by Maya Daniels
Speak of the Devil
Maya Daniels
Copyright © 2019 by Maya Daniels. All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Any references, real places, real events, or real persons names and/or persona are used fictitiously. Everything in this story comes from the author’s imagination and any similarities, whatsoever, with events both past and present, or persons living or dead, are purely coincidental.
Cover design by Jessica Allain, Enchanted Whispers
Interior design by Zoe Parker
Edited by Cassandra Fear
If you are unable to order paperback copy of this book from your local bookseller, you may contact the author at [email protected] or visit the website
www.authormayadaniels.com
Contents
Untitled
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
From the Author
Also by Maya Daniels
Helena
Jolting out of a peaceful sleep is not a nice way to wake up. Neither is a consistent nudging in your ribcage by what feels like the hard edge of a shoe. Yet, this is the situation I find myself in. My ribs protesting, and my heart lodging in my throat while memories assault my brain like a tsunami. The demon’s sanctuary. Eric. Maddison. Us being surrounded by a sea of hunters, the fight, and finally me dropping unconscious while freaking out that Eric is the prince of Hell. Like that was the most crucial thing in that entirely messed up situation.
“Good, you’re awake.” Michael’s voice is enough to make me bolt upright.
“What the hell is the matter with you!” Snapping at him, I look around, trying to figure out if we are still at the demon’s sanctuary.
I mean, of course we aren’t, but you can’t blame me for hoping.
Michael is standing in front of me with his arms folded across his chest, scrutinizing me with disgust in his blue eyes. At the moment, the feeling is mutual. We are standing in an empty room with just a chair in the middle of it, and brick walls surrounding us on all sides. No windows, one metal door, and a hanging lightbulb in the middle of the ceiling. The Archangel has some sociopathic tendencies it seems. That feeling that warns me of evil being near is going haywire in my stomach. Not seeing anyone else here, I ignore it the best I can. It’s not helping me, and after the last day or so – depending on how long I’ve been out after Michael incapacitated me – I think that internal GPS is broken. It’s just me and an Archangel here. Stupid intuition.
“I need your blood.” The effortless way in which he says that makes me stiffen, and wariness creeps up my spine.
“How convenient for you.” Darting further away from him, I try to see if there is a way out of here.
I see nothing.
Michael sighs, unfolding his arms so he can put his hands in the pockets of his pants. That’s when I realize he has changed. By all intents and purposes, he looks ready to go to some fancy restaurant on a dinner date. I wonder if this is his way of trying to keep me off my game, keep me wondering.
“We can do this the easy way, or the hard way, Helena.” He is walking around casually, and I move along with him, keeping the damn chair between us as if that will help somehow.
“We…” My words trail off, cutting that disaster before it happens, and I rethink what I’m about to say. “Where are we?” No need to mention Eric, or Maddison if I can help it.
“That’s unimportant.” Slicing the air with his hand, he keeps his focus intently on each move I make, mapping out every twitch of a muscle.
“I figured out your game, holy one.” Smirking at him, I let him know precisely how holy I think he is at the moment. He bristles, and I’m so proud of myself that the spreading smile hurts my cheeks. “You want to go find Lucifer, so you decided to get your hands on the only ticket there, huh?”
“This is not a game, you insolent child!” Pressing his lips into a thin line and nostrils flaring, he glares. “I might’ve shown weakness by allowing Raphael to convince me to let you live, until now. But, I saw the inner workings of a Devine force finally.” I almost sagged in relief at those words, but the glint in his gaze made shivers crawl up my body and numb my skull. “You lived so you can help me bring Lucifer down, finally. I’ve made allies, and his end is near at last. No more hellspawn crawling up into the human realm. No more power for the damned. It all ends with you.”
“You are insane!” I’m freaking out inside, although no one will tell by the measured sound of my voice. My hands go to my thighs in a futile attempt to reach the guns that are not there.
“I am the only sane one in this situation. There is no other explanation why I let you live.” A line forms between his eyebrows, and it pisses me off that it doesn’t take away from his heavenly perfection.” I need blood, and we are wasting time.”
“I don’t think so!” I dance away from him when he tries to grab hold of my arm. “If you think I’ll let you do what you want willingly, you’re nuts.”
“As I already said, Helena. We can do this the easy way, or the hard way.”
Gravity does not affect the angels, or demons, the same way it does humans. One second, Michael is standing across from me with the stupid chair between us, the next he has me pinned to one of the walls, staring me down. My body protests the force with which he slammed me against the wall, so I grind my teeth, stopping any sound from escaping, even while I’m screaming inside. Silver covers his irises, and his power pulses off him, making my skin feel like it’s melting. Struggling for breath, I do the only thing that comes to mind. Lifting my knee, I hit him in the groin as hard as I can at the same time as my forehead connects to his jaw. I wish I were taller so I could’ve reached his nose, but seeing him drop on his knees and wrap both hands around his jewels makes me want to do a victory dance.
It’s short-lived.
Bolting for the door, I grab hold of the handle and yank on it. It’s locked. Michael’s hand wraps around my hair, jerking my head back. After turning me around, he backhands me, the coppery taste of my blood filling my mouth. He uses his considerable size and strength against me, but nothing cripples me as much as the power that keeps rolling off him in waves. I try kneeing him again, but he proves that he learned that lesson by twisting his lower body away from me. A triumphant smile stretches his lips, and something in me snaps. He has a tight hold on my hair, but I don’t care. Turning my back on him, my skull screaming in pain, I push my foot on the door, taking two steps up and flinging my body over his head. Curling my knees up, I force all my weight on his back and he slams his head on the door. The satisfying crunch of bone is music to my ears.
I know that I can’t get out of here, for now at least. That doesn’t mean I will give Michael what he wants easily. If
he wants blood, he will have to earn it the hard way. Staring down at him, panting from the throbbing pain in my head where he ripped a handful of hair that is still tangled in his fingers, I spit in his face. The blood that filled my mouth sprays across his porcelain skin and mixes with his.
“There you go.” Gasping for air, I bare my teeth at him. “That should be enough blood for what you need.”
A furious roar shakes the walls around us. I should be afraid. I shouldn’t taunt him like I’m doing. But all the shouldn’ts don’t stop me as anger, confusion, and grief swirl inside me for the injustice of it all.” And instead of trying to reason with him, or at least run away, I smile at the Archangel. He might hold me a prisoner and he might be stronger. But I will give him a run for his money. I have no doubt that I’m going to die soon. Might as well have some fun while getting there.
I don’t know how many times we fought like that. In many of those fights, I would lose consciousness before I could stop him from taking more blood. Other times, Michael would make sure I was aware and helpless to stop him from doing it. Each and every time, he would get what he wanted, and then he would smile at me in a way that would kill me inside, little by little.
Hours turned into days, and the days turned into weeks. I floated between a world of pain and blessed darkness. Voices reached my ears. Some arguing, others purring, distinctly female, but I was beyond the point of trying to recognize them or understand what they were saying. Only one thought was now present in my mind.
It wouldn’t be long now. The Archangel would finally have enough and kill me.
I started looking forward to that.
Helena
Tightening up my arms and hugging my curled-up legs closer to my chest, I let my mind drift away from this place. My hair sways gently, tickling my forearms as I press my cheek to my knees. Eyes watering from the white around me, my thoughts race with everything that happened, and has been happening. After holding me in a dark brick room for what felt like an eternity, Michael locked me up in this one. The time is sluggishly moving, making me think it's been a lifetime that I've been here. My thoughts keep going back to Eric. I'm his mate. The only thing I know about mates is from the romance novels I've read in my downtime, and when Amanda used to daydream loudly about soulmates and everlasting love. It scares the shit out of me, and it makes my panic rise to dangerous levels, choking me. And he is the prince of Hell. Time dragging slowly only amplifies my turbulent emotions. The only time I have a break from the anxiety and pain is when the Archangel comes.
Who knew a person can lose so much blood and still function?
At first, I fought him. I pushed with everything in me, like some wild animal that was cornered and fighting for its life. All my strength would desert me, and then Michael would manage to place one of his hands on my chest and send a current of electricity flowing through me. My muscles contracted to such a painful level that I'd pass out and wake up with poke wounds on my arms. It made me wonder how much blood he actually needed so he could enact his plans.
That's another thing. I thought, well we thought—Eric and I—that Michael wanted to go after Lucifer. Using my blood is his ticket to the depths of Hell so he can face the fallen angel. With each passing day, I'm starting to think that we must've missed something. Surely he had enough blood by now to keep that damn gate open for months, if not years. Yet, he keeps coming back for more, over and over again. A growl, okay more like a pathetic groan, passes my lips.
Closing my eyes to block out the white walls, ceiling, and the floor was not a smart idea. I feel like I've been locked in a mental institution while my mind is still sharp enough to scream for a way out. But every time my lids close, green eyes full of anguish and anger float in front of me. Unshed tears make my head pound with a horrible headache. Eric… Is it possible that someone can care that much about another person in just a few days? Better yet, is it possible for the prince of Hell to care at all? Helena from not long ago would've said yes. This one that took residence inside me now doubts everything. I can't find it in me to blame myself. In just a week or so, my entire life has been turned upside down. Betrayed by those I called family and being hunted by my own people like some abomination will do that to a person. The sharp stabbing pain in my chest reminds me that I haven't gotten over it as I like to believe.
And then there is Amanda.
My best friend's death is a nightmare I'll carry to my grave. Her beautiful face frozen in pain and terror, staring unblinkingly at the night sky. Her body twisted in unnatural angles at my feet.
All because of me.
The faint sound of footsteps coming my way alerts me of the company I'm about to have, and I blink slowly while I brace myself for what's to come. It's not like it'll be something unexpected. It's the same thing every damn day. At one point, I thought I must have died and this was me paying for whatever sins I made in one of the circles of Hell. But then I remember Amanda, and I know at the bottom of my soul that I would've suffered more if that was the case. No. I'm still alive and wishing I was dead. How many more need to die because of me? Fucking angels, and fucking demons. All the fucking lives their war has cost us. That's a lot of fucks that I have no strength to give, yet they thump in my heart and mind insistently.
The soft click of the door announces my visitor.
I snort at that thought. Visitor is not what he is.
"Ah! I see you are awake, Helena." Michael saunters into my white cage, his cold blue gaze assessing me like a rat in a lab.
Not moving a muscle, I track his movement. There is no strength left in me to do anything but blink and breathe. I feel numb. Partly from the never-ending days, partly from my thoughts that torment me more than the Archangel will ever be able to.
A line forms between his perfectly shaped brows, confusion evident on his angelic face when I don't react to him. My lips twitch, but I have no strength to smile. The white button-down shirt stretches over his broad shoulders, and it's tucked neatly into his black dress pants. The buckle of the belt on his narrow waist blinks at me, reflecting the blinding light above our heads. Silence surrounds us, and my breathing sounds too loud to my own ears. Michael looks at the tray of untouched food sitting just left of the door he used to enter.
"Not eating will only make you sick." Displeasure replaces his confusion. "Have you no respect for the life given to you?"
I blink lazily at him.
"Fighting me will not help." His face regains the emotionless mask. "Or do I need to resort to different means of motivation?"
My heart skips a beat at his words, and something lodges in my throat. I don't care what he does to me, but fear of what he might do to others makes my skull go numb. A shiver like icy fingers crawls up my spine. Uncurling from the small bed I'm sitting on, I lift my arm towards him. The bruises from so many needles being stuck there too many times to count look like some thermal heat signature map of a hidden treasure. Even with my fast healing, they seem like a permanent part of me now. The pants and tank top I'm wearing are also white, making the blue, purple, and green stand out more on my pale skin. The guy is obsessed with white, my mind supplies unhelpfully.
The door opens again, making me stiffen. Raphael walks in, and he takes a glance around the room, noting everything before his focus centers on me. His eyes narrow, and his lips press into a solid white line when he sees my outstretched arm.
"She hasn't eaten." Michael flings his hand toward the tray of food again.
"I wonder why, brother," Raphael replies dryly, walking further inside the room.
"Humans need food to survive," Michael says it pointedly, as if Raphael was not aware of that fact.
"They need other things, too." Raphael's face softens as he looks at me again. "Are you feeling well, Helena?" His mouth twists into a grimace. "Well, are you well enough, considering." His arm swipes around, encompassing the room.
I focus on him, Raphael moves closer and his fingers gently curl up around my still outstretched for
earm. Warmth radiates from his large hand, and it feels like he is feeding me sunlight. It's the only word that comes to mind when the heat spreads through me, making my sluggish brain more alert. The dark thoughts disappear, and I find myself more aware than I have been in a long time.
"You waste your gift on that?" Michael spits the words angrily at Raphael. "She has no respect for life and should not even be alive. This is all your fault. Compassion has no room in some things."
"Are you certain it's the girl that has no respect for life, brother?" Squaring his shoulders, Raphael faces Michael. My skin prickles from the waves of power exuding from him.
Taking a step back, Michael gapes at Raphael. "You would stand against me for that?" An accusing finger is pointed in my direction.
"I do not stand against you, Michael." With a deep sigh, Raphael releases my forearm before walking towards the door, shaking his head.
"I didn't think so." Arrogance oozes from Michael while he glares at me as if whatever happened between the two of them is my fault.
Raphael opens the door but stops before walking out. "Neither will I stand with you when you are wrong…brother."
His words make me look at Raphael. He's watching me intently, like he is trying to see my soul. Confusion clouds my mind, their cryptic conversation making my thoughts spin in hopes to figure out what just happened. And then, Raphael winks at me, one side of his lips lifting in a sheepish smile. My breath gets stuck in my throat and my eyes feel like they'll pop out of my head. Raphael walks out, closing the door behind him with a soft click. There is a feeling of finality in that sound that makes my blood rush like a flood gate is open through my body. The pounding of my heart is so loud in my ears that it makes me lightheaded. When I turn my gaze to Michael, he is watching me with suspicion on his handsome face. I don't know why, but I smile at him. Not a smirk, or arrogance. A genuine one that makes his eyes widen. And that's when all hell breaks loose.