by Nadine Mutas
He likely didn’t—because I hadn’t told him.
Oh, I was going to change that. If—when—I made it back to him, I’d let him know. I’d tell him that I lo—
My train of thought derailed spectacularly when, all at once, the chunk of memory I’d been missing fell back into place with a mental click that shook me to my core.
Oh, no.
Oh, no no no.
I covered my mouth with the back of my hand holding the dagger, my stomach dropping to below my feet. Ice-cold frost that burned crept inward from the tips of my fingers and toes until it reached my heart and seared me in a wave of white-hot shame.
The amrit.
My babbling.
Lucifer’s cruel smirk.
His taunting remarks.
The laughter.
And all the while, Azazel stood there in front of Lucifer’s court, in front of the very same demons who’d mocked him when he was a child, and he had to listen to me spill the secret of our marriage…which gave them all new ammunition to ridicule him.
Of course, it wasn’t technically my fault that I revealed the marriage deal, what with the amrit wreaking havoc on me. I knew that.
And yet.
My entire body flushing hot, my throat tight, I couldn’t help imagining how he must have felt in that moment, when my amrit-induced blabbing ripped his old wounds right the fuck open.
I hadn’t seen his face during the ordeal, didn’t know what he looked like while he had to endure—once more—Lucifer’s derision and the jeering of the court. But I remembered, with crystal clarity, what he’d been like right after. Curt, snappy, furious.
With me?
I bit my lip, my eyes burning.
Breath stinging in my lungs, I turned. I couldn’t think about this now. Getting out of here was the more pressing issue at the moment. I’d deal with everything else when I found my way to safety.
Feeling my way along the wall, I walked until I hit the dead end. Once again, I used the blood from my open wounds to draw the sigil in the pitch-black. This time, I closed my eyes before the flash of light blinded me.
Warm air whispered over my face, bringing with it the scents of cinnamon and orange. I plastered myself to the wall inside the corridor and squinted into the light spilling in from the room beyond the new doorway, my dagger at the ready.
A big private chamber, colorful drapes hanging from the walls and ceiling, creating the impression of being inside a tent. Plush rugs covered the ground, their swirling patterns of green and blue like the play of light on the ocean floor. An open doorway gaped in the opposite wall, half concealed with curtains, another room visible beyond. I could just make out more rugs and what looked like an easel and art supplies.
Cautiously, I stepped into the room, my pulse pounding in my head. Movement drew my gaze to the corner to the right, where more curtains hid what appeared to be a bed. A soft whoosh indicated the magical doorway closing behind me.
Crap. If whatever was in here posed a threat, I wouldn’t be able to just run back into the corridor.
I readjusted my grip on the dagger and snuck over the rugs as carefully as my injured ankle allowed. Maybe I could make it past the bed without drawing attention.
I was almost to the doorway leading into the next room when warm breath brushed my neck. I froze, fear blanking my mind, and I lost valuable seconds to my burgeoning panic. When I whirled around, dagger raised, a hand grabbed my wrist and held it effortlessly immobile.
Inches from me stood a female demon, my arm in her grip, her power a cascade of energy over my skin. Auburn hair framed a face of the lightest brown, her features familiar, her eyes…her eyes the color of the ocean rushing onto white sandy shores.
“You smell like him,” she said in a husky voice. “My boy.”
My eyes widened. “Who?” I asked with a squeak, even though the answer to my question already crept up on me on icy feet.
She drew in a deep breath, a smile lighting her face. “Azazel.”
All breath left me in a rush.
My voice a whisper, I spoke the name that rose in recognition, “Naamah.”
Chapter 20
Azazel’s mother regarded me with open curiosity, impossibly alive.
Stunned speechless, I could only stare back.
They’d lied to him. They told him she died, and for two thousand five hundred fucking years, Lucifer and Daevi and who knew how many others kept Naamah’s continued existence a secret, let Azazel and Azmodea believe their mother was gone.
Why?
The sheer, naked cruelty of it chilled my soul.
“Who are you?” she asked, stroking my cheek with her free hand, the other still holding my wrist. “You taste fragile.”
“Zoe,” I breathed. “I—I’m bonded to Azazel.”
I didn’t know if she’d understand if I explained about the marriage thing, but surely putting it in terms of a bond like Lucifer and Lilith had would make sense to her.
“Yes,” she murmured, her eyes mapping my face. “You carry his scent in your skin.”
She abruptly let me go and turned away, humming under her breath. Letting her fingers glide over the drapes on the wall, she strolled into the next room, the loose gown she wore billowing around her hips.
Baffled, I followed her. She was standing at the easel, mixing paint on a palette. The canvas held a work-in-progress, a painting of bold strokes and vibrant colors reminiscent of expressionism. Humming, she added more color, her back turned to me.
I watched her for a few minutes, waiting for her to acknowledge me again. When she remained focused on her work, I ventured softly, “Excuse me?”
She stilled, slowly pivoted on her heels and pinned me with a look. “Who are you?”
I exhaled a shaky breath, my heart breaking in understanding.
“Zoe,” I said, my voice hoarse from how my throat was closing up. “I’m bonded to your son.”
Her lips parted, and she dropped the paintbrush. “Azazel? How is he?”
Tears prickled at the back of my eyes. “He’s great. Strong, confident, stubborn.” My voice broke. “He’s the bravest male I know.”
Her throat muscles worked as she swallowed, her gaze swinging to the side. “Does he remember me?”
“Yes,” I whispered.
Her eyes held a sheen as she looked up again. “Not just the bad?”
I shook my head, inhaled a breath that hurt all the way in and out. “Have you been here all this time?”
“How long?”
Oh, God.
“Two thousand five hundred years,” I said in a small voice.
She closed her eyes, opened them again. Her face contorted, her energy flaring hot. “They think I broke because of him,” she said harshly. “Because of how he left. As if a male could shatter me.” Lips quivering, agony etched into her features, she added in an anguished tone, “It was me. It’s always been me. Something’s not right in me.”
My vision blurred, tears filling my eyes. I furiously blinked them away.
Naamah rubbed her temples, pressed the heels of her hands against her head. “I can’t get it out. I can’t make it right.”
The pain in my chest felt like shards of glass digging into my heart. I wanted to help her so badly, hug her until she was okay. But all the hugs in the world wouldn’t be enough to make her okay.
She uttered a tormented sound that tore at my soul, then sank down on the floor. Eyes vacant, she brushed her fingers over the rug, back and forth, back and forth.
“Naamah?” I asked softly.
No reaction. She continued stroking the rug, her gaze unfocused.
At a loss for what else to do, I knelt down next to her, tentatively touched her arm with my left hand. I sucked in a sharp breath when the flare of pain at the contact reminded me that my fingers were a bloody mess.
Without looking at me or my hand, Naamah tilted her head and laid her hand over my fingers. “Broken,” she muttered.
Warm
tingles spread through my hand, up my arm and through the rest of my body. The pain vanished, not just the one in my hand, but the throbbing in my ankle and the dull hurt inside my skull as well.
“Thank you,” I whispered, wishing so hard I could return the favor.
Naamah hummed, her eyes unseeing, lost in her own world.
A commotion outside the room made me snap up my head, look to the closed door leading out of these chambers. Sounds of metal clanging came from the other side. Fighting?
I had a brief moment of wide-eyed confusion, and then the door burst in as if blasted by an explosion.
A demon barreled inside. For a hopeful second, I thought it was Azazel.
But no, this was someone else. Someone with wild eyes, blood all over him, and a raised dagger. “I found her!” he yelled.
And then he threw the blade.
I didn’t even have time to startle. The knife embedded itself in flesh with a nauseating thunk. Next to me, Naamah toppled over backwards, the dagger protruding from her chest, rendering her unconscious.
No!
The demon was already striding toward us, giving me a cursory glance. My hand curled around the hilt of my dagger, hidden from his view next to my thigh.
Having reached us, he grabbed my hair and pulled me up. Pain shot from my scalp all the way through my body, and I screamed, pawing at his grip with my free hand. The flash of a blade, cold steel against my throat.
The demon peered at me. “You’re Azazel’s, hm?” He clucked his tongue. “Didn’t expect you here, but you’ll be a nice bonus.”
Focus, Zoe. I breathed, stilled the shaking of my hand. Muscle memory took over. Weeks of training, repeating the same movement over and over, guided my stroke. With an exhale, I yanked the dagger up and shoved it forward, straight into the demon’s chest.
His eyes widened, his features going slack. His grip on my hair spasmed, eased. I fell to the floor at the same time he dropped his blade. A second of frozen shock, then I rolled over and stumbled to my feet.
The demon lay on his back, eyes staring at the ceiling, mouth agape. The dagger sat in his chest, bull’s eye in his heart—incapacitating him for now, just like Azazel had taught me.
I let out a rugged breath. My hands were shaking, my heartbeat a jackhammer in my chest. What now?
More sounds of fighting from the hallway. Shit, shit, shit. He’d yelled to someone earlier. He had backup.
My gaze fell on Naamah, still lying there with the dagger in her chest. I rushed to her, grabbed the handle, and yanked the blade out. That should speed up the healing, shouldn’t it? And when she woke, she’d be able to fight, right? Right?
Just then another demon ran into the room, sword raised. All the blood drained from my head, making me dizzy. Too soon. Naamah was still out. I hadn’t even raised the dagger yet when the demon stood over me, the tip of his sword under my chin.
No way could I repeat my earlier move now, not with me on my knees and him standing. I swallowed.
A rush of air was the only warning. The demon jerked, his chest bowed outward, and then the bloody tip of a sword emerged from inside him. Muscles loosening, he fell to his knees, then slumped to the side, the sword still embedded, the handle sticking out his back.
Behind him stood a dark-haired female demon in the black-and-gold livery of Lucifer’s guards, blood-streaked and half-shredded, a second sword in her hand. Her eyes took in the scene.
A demon with a dagger in his chest. Naamah on her back, the front of her dress bloodstained. Me, on my knees over her, a blade clutched in my hands.
My eyes widened. I dropped the dagger and pulled my hands up in the universal pose of surrender. “It wasn’t me!”
The guard’s brown eyes narrowed.
“Okay,” I said frantically, “I did him. But not her!” I jerked my head toward Naamah. “We were just talking. Then this guy ran in and knifed her. He came for me too, and I stuck him with my dagger. That’s all, I swear!”
“How did you get in here?”
“I was lost and there were these rats and I had to run, but there was no other way, so I used a sigil, it’s the only sigil I know, from Azazel, I had no idea where it would lead me, but then it opened up here and—”
“Stop,” the guard barked. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she added in a murmur, “Hell’s bells.”
Apparently dismissing me for the moment, she stalked past me to the first demon—still down for the count—hauled him up by the throat, and slashed off his legs with two horribly efficient strokes of her sword.
I winced and crawled backward.
The guard proceeded to chop off the demon’s arms at the shoulder as well, then dropped him unceremoniously. All through the butchery, the demon hadn’t moved, still unconscious. Swinging the sword in her hand, the guard strode to the second demon—also still knocked out—and yanked him up by the throat too.
I covered my mouth with my hand, trying to keep the bile from rising up. Averting my eyes didn’t help much. The sounds of her cutting off the limbs of the demon painted a vivid enough picture in my mind, given I’d just witnessed what it looked like.
Naamah stirred. Gasping, she rolled over and into a crouch. Her eyes roved over the bloodbath in the room, flicked from me to the guard.
“My lady,” the guard said with a bow. “Please excuse the mess. Someone will come by shortly to clean up. I suggest you retreat to your bedroom.”
Naamah frowned at the floor. “That was my favorite rug.”
“I apologize, my lady. It couldn’t be helped. I’ll be sure to ask His Grace to replace it.”
“Don’t bother.” With a disdainful sniff, Naamah rose and strode into the adjacent room.
The guard loosed a sigh and went to lug both demons out into the hallway just as another guard came running. They conversed in hushed whispers for a moment. When the female guard returned, she pointed her sword at me.
“You. Come with me.”
Oh, boy.
The guard easily hauled the two dismembered demons all the way through the palace and into the throne room by the cuffs of their shirts, intermittently barking at me to keep up. At some point the delinquents woke and began screaming, which the guard solved by re-stabbing them each to render them unconscious again.
I might have had a girl crush on her.
The throne room bustled with activity, though different from the exuberant and erotic revelry from earlier. The crowd was gone, instead hordes of lower-level demons like the merihem were scrubbing floors, pillars, and walls, and I blinked in bafflement at the few who were currently…hand-vacuuming tapestries, trying hard to remove the pink glitter that stuck to everything like some hellish fairy dust.
Oh. So that hadn’t been an amrit-induced hallucination after all. Azmodea really did set off glitter bombs. I bit back laughter. How fiendish.
My amusement vanished like a popped bubble when the dais came into view. Lucifer and a handful of his courtiers as well as Lilith were present. Anxiety rocked through me, making my skin crawl. The memories of how he forced me to drink the amrit and took advantage of my drugged state played out vividly in my mind. My skin flushed hot. He’d humiliated me in front of his court with such easy cruelty, and my visceral reaction at seeing him again was to turn and run.
Especially since he was in the process of punishing someone.
A demon knelt before him, straining as if trying to move against shackles, though I saw none. Lucifer laid a hand on his head and spoke a word I couldn’t make out from where I stood. The demon screamed, and his wings erupted from his back.
“Please don’t,” the demon pleaded.
Placing one hand on the demon’s left shoulder, Lucifer grasped his right wing—and yanked. Flesh and muscles ripped, bones broke, as the wing tore away from the demon’s back. More ear-splitting screams, blood spraying in a gruesome rain.
Humming, Lucifer handed the ripped-off, blood-dripping wing to an attendant next to him. Cracking his knuckles, he w
ent for the other wing.
I gagged, the bile I’d tried so hard to keep down after the guard dismembered the demons finally forcing its way up my throat. Bending over, I retched and puked the sparse contents of my stomach onto the floor.
A merihem scurried over and mopped the vomit right up, ranting and raving at me all the while in their impish language.
I winced, my stomach aching, and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.
The guard threw the two demons on the floor in front of the dais and went down on her knee, bowing her head. “Your Grace.”
I remembered protocol with a start and quickly knelt as well, lest I give Lucifer more reason to punish me. I was probably in boiling hot water with him already anyway.
“Timira,” Lucifer said. “Rise. What have you got for me?”
“Two insurgents who broke into Naamah’s rooms and attacked her, sire.”
The entire hall hushed, even the whimpers of the punished demon died down.
“What?” Lucifer’s whispered question held all the more menace for how quiet it was.
Timira gulped audibly. “It seems two of the insurrectionists made it past the guards stationed outside her quarters. I arrived on the scene after hearing the commotion from several corridors over, while dispatching another insurgent. The two guards outside her room were incapacitated, the door smashed in. Inside, I found these two demons, one of them immobilized by a dagger through the heart, the other with his sword at her throat.”
She gestured to me, and I ducked and furtively glanced around, searching for a hole to crawl to and hide in.
Timira went on with a succinct report of the scene and my own statement, after which eerie silence again descended over the throne room. I chanced a look at the dais and immediately wished I hadn’t.
Cold fury vibrated around Lucifer, ice crystals forming in the air, frost licking over the floor, down the steps, until it reached my bare knees. I shivered. I knew what happened when Lucifer got furious as opposed to “just” angry.
“You,” he said, his voice chilling me to my bones.
An invisible hand grabbed me by the throat and pulled me up until my toes barely touched the ground. I gagged, pawed at my neck, unable to break the hold of a hand that wasn’t there. Little lights danced across my vision, darkness creeping in. I wheezed, struggled for breath, panic setting in.