Rapture (Hades Castle Trilogy Book 2)

by C. N. Crawford

  I cocked my head, staring at the woman with pale blond hair. She seemed to loathe Samael as much as I did. She meant something to me, but I couldn’t remember what.

  I watched as she kicked Samael hard in the stomach. A hot, white light flickered in the darkness of my chest. Some part of me didn’t like this.

  That woman, that pale blond hair—

  My fingers were curling into fists. Something felt wrong. I felt. That was wrong.

  I gritted my teeth. I was getting confused.

  This blond woman wasn’t anything to do with me—not Lilith. She was a mortal from my phantom life. The sad, fragile life I was leaving behind. Lila’s life.

  I stared out the broken window, shocked by how much my body stung. The glass in my feet, the frigid wind bit at me.

  I’d have to turn my feelings off again as soon as I could.

  I was in control of this powerful body, and it felt good to be awake again. It was crystal clear now. My life with Bran, the Raven King, how we’d sailed together on the rivers out to sea. In the ancient days, the Albian clans had worshipped me as a goddess, building temples in my honor.

  The bad memories were back, too—the years that had broken me, when mortals had ripped me apart piece by piece. Carving at my skin with seashells, drowning me, marveling that I couldn’t die. Witch, witch, witch….

  After I’d turned off my emotions, I ruled as Demon Queen, scourge of the angels. Until at last, I’d formed a truce and alliance with Samael. One that did not end well.

  I shuddered, unwilling to dwell too deeply on those thoughts. I’d kill them all, and then I’d feel better.

  But why didn’t the victory of defeating Samael feel more thrilling? Maybe it was too easy? Hardly a battle. I had thought he’d put up more of a fight, but maybe he hadn’t wanted to hurt the weak little mortal.

  No, it wasn’t just that. Something was wrong in my chest.

  I felt too much.

  I touched my heart. I could feel it beating as it should, a healthy rhythm.

  Everything was working. Why did I feel like I was dying a little bit?

  I shifted, peering over the shattered glass, and winced at the shards in my feet. The last time I was alive, I would have been able to walk over this without noticing. At least I healed quickly.

  I stared out the window again. The Free Men were dragging Samael’s body to a black carriage. Blood poured down his side and from cuts in his body. I wondered how many of his bones had been broken in the fall. Probably many of them, but I’d been careful not to cut through any organs. The Free Men wanted to drag out his death. Make a spectacle of it.

  I clutched my chest again, finding it hard to breathe. What did I care what they did to Samael? Or the nephilim offspring.

  Fuck the angels. Fuck their arrogant offspring. And the mortals could burn, too. I’d make this world a haven for demons alone, the children—the lost and rejected—that I’d raise from the ground.

  Had the angels come for me when I’d been tortured over and over again until I lost my mind? No. I’d prayed and called to them, one supernatural to another. But why lift a finger for something that couldn’t feel? That didn’t have a soul? They were so sure on that point because they thought they knew everything.

  Heaviness pressed down on my chest, so sharp I could hardly breathe. I felt like I’d been stabbed. What was that?

  Something was wrong …

  I stared down at my bleeding feet. They couldn’t heal as long as I kept stepping on the glass, I supposed.

  I’d stopped feeling after the witch hunters broke me; I wasn’t used to this. I didn’t like this.

  As I stared in wonder at my bleeding feet, a woman burst into the room. Tall and elegant, with a lace collar, dark skin, and a long dress that reached her ankles. I recognized her from flashes of Lila’s memories, but I didn’t remember her name.

  She stared at me in horror. “What happened to Samael?”

  “Oh.” I shrugged. “I threw him out the window.”

  “What the fuck is happening?” she shrieked. “Why do you look like a demon?”

  I cocked my head at her, then breathed in. I could smell the faint scent of poppies. Nephilim.

  She had better hope the Free Men didn’t find her.

  I walked closer, glass piercing my feet. God damn it, why couldn’t I turn my emotions off? If I couldn’t change this, it was going to be dreadfully inconvenient.

  “You’re right. I am a demon. I’m not Lila anymore. I’m Lilith.” I smiled. “I used to live in this castle, you know, in a bedroom with my symbol engraved in the wall. Some call me the Harrower. Some call me the Iron Queen. But once, I was Queen of Albia, by the Raven King’s side.” I raised my arms over my head and laughed. “The Harrowing Queen has returned. Let everyone know I am here to sow my army from the earth.” I beamed, waiting to see her struck with awe.

  But the woman still looked furious, completely lacking in awe. “You absolute twat. You’re the ghost, aren’t you? And now you’re possessing Lila.”

  “There was no ghost,” I snapped. “I am not possessing her.”

  My mind flashed with images of Lila struggling, under the illusion that a ghost was attacking. Lila’s own buried memories had started to rise to the surface. My memories. They were more alive here, in my former home. She had begun to remember how I’d died last time, the memory of Samael murdering me.

  All that fury had lain in a shallow grave in her mind, waiting to rise again. She hadn’t known how to explain it to herself, had she? Her fragile mortal mind had turned the memories into a ghost. But it had been her own hands around her neck, squeezing, torturing. Battering herself. Trying to get the message through.

  I sighed. It kind of put a damper on the glory of my return when no one knew what the fuck I was talking about. I wanted people to be awestruck, not baffled. Could I not get a moment of divinely inspired terror from this infuriating woman? All Samael had to do was make his eyes go a bit fiery and people fell to their knees. I needed something like that. A spectacle. Maybe writhing snakes instead of the fiery chains.

  “The Harrowing Queen is awake now, at last. All will be well with the world again.” I sighed. “I mean, not for most people, who will die. But for me.”

  “Are you kidding me?” she gasped.

  I brushed a little broken glass dust off my arms. “Samael liked fragile, submissive things, didn’t he? You seem the type. Unable to keep up with what I’m telling you. And Lila was perfect for him. Pliant. But she’s gone now. And she deserved everything I did to her because she was weak.”

  What a nightmare the past twenty-five years had been with Lila in control. A world of darkness, quiet and muddled.

  Only when the Free Men had begun to communicate with me had I started to come alive again.

  They’d told me I needed to be ready for the Night of the Harrowing. It was my payment to them for summoning me. If I failed them, I wasn’t quite sure what they’d do. I only knew they had powerful magic at their fingertips.

  So far, I’d kept up my end of the bargain—delivering Samael to them. I hoped he thought of me as he lay dying.

  Why was it so hard to breathe?

  The nephilim woman took a step closer to me, anger burning in her eyes. To my shock, she slammed her fist hard into my cheek, and my neck snapped back.

  She was bloody strong for a nephilim. The force of the blow shocked me a bit, and I staggered back over the broken glass. Pain confused me, distracted me. I couldn’t focus on what I needed to do next, which was to kill her.

  A second later, anger flared, and I lunged forward to return the punch, smashing her in the jaw. She stumbled back, but recovered fast.

  In the next moment, she grabbed me by the throat and slammed me up against the wall. She head-butted me hard, and dizziness clouded my mind. If Samael had exhibited her level of viciousness, he might be alive right now.

  Maybe my magic was strong, but the sensation of feeling had distracted me too much.

>   My head lolled for a moment, and when I could focus again, I heard her calling me Lila.

  I tried to say Lilith, but with her crushing my voice box, I couldn’t get the word out.

  “I’m not talking to Lilith,” the nephilim said, as if reading my mind. “I’m talking to Lila. The one with the soul.”

  She let her grip on my throat relax just enough for me to say, “I always had a soul.”

  But then she cut me off again, squeezing the life out of me.

  33

  Lilith

  The pain made it hard to think straight. I was desperate to turn my emotions off, to be in control again.

  “First thing you need to know is that I’m not submissive!” the nephilim shouted. “You got that fucking wrong. Second thing you need to know is that I’m not talking to you anymore. I’m talking to Lila. Lila, you do not have the same soul. A soul is made up of our memories, our experiences, a collection of flickering images in a flip book. If you have different experiences, you have different souls.”

  What the fuck was she on about?

  “You have two streams of memories. Two life stories. That means you have two souls. And the soul I’m talking to is Lila’s, because the other one is an absolute fucking arsehole. Lila, you need to gain control!”

  I didn’t like this at all. How did I block out the pain I felt? My lungs burned.

  Kill or be killed. That was my motto.

  I kicked the nephilim hard in the gut, and she flew backward, slamming into the opposite wall.

  I doubled over, pain screaming through my throat. When I spoke, my voice came out scratchy and weak. “Oh, she’s not getting control. Lila’s not here anymore. She’s weaker than I am.” I touched my neck, wincing. “Though I’m obviously out of practice.” I stumbled toward her, then grimaced. The glass again, cutting up my feet. “God damn it!”

  The loathsome nephilim wasn’t done. She grabbed a lantern off the dresser and threw it at me. I ducked, but it struck me in the shoulder. The oil spread over me, and flames and gas ignited on my skin.

  Pain ripped my mind apart. I was burning; my back, my arms, my skin, eaten away by flames—

  My mind snapped back to the witch hunters, and raw fear exploded in my brain. They’d found me outside the city, hung me from the city walls in chains. They had wanted everyone to see what happened to witches. I had been a goddess, once….

  Panic erupted in my mind.

  Burning.

  A switch flipped in my brain, and I turned off my feelings at last.

  Nothing. I felt nothing now. The sharpness in the soles of my feet was gone, as was the agony of my skin incinerating. By the smell of burning skin, I knew I was still on fire. But it didn’t hurt, and I wouldn’t die.

  Only when the nephilim threw a blanket over me did the flames go out, but I no longer cared.

  I tossed the blanket off, which probably would have hurt like hell if I could have felt it. I looked down at my skin, blistered all over but already healing.

  “As I was saying,” she snapped. “I’m talking to Lila. Because Lila—if it wasn’t for you, I’d let this demon bitch burn. In particular, if it wasn’t for Samael being deeply in love with you, I’d let her burn.” She pointed at me. “Let me tell you something, Lila. Samael loves you, and I know you’re in there. Do you know how much he loves you? He was out collecting acorns for you. The Angel of Death, rooting around in the dirt for bloody acorns to give you, every morning at dawn, because he thought they’d make you feel safe.”

  I wavered on my feet, trying to focus on her. For some reason, her insane rant had my attention. I stared, the icy wind toying with my hair. “He collected acorns,” I repeated.

  What did I care?

  “Yes. And what else—he caught one moment of your conversation blathering on about fruit tarts with me and Oswald. Coffee with whiskey and cream, you said. Fruit tarts, you said. And suddenly he’s putting pastries on your tray! He did it himself, arranging fruit tarts. Sending Oswald up with trays. The bloody Angel of Death. Arranging trays.

  “Do you think the bloody Venom of God ever gave a fuck what kind of pastries people liked before? Do you think he paid attention to that?” she scoffed. “He did not. I can guarantee to you, Lila, he did not care one whit about anyone’s preferences for baked goods. Until he met you, and suddenly he has these little things he cares about. These little details. So that’s why I’m talking to you. I know you’re in there. I know you’re under the surface now, like Lilith used to be. There are two souls inside you, and if Lilith broke out from being buried in your mind, you can break out, too.”

  Slowly, a new, dull pain started to gnaw at my chest.

  I shouldn’t be able to feel anything now. But I did. It was muddied, hazy, but something felt wrong with my heart.

  I stared at the nephilim, entranced by her. She had a power I envied, one I didn’t understand. “Emma,” I whispered.

  Why did I remember her name? That was Lila’s memory. The Harrowing Queen did not need mortal thoughts distracting me.

  She took a step closer, her eyes glinting. “Lila?”

  My heart fluttered—pounding too fast. Was this fear?

  I clutched my chest. “Something’s … wrong with my heart.” The return of my consciousness to this body wasn’t going as planned. I felt completely off kilter. Two seconds ago, I’d wanted to kill this woman as part of the glorious return of the Harrowing Queen. Now, I was telling her I felt a bit queasy, like a child looking to her mum for help.

  I needed to get a grip.

  Unbidden, an image flashed in my mind of Samael, hunting through the dirt for acorns. The vision seemed to steal my breath away, and I faltered, grabbing the bed post to steady myself.

  Emma stood over me. “Your heart hurts, Lila, because it’s breaking. Because you love Samael. And you know they’re going to torture him. They’re torturing him right now.” Her eyes widened as she took in my naked body again. “Did you shag him?”

  I leaned against the bed post. “You can blame Lila for his current state of mortality. That filthy little minx. Couldn’t keep her hands off him even when they were tied.” That had been one of the unfortunate moments my consciousness had risen to the surface. I shuddered.

  “He’s mortal now?” Emma shook her head. “The Free Men will kill him. And even if he does survive, he’ll turn into the insane reaper. Where did they take him?”

  “How should I know? I don’t have anything to do with mortals and their psychotic ways.” That was a lie. I knew exactly where they’d taken him, because I was going there next.

  The Free Men had only agreed to summon me if I agreed to help them. And they had enough magic at their fingertips that I didn’t want to get on their bad side. Yet.

  The wind whistled through the broken window, whipping at my hair. I looked down at my arms, watching the skin heal before my eyes. “See? No longer mortal. You may commence being awed.”

  Emma was still glaring at me. “Do you really think the Free Men intend to let demons live? The Free Men hate demons. They’re not going to let you live when you’ve served your purpose. They’ll find a way to end you. And all your little harvested demons will go with you.”

  She snatched another sheet off the bed and threw it on me. My nakedness seemed to irritate her, which only made me want to strut around naked even more. So I let the sheet fall.

  I lunged forward and punched her hard enough in the chin that she flew backward. Her skull cracked on the dresser, the sound echoing through the room. She slid to the floor. Dead, I thought.

  I dusted off my hands. “You’ve underestimated me, Emma.”

  A dull ache throbbed in my ribcage again. Frowning, I pressed on my chest. Under the numbness, I felt as if my heart were splitting in two.

  If Lila was a separate soul, making me feel things I didn’t want to feel, perhaps I’d have to exorcise her. I couldn’t go around feeling things. Honestly.

  I sighed, frowning a bit at the blood spilling out
of the back of Emma’s head. Someone would have to clean that up.

  The Free Men wanted me to go to the telescope of fire—known to me as the Pillar of Fire. But before the Harrowing began, I really ought to put something on.

  Flicking my hair behind my shoulder, I searched the room for something to wear. There wasn’t much in here except a discarded bathrobe and a crumpled black dress at the foot of the bed.

  Naked as the day I was born, I marched out of the room. The cool castle air chilled my skin as I walked. Once I raised my army of demons at the Pillar of Fire, I’d gladly kill Samael, if the Free Men hadn’t done it already.

  Then, the true Harrowing would begin. I’d harvest my demons from the earth. They would kill the nephilim and any mortals who got in our way.

  As I walked through the halls, I peered out the windows. It was winter now, but even so, I could tell the gardens had gone untended. Now it was all thorny, dead brush, overgrown and uncared for. Snowflakes fell from the sky, sparkling in the moonlight.

  I pressed my palms against the cold glass. As the magic crackled over my body, I called to the plants outside. I wanted them to live again. To bloom in the winter air.

  Enough death. It was time for life again.

  Magic thrummed up my feet and into my limbs. I stared outside as the dark briers began to bloom with red roses.

  There we go. I’d bring beauty back to this place.

  Smiling, I turned to walk down the hall again, but my chest ached. This persistent pain in my heart kept pulling me away from the victory of my return. I clenched my jaw, trying to ignore it.

  I was in my old wing now, feeling at home among the tall windows, the high stone ceiling. At last, I reached my old room, the carvings on the door gloriously familiar. For a moment, I reached up and traced my fingertips over the carving of the raven and moon.

  Then, I pushed through the door. The look of the place stunned me. Samael had left things exactly the way I’d left them. Which meant that my instincts were right, and I’d find some clothes here. Clothes fit for the Harrowing Queen.