s….”
“You’re starting to see the attraction?”
“Attraction? Where do I sign? I would do a lot of things for a piece of ass like that. I mean, what’s a soul?”
“You do know this is the point? They dress themselves up in flesh suits designed to appeal to your basest nature.”
“I know.” The little witch practically orgasmed. “None of that matters. My brain is short-circuiting. My wires are fried. I’d like to hack that system, if you know what I mean? I can’t help it. My panties just got drenched.”
Sera flexed her knuckles.
She knew what her friend was doing.
“Hang on,” Tay muttered. “Rodrigo is saying something. Apparently…. Rodrigo would like you to know that if he has to listen to another word about wet panties, he’s going to jump off a bridge.”
Sera spared a thought for the poor bastard who’d been assigned to Tay as her security for this mission. He’d be hearing everything.
“Apparently, he did not sign up for wet panties. I’m trying to work out what’s the male equivalent for wet panties. Rodrigo? Do you know?”
“How much sugar and caffeine have you had today?” Sera murmured.
“Hey! Rodrigo asked me the same question. And the answ
er is lots,” the little technowitch breathed. “Get me an IV stat.”
“Then focus. Where’s… Azazel?”
“Look up.”
Sera’s gaze lifted. An enormous gallery hugged the walls upstairs, and opposite it was a wall of glass. Private quarters where you could watch the dancefloor beneath you without being seen.
She sipped on her drink and tried not to choke on her heartbeat.
A shadow appeared behind the glass.
Tall. Broad shouldered. Hands clasped in pockets.
She couldn’t make out the demon’s features, but her eyesight was good enough to pick out the cut of his suit. He stood there like a promise of sin. She could feel his eyes pick her out in the crowd, and it was almost as if the smoked glass between them evaporated. The world faded away from her in that moment. The two of them were the only things that existed.
The impact hit her like a kick to the chest. There was that whirlpool again, sucking at her stomach, trying to drag her into his orbit.
Breathe, Sera. Just breathe.
“God, you’re so pretty.” The words were like the jarring screech of a record player. They drew her back into the room. “Wanna go somewhere and fuck?”
Sera blinked and found a new guy staring at her, his arms around her waist.
“That’s a no from me.” She pushed away from him, slurping at her drink.
When she looked up, Azazel was gone.
Time for the reaping.
He’d have noticed her.
He had to have noticed her.
The spotlight lit up the white sequins on her dress like Christmas in Times Square.
And there’d been that look, right on the verge of a soul-gaze.
She couldn’t have been the only one who felt it.
She just hoped he didn’t know why a quiver had run through him when their gazes clashed.
Azazel made her wait, and when his evil henchmen—as Tay called them—put in an appearance, she couldn’t see him anywhere. Maybe he was too good for this. Maybe after all these years, it bored him.
Maybe he hadn’t seen her, after all.
Five names were called. Five screams of joy cut through the sudden low groan of desperation.
She wasn’t chosen. But neither was ninety-eight percent of the crowd.
Damn it.
Sera shot a glance toward those double doors in frustration. She needed to get through them. Somehow. But that was the same thought half the crowd clearly shared. They pushed and shoved, hands imploring for a chance as the demons dragged the Chosen away and slammed the doors shut.
A scan of the room showed an overseer, watching by the DJ booth. He sucked back on his cigarette, clapped a hand on the DJ’s shoulder and said something, then pushed toward a smaller door, near the stage.
Access.
Sera planted herself in his path.
The demon froze.
Tall, hard, lean. His suit cut of expensive Italian silk. His eyes were like the dark pits of Hell—this was truly one of the Fallen. Not just an underling. Not just an imp, or demonspawn. But an angel who’d chosen to fight at the Morningstar’s side. Her heart skipped a beat as she stared into his eyes. He wouldn’t recognize her—not in this form—but she wanted to hide any hint of her power deep within her.
“Hell yes,” Tay whispered in her head. “Now that is one pretty fuckboy. I want visuals on his ass, please.”
They were all beautiful.
All the better to tempt you with.
She wondered what Tay would say if she caught a glimpse of his true form.
“I need to get back there,” she told him, letting her desperation fill the air.
His gaze slid down her body. “Prince’s orders. He’s picked his five. You’re not on the list.”
Sera slid her hand up his chest. “Mmm. Maybe I don’t have to be an offering to the prince. Maybe… I can be your offering.”
Now she had his attention.
Loyalty, lust and fear warred within him. Nobody crossed Azazel. Nobody. But he couldn’t help looking at the white silk of the dress, and then his gaze strayed to her wings, molting feathers all over the floors.
The wings had been a good choice.
“Fine,” he said, grabbing her by the upper arm and hauling her through the steel doors. “But don’t think it’s going to get you what you want. You keep your mouth shut—unless I tell you to open it—and you stay where I tell you to stay. I’ve got a few little jobs to do first, but when I come back for you…. You’d better be on your knees.”
“I promise,” she whispered.
Glory’s sweet kiss, she was in!
And better yet, she had a distraction for cover.
Five souls were on the table. None of the demons would be watching her. No, they’d be salivating over the reaping. The screams would cover her tracks, and if she let Tayla work her magic, nobody would ever even know she wasn’t sitting docilely wherever he chose to leave her.
3
A scream cut through the inner sanctum as Sera tapped her toe against the floor.
She’d been shoved into a side room and told to sit on the red velvet sofa.
“Move and you die,” the demon had told her, before he’d slid a hand over her breasts. “I want this off. I want everything off. Everything but the heels and wings. Then get on your knees and press your forehead to the floor. And wait for me.”
And then he’d vanished, in order to finish “a couple of things.”
“Earth to space girl,” Sera murmured.
“Here.” Tay said. “I’ve just been trying to quietly not think about why they’re screaming.”
Sera had to be extra careful now she was in the inner sanctum. Extra vague. The music had covered her voice below, as the screams would now, but there were cameras blinking as they watched her.
“So,” Sera murmured, trailing her fingers along the wallpaper as she circled the room. “He wants me naked except for the wings, and on my knees.”
“On it.”
She could almost sense Tay’s fingers on the keyboard.
“Maybe we should give him a real display.” Sera turned back to her handbag, and bent over in front of it, reaching for her lipstick. She painted her mouth in her reflection in the tiny mirror, and then dumped both on the sofa.
“Three seconds,” Tay muttered.
Sera straightened and toyed with the tiny sword pendant hanging around her neck. The cloaking spell within it shimmered to life, but she didn’t activate it entirely. Not just yet.
The lipstick melted in its tube.
A little gush of bright red slag spread across the sofa as the spell embedded in it activated.
“Two.”
The mirror went blank.
“One. Freeze.”
Now.
Sera twisted the hilt of the tiny sword pendant and then stilled.
Both of them held their breath.
And then she caught a glimpse of an image in the mirror.
A woman reaching up to unpin her golden curls, shaking them down around her head as she stepped away from where Sera was standing. Two seconds later, the woman’s fingers were on the zip of her corset and she slid it down, inch by tantalizing inch. She shimmied the dress over her hips and stepped out of it, leaving a slick of white lace between her thighs. A set of spectacular breasts eased from their confines, and the woman sighed, cupping them as if it was a relief to get the corset-dress off.
Those breasts were almost a great advertisement for enhancement, but imagine trying to swing a sword with them?
Really, Tay?
She was going to have words with the technowitch after this was done.
“Fuck, I am good.” Tay laughed in her head. “Okay. You’re good to go. Nobody’s watching you. Or, I mean, the real you. Not the conjured version.”
Sera slipped out of the shoes, and padded toward the door. The wings might be a problem, but there was a limit to what Tayla could make vanish to the camera.
“Okay,
I’ve got building schematics right in front of me. Head left. You’re looking for a long gallery. It’s where Azazel keeps his collectibles.”
Sera headed left, listening to Tayla’s directions.
Gallery was the first choice.
She found the double doors leading to it, and stared between them. Open. Yeah, right. Demon princes were as trusting as cats walking between a dozen caged Hellhounds. This was more, welcome to my parlor said the spider to the fly….
Come on and take the bait….
Glass cases lined the walls.
Light gleamed on their contents.
A golden suit of armor hung within the first case on her right. Sera’s breath caught as she recognized it. Remiel’s. Well, that answered that question. He’d been missing for years, but nobody had ever truly accounted for him.
There was a scroll of parchment in another case.
Jewels. Ancient knives. A small golden cask that made her left eye strain just to look at it.
“State of the art tech,” Tay whistled under her breath. “Look up.”
Sera looked up. She had to keep telling herself that until the spell in her necklace wound down, she’d be invisible to cameras.
Not the naked eye, though.
“Okay, I’ve got laser across the door. Laser on the cases. Pressure sensors by the look of it. Three cams that I can see. And probably a fourth in that corner I can’t see. The spells in your necklace will take care of the cams, but the protective spells on the room are the kicker. Sweet baby Jesus. Sera, this is some heavy-duty shit. You walk in that room and you might not walk out. They’re built to trap a fucking Prince of Hell. Or an arch. Someone’s loaded for bear. No. Someone’s loaded for dinosaur.”
“What’s the read?”
Silence. And then: “Power levels are on the astronomical scale. Something in that room is vibrating enough to make all my equipment hum, even from here. But… I have to admit I was expecting more. I was expecting my equipment to blow. How powerful is this shard? I was expecting off-the-charts, equipment-whining, can’t-calibrate, that sort of thing.”
Angelic power was like a surge of nuclear, but Michael had been on an entire other level. “You’d know if the shard was there.”