That sounded like a polite and coded way of saying that they tortured the good out of people.
“In the same way that the Devil removed the good from Apollyon… torturing him until he lost his mind and held only evil in his heart?” Her voice shook and then she shrieked as Asmodeus dropped her and she hit the grass a few feet below, the impact jarring her spine.
Asmodeus growled and his eyes glowed in the darkness, as bright as the pools of lava in Hell that he had mentioned. He landed and stalked towards her, until he towered over her, his power increasing and pressing down on her. Her own rose in response, coming to protect her from his wrath.
“Yes,” he barked and grabbed her by the front of her crimson short-sleeved gypsy top and hauled her onto her feet. “I torture the good from fools who think that side of themselves makes them strong. I show them how weak it makes them… and I relish it.”
He shoved her away from him and stalked down the slope, a dangerous immense shadow in the darkness.
“Would the Devil torture the good from you if he knew there was some inside you?” she said without a trace of fear in her voice even though her hands were shaking. “Would he punish you, Asmodeus?”
“There is no good in me. You only believe there is. You want to see it, and so you do.” He turned back to face her, his golden eyes verging on scarlet.
“So you’re telling me you’re all bad… and nothing good?”
“To be good or bad you must believe the mortal concept of right and wrong… there is no right or wrong in Hell, Liora, not in the way you think of it. It is a human belief.” He took a step up the incline towards her and clenched his fists at his sides. “In Hell, there is only strength… and that strength is measured by the blood we have spilled, the bones we have crushed, and the pain we have dealt and endured. It is not measured by the good we do. It is measured by what you mortals believe is bad. In Hell… bad is good… and I am second only to the Devil.”
Liora collapsed to her backside on the grass and stared down at him, her heart aching for him. He denied the seed of good in him and now she understood why.
The Devil had conditioned him to resort to violence without a moment’s pause if he felt threatened, to eradicate any shred of positive emotions in himself and in others, to torture and maim, and destroy, because in Hell that was what made you strong.
His master had probably beaten it into him from the moment he had been born into that dark world, moulding him into the powerful male before her, one worthy of being the Devil’s right hand man.
One capable of doing the Devil’s dirty work and strong enough to command the respect of every demon and Hell’s angel in that realm.
A king of demons.
He had to be strong or face losing his standing, and the gods only knew what would happen to him if that happened. What use would the Devil have for a right hand man who had a sliver of good in his heart and knew compassion and caring, affection?
The Devil would kill him.
Asmodeus was something he had created and he would likely view the tiny seed of good in him as a fatal flaw that made him a failure. If a manufacturer found a fundamental problem in one of their products, they simply scrapped it and began again, working harder to ensure the next one didn’t fail.
Asmodeus didn’t want to die so he denied the good in his heart.
Liora held her hand out to him. “I don’t want to argue with you about right and wrong, or good and evil, Asmodeus. If you say there is no good in you, then I accept that. Come, look at the stars with me.”
He heaved a sigh, stalked up the hill, and set himself down beside her on the grass, spreading his black wings. One stretched out behind her, shielding her from the cold breeze washing over the brow of the hill, and the other rested on the grass to his left. His hands settled behind him, propping him up, and he tipped his head back and looked at the dark sky.
She wasn’t sure what to say to him. She’d had a head full of colliding thoughts before she had learned more about him and now she had a whole new bunch of thoughts knocking around in her skull. Apollyon needed a better word than ‘complicated’ for his apparently evil twin.
Liora looked across at him and held her sigh inside.
He had said that Paris seemed alien to him but she had the feeling that it was more than the city that had him constantly on edge. It was everything, from his surroundings, to her, and to the things that she had said to him, that had him questioning himself and all he knew.
This entire world was alien to him.
She worried that it was too alien and he would find a way to leave her whether she wanted that or not.
Liora set her hands behind her to prop herself up and intentionally laid her left hand over his right one. He tensed beneath her.
She tipped her head back, stared at the stars scattered across the black velvet, and said a silent prayer to the gods of nature that Asmodeus would stay because she thought she needed him, and not only because her survival potentially depended upon him.
The gods had never answered her before.
She hoped they would this time.
They owed her for taking her parents.
CHAPTER 5
Asmodeus’s head was tied in more knots than ever and every inch of him felt tense, and he couldn’t convince his body to relax, not while he was drowning under the tidal pull of his thoughts. He wanted to get them straight and figure everything out, and come to understand this world and Liora, but the more he spoke to her and the more he saw of this realm, the more on edge and overwhelmed he became.
He hadn’t meant to lose his temper with her, and he regretted dropping her from even a short height and shouting at her. Another first for him. He couldn’t remember ever regretting anything before. He couldn’t remember experiencing guilt before he had met Liora.
Her hand covered his, warm and slight, her light weight pressing it into the grass. She had fallen quiet and he wished that she hadn’t. He liked the sound of her voice and the sharp note it had at times, a tone that told him she wasn’t going to just back down and let him have his way.
He had felt powerless to leave her and had wanted to convince her to leave him, because he feared that the Devil would force him to obey his command to bring her to him. He had tried to draw a line between them, hoping to force her into seeing that he didn’t subscribe to her mortal concepts of right and wrong, and that there was no good in him as she would view it. Rather what she viewed as bad, he saw as good.
She had been afraid at one point, he felt sure of it, but had rallied and refused to leave him, instead telling him that she knew he could protect her and she was safest with him.
Asmodeus didn’t believe that, so he wasn’t sure how she could. He had done nothing to prove himself worthy of her belief and she barely knew him. She probably knew Apollyon well, and together with Serenity and perhaps their friends, that male would be better able to protect her from the Devil.
He stared up at the stars, trying to ignore the creeping fear at the back of his mind. He refused to feel that emotion. He had feared the Devil in the past, scores of centuries ago, when he had been young and weak, and unsure of himself. With every decade that had passed, every victory on the battlefield and captive that had cracked from his torture alone, he had grown stronger and more confident, becoming fitting of the title the Devil had given him.
King of Demons.
A title he had to live up to or risk losing.
The Devil would strip him of it if he discovered that he had already met the female and was refusing to bring her to him.
He had to return to his master and learn more about why he wanted her, but he didn’t think Liora would allow him to leave without a fight. She wanted him to stay.
Why?
His heart supplied that perhaps she desired to kiss him again.
He wished.
Asmodeus tried to focus on the stars and failed when his thoughts turned to Liora and when she had kissed him. He could still taste her
. The kiss had made him feel strange, fuzzy and unfocused, and he wanted to do it again.
He wanted the petite female sitting beside him with her beautiful eyes on the stars and her hand covering his, even though she was full of light and purity.
For the first time in his life, he wished there was more good in him in the human sense of the word, not less. He wanted to be worthy of her and right now he wasn’t. A beautiful, noble, and caring female like Liora deserved a male of equal character.
She would never truly desire someone only capable of violence, cruelty, and darkness. Everything she viewed as bad.
His gaze slid to her against his will and traced the outline of her profile. Starlight bathed her skin in pale tones that his eyes could see. They were accustomed to the dark and marked another difference between them.
She was mortal.
He was immortal.
She glanced across at him and he averted his gaze to his wings. The wind played in his black feathers. It had felt good to fly with her in his arms, held close against his chest, and to feel her hands on his skin.
Asmodeus slipped his right hand from beneath hers, leaned to his left and brought his wing forwards, between them. She frowned and a flicker of hurt crossed her face. He hadn’t meant it as a barrier or an act of pushing her away.
He nimbly preened his ruffled feathers and she relaxed again, and went back to gazing at the stars. Asmodeus focused on tending to his wings. Some of the feathers were out of place from flying and he needed something other than Liora to concentrate on so he could free up his mind. Working on a task that was second nature to him often allowed him to clear his head and caused his thoughts to fall into better order. He hoped it was the case today.
Cleaning his weapons normally produced the same effect.
One of his swords did need cleaning, but he didn’t think that Liora would appreciate him tending to the blade. It would remind her of what he had done, and that the Devil wanted her, and it would spoil this quiet moment of calm.
“Do you not like the stars?” she whispered, her gaze returning to him.
Asmodeus paused at his work and looked over his wing to her. He did like the stars and he liked her too, and he thought she was infinitely more beautiful than they were. What would she say if he told her that?
He shoved that thought away and nodded. “I do, but my feathers are misaligned. They irritate me.”
“Can you put your wings away?” Her hazel eyes lowered to his wing and, before he could answer that he could if he desired it, she had reached over, laid her palm on the curve of his wing, and was running her hand down it.
Holy Hell, that felt good.
A shiver bolted through him, hot and fierce, reigniting his blood and making it burn for more. He wanted her to stroke his wing again, to caress it and tease him, driving him wild with need for her.
His fangs lengthened and he sensed the moment his irises brightened and began to verge on crimson. Her eyes widened and her fingers paused against his feathers.
She sounded breathless when she uttered, “You like me touching them?”
Asmodeus told himself not to nod and not to let on that her touching his wings had him hurtling towards the edge of bliss and had him rock hard in his loincloth.
He tried.
Failed.
He nodded and swallowed hard when she resumed her stroking, sending hot little shivers tripping over his flesh, stoking his hunger up degree after degree until he couldn’t take any more.
His red eyes narrowed on her lips.
He wanted to taste them again. He wanted to shove his fingers into her fall of soft chestnut hair, grasp the back of her head and yank it back so he could devour her mouth and master her.
He would do just that.
Asmodeus reached for her.
His head turned, his stomach twisted, and his fingers shook. A wave of weakness crashed over him and he trembled and pressed his hand to his stomach. His heart raced.
“Asmodeus, what’s wrong?” Liora’s hand settled against his cheek and he lifted his wide eyes to hers.
“I do not know.” Admitting that sent shame sweeping through him and he cast his gaze away from her. He focused on his body, his pulse spiking and skin prickling. What was wrong with him?
His vision blurred and his stomach cramped, violently this time, turning in on itself until he came close to vomiting.
“You’re shaking.” Liora pressed her palm to his forehead. “Tell me what you’re feeling.”
Asmodeus swallowed and nodded, and tried to focus again. It was harder now and took much of his remaining strength. That was fading fast, leaving him shaking worse than he had been barely a second ago.
“Dizzy. Nauseous. Weak. Ailing… I have never felt like this before.” He lifted his gaze to hers again and clutched his bare stomach. “At the tower… I felt strange… I feared I was growing sick.”
“Maybe you are sick.” She pressed her hand harder against his forehead and he caught the flicker of panic in amidst the concern brightening her eyes. “We need to take you somewhere safe and find a way to treat you.”
He nodded again. He didn’t want to be sick. He didn’t like this feeling of weakness invading him.
She rose to her feet and offered her hand to him. He refused to take it and lumbered onto his feet, staggered a few steps down the hill, and finally found his balance. A growl slipped free of his lips and he straightened to his full height, unwilling to let whatever was affecting him get the better of him. He was not weak. He was strong, powerful, and immortal.
He would defeat this sickness.
Liora came to stand opposite him and grasped both of his hands in hers. She looked up at him, her fine eyebrows furrowed with the concern that shone in her eyes, and gave him a short smile.
“We’ll get you better. Just… trust me… okay, Asmodeus? Trust me.”
He wasn’t sure he knew how to trust because he had never tried to place that sort of faith in anyone before, but he was willing to try for her. He nodded and she closed her eyes, and sudden warmth flooded his hands and raced up his arms. He tried to take them away from her but she tightened her grip until it felt as if she was branding his bones with fire.
The dark countryside disappeared and a pale room took its place, filled with elegant matching furniture.
Asmodeus glanced around the expansive living room. It was light and airy. Was this Liora’s home?
“What the hell are you doing here?” The male voice crashed into his ears a split-second before a fist slammed into his jaw, snapping his head to his left and knocking him off balance. His head turned violently and he stumbled, reaching blindly for something to grab to stop himself from hitting the polished wooden floor. The male growled again. “Get behind me, Liora.”
Liora ignored that command and held on to Asmodeus’s wrists, keeping him upright.
She had betrayed him.
Asmodeus snarled and tore free of Liora’s grip, and came to face a male he hated with every drop of blood in his body.
Apollyon’s blue eyes flashed in warning and his black wings erupted from his bare back. The male beat them hard and slammed into Asmodeus, sending him flying backwards against the cream wall. He tried to evade the vicious swing of Apollyon’s right hook but he wasn’t quick enough in his weakened state. The male’s fist smashed into his mouth and blood flooded it.
Asmodeus growled and exposed his bloodied fangs, his anger rising and obliterating the weakness that had been invading him, driving it to the back of his mind.
“Apollyon,” Liora snapped and the large black-haired male paid her no heed as he pushed her behind him.
Apollyon sent his loose black cotton bottoms away, replacing them with his gold-edged black armour and Asmodeus hated him all the more.
Before him stood a completed version of himself, a male worthy of the notice of the female bravely advancing on them. He despised Apollyon for having what he lacked and therefore being able to possess what he could ne
ver dream of having.
Liora.
Asmodeus’s black claws sharpened and he swung at Apollyon. The male easily evaded the weak blow, grasped his shoulders, and shoved him hard against the wall, pinning his wings and knocking the wind from him.
Defeated.
How the demons would laugh if they could see him now. Weak and pathetic. Unable to fight. On the verge of collapse.
Only the wall and Apollyon’s unforgiving grip was keeping him standing.
“What are you doing here, Wretch?” Apollyon shoved him harder against the wall, his fingers pressing deep into his shoulders, and narrowed his swirling blue gaze on him. The male’s long black hair was wild and ruffled. He had been asleep. This was not Liora’s home.
She had brought him to Apollyon.
He had grown weak, sick, and she had taken it as a chance to bring him here to this male. Why? Because she desired him to see his failings? She had asked him to trust her. He would never trust her again.
Asmodeus’s lips peeled back off his fangs and he glared as he spit blood at his superior twin.
Apollyon released one of his shoulders to wipe the blood off his face and Asmodeus snarled and struggled again. He managed to crack his left fist across Apollyon’s jaw, knocking the angel away from him. It cost him.
His head turned, the world wobbled out of focus, and his balance left him.
“Asmodeus,” Liora shouted and was there before him in an instant, shoving Apollyon aside and wrapping her arms around his chest to support him.
Asmodeus growled, pushed her away, and stumbled to his left. He hit a small white wooden table in the corner of the room and the china lamp on it toppled onto the floor and smashed. Asmodeus shot his left hand out, pressed it against the wall in front of him and braced himself, breathing hard as his stomach rebelled again and the terrible weakness returned.
“I made a vow to deal with you if you ever left Hell,” Apollyon said, his voice pure darkness and malevolence. “I will do just that.”
“No,” Liora barked and when Asmodeus looked over his shoulder, he found her standing between him and his twin, her arms outstretched and blocking Apollyon’s way to him. “Please… he’s sick.”
Her Wicked Angel (Her Angel Romance Series Book 6) Page 6