by Gina Kincade
“You are scorning me? After all, I have given up to find you? All I have forsaken?”
Jerking his shoulder away from her touch, Demetrious stepped just outside her reach. The action felt as if she’d slipped into a pool of ice and was drowning. His disgust ate away at her, clawed at her neck and squeezed around her throat, diminishing her ability to breathe.
He did not even bother to look over his shoulder at her, nor did his shoulders sag as if his words upset him. “Yes, Seraphina. You are no longer Pure. You are a monster, and I will have no part of it. You have disgraced yourself, disgraced our love and I would gladly sit in Hell, rather than allow our souls to touch once more.”
She let out a gasp at his words. It was as if they had flipped something on in her. Tears slipped steadily down her cheeks, and she let them fall. Her hand closed around the Angelic dagger she kept tied around her waist. Her fingers shook as they closed around the wooden hilt. She sucked in a deep breath of air and moved to close the space he’d put betwixt them once more.
“You cannot mean that, Demetrious. I can understand your upset with me. I fell without consulting with anyone, but it was the only way to save you. And here, I have come. We must put this behind us and start anew. I can help you fall if you should like, I would not wish for you to lose your wings.”
Demetrious turned, lightening fast. His fangs gleamed in the dim firelight, and his eyes were solid black. “Do not touch me again, abomination,” he sneered and raised his hand as if to strike her across the face.
He never got the opportunity.
In a flash, she tore the dagger free from its binding about her waist. Without a thought, she slashed it across Demetrious’ dark chest. Once, twice, three times. He roared, and she flashed behind him. Launching herself, she landed on his back and dragged the blade across his throat. The fourth slash was the end. While they’d been able to touch, he was not a body, just a soul, and it exploded into nothingness, sending Seraphina slamming into the ground.
Her entire being shook with grief, remorse and anger. Sucking in a deep breath of air through her nose, she gave into the sobs threatening to consume her. She had torn her wings from flesh and bone to save the man she had just murdered.
The tears came for days, and when they were done, Seraphina knew only one thing. Revenge.
Chapter Three
1740
Seraphina raked her nails across the abdomen of the nearest guard. There was a throaty sounding gurgle, and then the demon dropped to the floor, his blood pooling around him. With a flick of her wrist, a steel dagger flew into the throat of the second guard, his body collapsing with a satisfying drop. Carelessly, she stepped a heeled shoe onto the dead creature and walked over him. Throwing her arms wide, she opened the doors to the central area in Hell, where Lucifer had claimed his throne. Slipping her hand into the front of her dress, she slid the dagger free and stepped inside the room. Flames leapt up from copper pots the moment the doors were flung wide, and she walked past them, unperplexed.
Her icy blue-grey eyes were locked onto the Incubus Demon who ruled them all. Lucifer’s cocky gaze brightened, and his lips curved into a smirk when he saw her entering. He didn’t notice the way one hand was tucked behind her back, or if he did, he was not reacting. His dark black hair hung in loose waves to his waist, and even from a distance, she could smell his demonic presence beginning to weaken her resolve. Her body thrummed with a familiar longing, and she almost paused in her stride to reach him. Almost.
You must remove him. You must be Queen of Hell if you are to take your revenge on all the humans. Lucifer felled the man before him, and you must do the same to him. She had spent nearly a century on her plot, and she would be damned if a lesser demon would stop her—regardless of him overcoming the odds and ruling Hell.
“Seraphina, my little sensual Fallen, I did not know we had plans this eve,” Lucifer’s voice was a sultry, leathering slide over her skin.
She shuddered and gripped the dagger harder—the same one she had used to destroy Demetrious so many years before. Her skin was dripping with sweat, but her nerves were calm and steady. Yet, her treacherous body was responding to the Incubus Demon before her and threatening to ruin it all. She let her eyes flutter closed for just a moment before opening them.
“We have plans, you and I, Lucifer. Plans that I have been waiting nearly one hundred years to enact.” Her hips swayed as she tried to seduce him, to get close to him. Her plan hinged on it.
“My, that seems rather unlikely, as we have only just begun this song and dance fifty years back.” His lips were still quirked into a smile.
“Our bodies may not have touched prior, but my mind, oh how my mind has dreamed of you, and the things you would do for me.” She forced a sultry purr at the end of her words and dragged her fingertips over the black, silken gown where it covered her breasts.
Lucifer’s eyes followed her fingers over the swell of her breasts, and she stroked them. He chuckled, and, as anticipated, rose from his seat and stepped down the bone staircase, walking closer to his death.
“Oh, there are things I would love to do you, Seraphina. Guards!” he barked the word and stopped mere meters from her toes. “I do not wish to have an audience for this. My Lady Fallen must have come bearing some unusual appetites.”
Everything was playing out how she had envisioned it. It had taken years to get close to him, but she knew if she became his prized possession, sooner or later, he would allow them to fornicate alone, and that had been what she had been counting on. His demon nature and unruly desire to fuck anything that walked had made his demise easy to count on and easier still to enact.
He closed the distance and pressed his mouth firmly against hers the moment the guards responded to his command. There was no avoiding the moan of pleasure that pushed past her lips as Lucifer’s tongue expertly cradled and stroked her own. His hands kneaded her breasts and pinched so hard that she almost came undone. Every part of her body was screaming for her to drop the dagger and just make love to him first, but this was not about sex. This was about revenge.
She arched her back into his thickening prick as she felt his fingertips slide under the black silk dress and press against her folds. Pleasure danced across her vision, and his intoxicating scent started to dull her senses completely. She ground her body against his and sighed as she quivered.
No matter how much she despised him, she had never found a lover better, not even Demetrious. His hands slipped and stroked between her wet core as if she were an instrument. Her breathing was harsh, ragged, as he brought her closer and closer to sweet release.
“Tell me, what did you come for this day, my Fallen?” His breath was hot against her neck, his voice a raspy whisper.
Tilting her head back, she thrust her body down onto his fingers, searching for the white-hot pleasure, giving herself just one more thing stolen from him. Her hips moved at a maddening pace, and it took everything she had in her not to drop the weapon and let it clang to the floor so that she might wrap her hands around him. Every buck of her hips sent wave after wave of sensation through her until passion collided with pleasure and she came undone with his fingers still thrusting in and out of her. She cried out, and her body quaked around the two fingers he had deeply buried in her core.
“Lucifer. Sweet Angels, that was wonderful,” she panted and narrowed her eyes as she rested her head on his shoulder. “But I am afraid, not nearly enough.”
She jerked her left hand upwards in an arc and slammed the dagger directly betwixt his shoulder blades. He howled and tried to shove her away, but as she stabbed him, she wrapped her hands around his beautifully, hard erection. Digging the dagger deeper into his back she tugged on his prick hard, and his scream of pain was so human, it made it that much more satisfying.
“I have thought of doing this to you for years, Lucifer. Though I did love the way your shaft would drive into me, this has never been about fucking. This has been about your need to die.”
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br /> Quickly, as he wrapped a hand tightly around her throat, she yanked the dagger free and managed to slam it into the side of his neck. Blood sprayed in a wide stream. His hands left her throat as he stumbled backwards and tried to stop his wound. His fingers, slick with blood, slipped off the dagger as he sought to break it free.
Her smile turned predatory as she took a step towards him. Using just her fingertips, she pushed on his chest and sent him crashing to the ground. She stepped on his sternum, driving the pointed heel in so deep that blood began to trickle out. She bent down and tore the knife from his throat, deepening the wound, unable help the small smug smile on her lips.
“I truly had thought you would be harder to dispatch of,” she said, twirling the handle in her hand. “I suppose I was wrong. Goodbye Lucifer, thank you for your throne.”
She stabbed the dagger into his chest, piercing his heart. Lucifer’s scream was hardly audible over the rush of blood in her own ears at her success. He twitched on the ground for a brief moment before his body lay perfectly still, blood still pouring out of the various wounds for just a second longer.
Turning on her heel, she did not bother to remove the dagger or even pick Lucifer up off the ground. His body could remain there until it began to rot for all she cared. She had just done her final bloody act, now she would have demons to do things for her. She took small strides, savoring the moment, as she ascended up the bone stairs. The steel of her heels clicked loudly on the steps, and she didn’t even care.
She stared in awe at the bone throne covered in rich, red velour. She had made love to Lucifer on the seat countless times, but she had never sat upon it with him buried deep inside her. “My time has come, and soon, the humans will fall.”
She turned and lowered herself onto the seat, a grin spreading from ear to ear as she did so. Regally, she let her arms rest on the armrest and sucked in a breath as she turned and looked out over the kingdom that was finally hers to command.
“They will all pay for what they did to you Demetrious. For, without their violence, you would not have died, and I would not have fallen. They will pay for everything,” her voice was as stony as her heart felt. The humans would be destroyed, every last one.
LAYEL SIGHED AS HE dropped his bloodied sword onto the ground and trudged into his home. He was growing weary of protecting the humans when all they did was fight back. They had ventured as far as the Parisian boundary with snow falling heavily, and the humans had attacked before any of his sect could hope for their compulsion to work. In the end, the humans had realized they were Angels, or the snow was simply not falling thickly enough to completely destroy the compulsion they wielded. It didn’t mean he wasn’t tired of the constant fights against those they were trying to save.
Thirteen Angels had been lost to human hands in the past century. While their numbers did not dwindle, he felt it every time an Angel fell—be it to death or the sins of the Fallen. He’d never minded the burden of leading them outside the battlefield, but time was witling down his reserves, and even his purity had been tempted time and time again to just let the humans die.
“Layel, I am sorry to interrupt, but it is important. I have news of Seraphina.”
Layel closed his eyes and sighed so deeply, his shoulders sagged before turning to face Izazal. “It has been so long since I have heard that name. I was uncertain if she lived or not. I still hold myself accountable for what occurred that night. We should not have engaged the way we did, her fall was her choice, but it was our fault.”
Izazal said nothing, just gave a curt nod of his head and shifted his weight back and forth.
Layel shook his head as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “What news, Izazal?”
“She has risen.”
He almost choked on his own breath at the words. “Surely you cannot mean back to us?”
Izazal snorted and shook his head. “I fear that would be a much more preferred message. She has risen to Queen of Hell. She has slain Lucifer. Her ambitions these past years must have been great, but she worked silently and remained invisible to us.
“Well, now she is visible.” Layel’s tone had never been quite so bitter before, and he did not care. “Call for a summons. Do not delay. If she has risen, then it is only a matter of time before she comes calling. We must be certain none of our ranks find her, or whatever treachery she offers, appealing. ”
“Right away.” Izazal turned abruptly on his heel and left.
Layel scrubbed a hand over his eyes and dropped onto the nearest chair. He had made mistake after mistake regarding Seraphina, and he couldn’t afford to create another. It had been a hundred years since she had chosen to be a Fallen, and every night, he dreamt of it as if a Nightmare Demon had found a way to hook into his mind. He could still see every detail, every drop of blood that had dripped onto the ground as she had cut away her stunning white wings, cut away her purity.
She had been a force to be reckoned with when she’d fought alongside her lover. Losing him had demented her beyond belief. Layel had always hoped she had simply found Demetrious and the pair were living in secret somewhere amongst the humans. Now he had reason to doubt that.
“And she is bloody tempting.” He snarled and knocked a book off the end table. “Bloody hell.”
Layel leaned back in the chair, ignoring the uncomfortable crush of his wings as he did. Seraphina was beautiful, lethal and not as sane as she once had been. If she could find a way to speak to her Pure brethren, he didn’t doubt that she could sway some to the darkness. Falling was a sin, but it came with many wonderful temptations and benefits, and it was a struggle for some Pure Angels to resist the darkness.
“What would it be like to feel temptation? Just once,” he muttered.
Layel had been born first. No one had ever understood how demons came to be anymore than how humans did. He did not find faith in religious teachings. He had been alive for more centuries than he had fingers, and he knew there was no deity above them. Such a long life, and he’d never known a lover’s kiss, had never even felt the caress of a gentle hand. Angels were allowed to make families after all, but he had never desired anyone, and after watching Seraphina’s fall, he was grateful.
A leader needed to have their head solidly on his people. The Pure Angels were his people. While they were demons, they had a code and something of a moral compass. He needed to remain abject in his life if he were to properly rule them. If it was true, and Seraphina was truly ruling Hell, he was going to need to see her at some point.
He and Lucifer had had an understanding for the better part of a millennia. Demons were allowed out in numbers, and when they overstepped, the Pure stepped in. It was why Lucifer had never fought back when they’d murdered other demons.
“Will Seraphina understand?” His thoughts flicked back to the deranged look in her eyes the moment she’d finished slaughtering the humans outside the tavern, and as she’d taken her own wings from her body. “She will not.”
Layel fisted his hand and ground his teeth together. Things were going to get very soiled, and he only hoped he would not have to kill Seraphina to save them all.
Chapter Four
1813
Thomas sucked in a deep breath and tried to force himself to blow it slowly out of his nose. He failed, and in front of much of the ton, he choked and sputtered. Sweat began to pool in his underarms, and he swore there had to be a beaded line of it on his brow. In the past two days, his life had gone from rather simple, to utterly complex. He wasn’t certain he wasn’t about to pass out and fall arse over head in the next few moments.
Breathe Thomas. Just Breathe.
Wooziness still plagued him, even as he forced his heartbeat to slow. In a short matter of time, Audrey would appear at the end of the great hall in a white gown and proclaim to be his wife. Even if he wasn’t entirely certain she even cared for him.
“Don’t think on it, friend. She’ll love you. You’re a man of power, wealth and damned good looks if you do
n’t mind the judgment of another man,” ribbed his closest boyhood friend, Quinlan.
He knew his friend was indeed correct. The day before, Thomas had been granted a great honor, head of the Clockworker’s Guild. His father had passed in an unexpected fit, after taking ill, and without warning, the King had named Thomas the next leader. There were undoubtedly many women in his social ranking that would have killed one another for the chance to marry a Guildmaster in such unstable times. Not Audrey though. She was a stunning woman, but she also did not seem to have much use for Thomas, much use for marriage.
When they had first met, he had thought she’d taken a liking to him. Her father had brought her with him on a merchant call from Wales. The instant they had seen each other, he’d thought they’d been made for each other. He’d spent time with other women, including in the brothels, but he had never felt such a pull towards another person before.
As quickly as it had appeared, it had vanished. After only two days’ time, she had become distant when she was with him. She had scarcely spoken a word when they’d been together, and she’d never seemed to be interested in carrying on with him. Yet, when the time had come to discuss her dowry, she had seemed demure and accepting of him. Shortly after, was when she’d grown cold, nearly never accepting his visits. If only he could know what she meant, what she was about. Wedding a woman who did not want him was unappealing. His mother had not forced his hand either, but he had wanted to because, when Audrey had first been introduced to him, the spark of life in her had called out to him.
He sighed and shook his head. “I do not think that woman has any emotions towards me beyond making her father happy.” Saying the words aloud to Quinlan sent a pang of upset through him. It wasn’t as if many, if any, married for love. It would be nice if his bride could tolerate him, though.