“I’ll kill all of them,” he said through clenched teeth. His fangs slid from beneath his gums. Their tips of pushed against his lower lip and broke the skin.
Yes, yes you will.
“I’ll rip their limbs from their bodies, eat their flesh like death’s first meal. No one touches her,” he said. “No one but me.”
A child-like laughter filled the forest and the rain froze. Thick tear-shaped hail fell from above and shattered against the forest floor.
Paimon’s mind went black, dark and absent. His body tingled as he gathered his sins. Everything he thought he knew and trusted was a lie: his life as a collector, his father, his religion. There was only one thing that was absolute, one fact of life that he could believe in. Sin.
Do it, they said in unison. Make them pay for what they’ve done to you and to her. Make the Devil bleed.
Paimon opened his mouth and his jaw unhinged. A plague seeped from his mouth, a stream of black that smoked and ate at the air, killing everything in its path. He wanted destruction and deliverance. The trees surround the clearing began to wilt, to die, their leaves shriveling and falling off like forgotten appendages that collected on the ground like dead bodies after war. The plague breathed disease on every plant and flower, taking color, energy, and light, leaving them drawn of life force and spirit. It moved through the clearing, a reaper with its scythe, collecting in a cloud off to the left. The door to the portal appeared before him, and like a man reborn, Paimon walked toward it and opened it.
This time without fear.
This time, with vengeance.
Chapter 35
Weak with fatigue, Rhea made her way to the exit at the bottom of the stairs. She pushed into the metal slab, and the door gave. Rhea fell into an alley, a dark small space that smelled like urine and too much bleach. At one end, there was a dumpster, overflowing and decorated with biohazard bags; to the other side, there was freedom.
Behind her, she heard footsteps.
The demons were filing down the stairs, their hooves scraping against the steps, their tails scratching paint off the wall. The child screamed inside of her and this time she felt it. Its voice vibrated inside of her and blood trickled out her ears staining her hospital gown red.
The child kicked and Rhea felt something warm run down both her legs. Christ, not now. She lifted her gown and saw red. She didn’t know much about pregnancy, but knew there shouldn’t be blood in the beginning. Or screams that weren’t her own.
She cradled her stomach with one arm and kept moving forward.
Raindrops clung to the ground like individual magnets that burst when she stepped on them.
Above her, lightning stuck in a sky that looked bruised. Painted in a palette of black and gray, it stared down at her, watching while thunder boomed in a deep-bellied growl.
Or was that coming from behind her?
She limped into the street, trying to hold back tears. Rhea clenched her thighs together in a bid to slow the bleeding but hot streams nonetheless leaked down her calves and ankles. Her hair hung in front of her face like a black mask. Rhea stared at her feet and the red blossoms that separated on the concrete beneath her. She didn’t even see the woman until she walked into her hard and fell to the ground.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t see you.”
Rhea’s hands were skinned and her tailbone hurt. She hoisted herself up again, her legs shaky and weak as she held the bulge that cradled the child. Shhh, it’s ok. Rhea looked for the woman, but she was already halfway down the street, clad in black and shuffling along as if nothing had happened. Her lace veil fluttered as she turned the corner, the black hanging in the air like a trail of smoke as she disappeared, leaving no trace that she’d ever been there other than the jagged scrapes on Rhea’s hands.
What the—
Rhea fell down again.
Another woman wearing a black ensemble, shuffled past her.
Didn’t I just see her?
Rhea moaned.
She dug a small rock out of her palm and choked back a sob. Everything hurt. Her spine, her head. The second fall opened new cuts and formed fresh bruises. The rain plastered her hair to her face and Rhea couldn’t tell if she was crying or just wet.
The second woman scurried past her, heading toward the same corner as the one first.
What’s happening?
As if the second—first?—woman read her thoughts, she stopped dead in the street and turned to meet Rhea’s stare. Her mouth widened as her jaw extended and dropped past the length of her neck. She wailed a mourning cry that sounded like a bleeding heart, twice punctured with broken glass. Razors erupted from her gums and blood as black as tar poured from her eyes. The woman extended her hands and began moving toward Rhea, sulking as she hovered above the ground, the tip of her shoes dragging on the asphalt.
Rhea backed away, balancing her weight in a crabwalk. Her stare never left the woman. What the fuck is happening? She screamed the second her back hit against something hard. Something stiff. Something very much like a person.
Rhea gulped and started to pray.
Please, God. Help me.
A cold hand ran its fingers through her hair, and Rhea heard someone breathing behind her in sharp, quick gaps. Was she crying? The woman twisted Rhea’s hair between her fingers, balling it up and rolling it around in her palm. Her nails, broken and jagged, scratched against Rhea’s scalp as if she were trying to dig something out of the nest that was her mangled, knotted locks. Rhea tried to move, but the woman’s grip on her hair tightened.
“Please, please let go of me,” she said. “I’m begging you.”
The woman’s hold on Rhea tightened.
Rhea cried as the baby kicked and beat against her body. Capillaries broke around her stomach in flowers of purple and blue, and when she touched them, her hands came away red.
“Please, I’m pregnant.”
The woman released her hold on Rhea, and took a long, steady pull at the air as if sucking it through a straw. Her wail she shattered windows. It sliced through the afternoon, its pitch like a scalpel hacking at flesh. Rhea cowered on the ground, shaking as the woman towered over her. The black that dripped from her eyes fell on Rhea’s head and dripped down her temples, burning her skin.
Rhea scrambled to her feet. Her legs, bloodied and half-asleep, shook under her weight, but she pushed, desperate to get away. Still the woman stood behind her crying, her arms outstretched like a grieving mother after the death of her child.
“What? What do you want from me?”
The woman answered in sobs as more bodies came out of the night. All in black and dressed with tears, they came together in mourning and stared at her with eyes as cold and dead as a winter night. There were many of them, all the same, all identical. Their faces were white and stained with black. Their smiles were poison darts. Every time Rhea blinked it was as if more appeared. All women, all crying.
“They’re mourning your death,” a voice said. “It’s what the Devil has them do.”
Rhea looked behind her but saw no one.
The world grew quiet, as if someone had muted it. The pitter-patter of rain was silenced and the sobs were set to pause. The women lowered their veils over their heads and turned their backs to Rhea as they started to walk away.
Wait. Where are you going?
“You should run now,” the voice said.
But she didn’t.
The pain in her abdomen was too much. The running, the hiding, the constant fear—it wasn’t worth it anymore. Rhea remained still, bleeding and vulnerable, praying it would all end soon. But all she could think of—all she could see—was his face. His insidious smile, his fish-hook teeth. The Devil was close and he was laughing. She could feel it.
I could have stopped the pain. I could have been taken care of.
Lightning lit up the sky and revealed faces in the shadows. There were hundreds of them: in the trees, on the street corners, hanging off the hospital. Their claws dug int
o the concrete and spiked tails crashed into the windshields of parked cars, littering the ground with glass.
I’m going to die like this. Afraid and alone. I should have said yes to him. Should’ve signed the contract and made the deal.
Another strobe of lighting painted the sky.
They started to move.
Started to run.
Their faces blurred as they attacked, like moving static, their expressions fading in and out, blurred in darkness and in light. But their screams ran together and exploded in the silence as they shot towards Rhea and took her down. Pairs of clammy, gray arms pinned her to the sidewalk and held her feet. Rhea shook, tried to fight back, but they were too strong, too determined. They operated with swift efficiency as if they’d done this a thousand times before. As if they’d raped and pillaged bodies without needing a command.
And Rhea suspected that they had.
Their eyes—God, their eyes!—looked through her, ate inside her. They took her thoughts, sifted through her fears, and laughed at her prayers. She’d never seen such emptiness in a face before; to say they were hollow wouldn’t do them justice. Whatever bred inside those eyes was more than darkness. More than death. They were alive with pain and suffering. But they were alive nonetheless, and they were full. In them, Rhea saw Hell.
Rhea went into her mind, trying to go somewhere else—anywhere else—as they tore at her clothes. A cold hand pushed down over her mouth. She forced her inhalations and exhalations against the pressure and her breath, hot on its hand, made the imp sneer.
“I think she enjoys it,” he said.
Fuck you.
Rhea wanted out.
Wanted death.
Wanted anything but this.
“Take her gown off. I want to see her flesh as I tear the child out of her,” said another.
The demon put his finger in his mouth, sucked it hard as he fucked her with his eyes, and then pulled it out wet and dripping. He slipped his hand underneath her dress, paused for a few seconds, and then ripped it apart as he licked her from navel to neck.
“We’ll I’ll be damned,” he said. “She tastes fantastic.”
“May we all be damned,” they said between laughs.
Rhea cringed. Her body went slack. The child thrashed and called out to her, begged her to keep him safe, but she was already gone, locked away in the darkness of her mind. She became a fallen sleeping beauty, dead to the world even though she still lived and breathed and felt everything including the pain of her child.
“Get ready, female. This is really going to hurt,” the one of the imps said.
Hands clawed at Rhea’s stomach, breaking through skin as they dug into her. Blood seeped from her stomach and pooled beneath her as her mind grew fuzzy. Fire spread through her body as if white-hot irons were stabbed into her sides and left there to blister the skin.
Her world destabilized. The sights grew dim and the silence grew. The quiet became a deafening hum, one that grew inside her head as her body shut down to protect itself.
I should have said yes. I should have agreed.
The darkness widened.
Rhea heard their laughing as she faded in and out of consciousness. Their hands were in her vagina, their tongues on her face, in her mouth. They ravished her body with pain as they poked and prodded, looking for the prize. Searching for the child.
Devoured by strangers, Rhea was consumed with regret. No one would know the truth and she would never see what it was that had grown within her. She would never have the chance to find out why she had been chosen to carry it, and why she suddenly didn’t want to give it up. She wanted to protect the baby. Their bond, while grown out of violence, was undeniable. He was a part of her, and she a part of him.
And now she would never know him.
Never hold him in her arms or see him smile.
Aiden, she thought. That’s what I would have named you.
A high-pitched yelp pierced the air. Sounds of pandemonium erupted around her as hands were ripped off her body and inhuman shrieks shook the night. Something wet splashed against her face and when she wiped it off, her hands were red and warm with someone else’s blood.
Shut your eyes, a voice said. You don’t need to see this.
Rhea fought unconsciousness, afraid that if she fell asleep that she might now wake up.
But why—
I’m saving your life. Both of your lives, it said.
Rhea wanted to look into the eyes of her rescuer, but the pit in her stomach warned her against it. There was something off about him. The way he spoke to her, the tone of his voice, it didn’t seem right. The way the words slid out of his mouth—so protective and reassuring—reminded her of the way that secrets liked to talk. How they whispered behind silence, breeding rumors and paranoia as they dripped velvet promises.
The temptation to look reminded her of the stories she’d heard about Medusa. The men who flocked to her knew the danger she possessed, yet when they came face to face with her, the desire to look upon the woman they feared proved too much. Encasement in stone was a high price to pay for a glimpse of those infamous blue eyes, but Rhea understood this desire now. Curiosity came with consequences, and like those fools who’d dared sneak a peek at the damned, Rhea had to see the man who had come to her rescue, no matter the cost.
She opened her eyes to the blood bath before her. Creatures lay scattered on the ground, decapitated and gutted like animals. Some still twitched as death hovered over them; others were well past their dying breaths. Rhea stared at the corpses, her gaze glued to their mutilated torsos. Piles of steaming innards sent plumes of decay up her nose. Their bodies were contorted as if someone squeezed the life out of them, taking pleasure in their slow, suffocating demise.
Her rescuer stood amongst the dead, his hands dripping crimson as he held one of the imp’s heads. A deep guttural grow escaped his lips and his pale skin was freckled with blood. It dripped off him with a thick impasto as if he were Pollock painting with death. Frightened, the remaining creatures began to recede. The surviving imps collapsed to the ground and scampered away on all fours, hissing at their attacker.
Rhea looked at him, her fear outweighing her pain. He faded in and out, but there was a familiarity about him that she couldn’t place. She sensed she didn’t want to. This man may have rescued her from those creatures, but no part of her felt remotely safe.
“You don’t remember me,” he said, half-statement, half-question.
She tried to speak, but blood leaked from the side of her mouth.
The man knelt down next to her, and like a lover, pushed a strand of hair from her face.
“I’m here now,” he said. “Everything will be ok.”
He took her hand in his and she squeezed it even though her rational mind told her not too.
I don’t want to die alone.
“You’re not going to die at all,” he said.
He leaned over her and kissed her forehead before letting go of her hand. His kiss was soft and tender, and his lower lip lingered as he held on to the moment.
Rhea’s eyes closed as she started drifting off.
All she saw was black.
All she heard was his voice.
“I’m going to heal you, Rhea. It’s going to hurt,” he said. “But I don’t know any other way.”
Chapter 36
Something about the way her body stilled made him nervous. She wasn’t cold, but there wasn’t any fire left in her either. Damn it. Paimon lifted her hand and felt for a pulse. Come on, Rhea. Stay with me. It was there, but it was faint.
Rain fell into her open torso and mixed with her blood like watercolor stroking a canvas. It pooled beneath and spread around Paimon’s feet, bathing his flesh in death’s acrylic.
He closed his eyes and took three long breaths to steady himself. But when he tried to concentrate, tried to see, he looked through a pair of bloodied eyes and saw a world wrapped in crimson.
Born in blood, both of th
em.
And their futures didn’t look any less red.
Paimon knelt down beside her. He swallowed his fear and imagined the taste of her on his tongue. Baby’s breath and rain. It calmed him as he inhaled her essence, extracting her soul from her body with his lips. It was sweet like fresh peaches, juicy and candied, but it burned his throat on the way down like liquid fire. It lit him up inside, the memory of it ravaging his body and awakening his lust. He wanted another taste. But it was more than that now.
Much more.
Paimon ripped off his clothes and used his nails to make a cut down his chest. Blood seeped out and ran down his navel, onto his sex. He picked up Rhea’s hand and placed it where his heart used to be.
Electric. Like fucking lightning.
He grew hard at her touch.
Paimon spread Arazel’s note on the ground and read the last paragraph.
It was a prayer to the sins for resurrection.
“I bleed for you, Rhea. I give you my blood, my body. Through my Greed, I worship at your flesh and I sacrifice my Pride at the risk of your safety. Be Gluttonous with my sin, take your Wrath out on my Lust. I’ll Envy your resurrection as you heal in Sloth.”
As his last words graced the air, a dozen steel hooks rose from the ground like metallic vines and ripped the skin from his chest, shearing his body of skin as his muscles were filleted. He knelt there and bled, a raw slab of meat on two legs with no more options and everything to lose.
Paimon’s rib cage cracked and pieces of skin hung off his arms and legs in bloody chunks. The hooks dug into his bones and pulled him apart so they could finger his organs as they fell out in. They continued to tear through tissue, slash their way through veins and arteries. Like cobras, they struck out against him.
Again.
And again.
A human pincushion; a body desperate for pain.
“I bleed for you, Rhea,” Paimon repeated as blood dribbled from the corner of his mouth. “Take me. Take all of me.”
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