Uriel barked a mirthless laugh. “Save it, Big D. You want to tell me what you know about our buddy, Af?”
Lucifer’s soft intake of breath spoke volumes, but his voice rang with sincerity when he said, “He was a good soldier—loyal, resourceful, and intelligent—why?”
Was? “He’s not dead.”
Silence. He could practically hear the wheels turning in his brother’s devious skull.
“Disappointed?”
“With what? Has something happened? Uriel, get to the point. Believe it or not, Hell doesn’t run itself.”
“Do you expect me to believe you had nothing to do with this?”
Lucifer waited a few seconds before saying from between his teeth, “Are you implying something here? Do we need a face to face?”
Raphael lifted a brow at the threatening tone. Dismissing Lucifer’s attempted redirect, Uriel gestured at the dartboard hanging behind the door before waving Raphael to the side with the pointy end of an old-fashioned metal dart.
Lucifer cleared his throat and pressed, “Are we done here, brother? I’ve got work to do.”
Uriel smiled tightly as the dart vibrated smack dab in the center of Lucifer’s mouth which currently did double duty as the bullseye. He absolutely loved this so-called digital age. He could print as many pictures of his brother as he wanted. He could burn them, shred them, stomp on them, piss on them, crumple them into balls and play basketball with them and his personal favorite—throw darts at them. In the old days, he had to wait for an artist to end up in Hell so he could commission a painting. That took years.
Raphael waved impatiently at the phone. “We don’t have time for this. Heal now. Argue later. I’d love to keep Manhattan from imploding.”
One month earlier:
Chains wouldn’t hold him. Didn’t they know that? It would take more than flimsy iron links to keep him under control. When he got free, he would take great pleasure in hunting and destroying the demons who dared touch him. They would wish they’d never been born.
Af lay perfectly still, listening. He was alone. Good. He needed some information. Where was he? He released his soul to get a bird’s eye view. When the gleaming particles coalesced above his body, he took a good look around and growled in frustration. The abyss. Shit.
He was chained to a rack in the abyss. The black space was endless—as infinite as the universe—stretching unto eternity. The iron rack hung on invisible tethers. There was nothing here. No door to break down. No walls to scale. No windows to crawl through. No escape. It was the ultimate prison.
As humans would say—He was completely screwed.
And that might be an understatement of his current situation. Squinting into the darkness, he swallowed the panic that rose in his chest. His body was chained spread-eagled to the rack. Still dressed in jeans and his boots, he was mostly undamaged. The only signs of torture were a few bruises on his face where someone had punched him. His unruly black hair was tangled and matted with dried blood. His wings hung limply over the edges of the rack; their tips curling into the endless nothing around him. Caked with filth, they were a shadow of their usual glory.
He was missing feathers. Fuck me. I’m so screwed.
A faint spark of light snagged his attention. The spark grew to a flame. The flame erupted into an inferno. The inferno devoured the energy until it grew to a massive firestorm heading straight towards him.
Back in the penthouse, Uriel studied his patient with barely restrained fury. The damage was atrocious. This would not be allowed to go unpunished. He would personally see that justice was served, even if that meant doing the smiting himself. Rolling up his sleeves, he got to work.
“Af. It’s me. Uriel. I know you can hear me in there. Hang on. I’m here.” Touching him as gently as possible, he lifted Af’s eyelids. His pupils were huge. His heart raced inside his ruined chest. What did he see in there? Where was he?
Raphael watched from a cautionary five feet away. “Can you sense him?”
Closing his eyes, he laid his palm across Af’s forehead and summoned his essence. After a few seconds, the energy buzzed against his hand, nudging it with gentle force. Good. Af’s soul was there. This body could be replaced if necessary though he’d had it for so long he’d be royally pissed if it came to that.
“He’s still in there, but he’s buried deep. I’m going to heal his body first. That’ll relieve some of the pressure. Back off, would you? Hovering isn’t helping.”
Huffing softly, Raphael backed further away and leaned against the wall next to the window. “I didn’t realize the almighty Angel of Destruction needed space to concentrate. You’re getting old.”
Uriel cracked a smile before quickly smothering it beneath a more comfortable scowl. “Shut up. Before I start, are you sure everyone’s out?”
“The building’s completely empty except for Dec and Rori. They’re refusing to leave. I called in a bomb threat. After the last person left, I sealed all of the entrances to keep New York’s finest from storming inside to hunt down the non-existent device. From the sounds of sirens and yelling outside, I’d say we don’t have much time to do this before someone lands a helicopter on the patio.”
“Huh. Well if I can’t reach him in time, the explosion will take out the whole block, including the helicopter.”
Grunting in agreement, Raphael muttered darkly, “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”
Roaring with a rage of its own, the inferno engulfed Af. The flames twisted into ropes that encircled his body, tied his wrists, and gagged his mouth. His screams of protest meant nothing; did nothing. The fiery ropes cooled to black granite bonds that held even more completely than the iron chains had. Nearly encased in the rock now, he was well and truly fucked.
The fact that his eyes and nose were still free didn’t offer much comfort. He’d prefer to not gaze upon what was coming next. The smell wouldn’t be a picnic either. Trying hard to resist the urge to peer around like a terrified, cornered rabbit, he focused on his options. Did he have any?
“You’re in a lot of trouble, Af.” The cool, impassive voice came from his right side. “The boss is pissed. You should’ve taken the job. You know he hates it when someone tells him no.”
Seth. A familiar bubble of anger welled up inside of him, making his teeth clench and his eyes blaze. That bastard was going down. He’d rip the scales from his nasty demon hide the second he got out of this. If Seth was involved, Af had more options than he thought. Seth was a dumbass.
The dumbass spoke directly into his ear now. “What’s the matter? Nothing to say? Oh, I forgot. You’re gagged with your own essence, aren’t you? How’s that taste? All that rage chaining you up?” He chuckled at his own joke before leaning into Af’s field of vision, his yellow irises glittered with pure malice. “Using your essence against you is one of the fun ways to torture angels.” Tapping on the solid rock over Af’s chest, he asked, “So how you holding up in there?”
His response was a lot of furious mumbling and indignant shouting behind the gag. I will rip you to shreds when I get out of here. You think you can hold me? Me? The Angel of Wrath?
“Ah. So undignified now.” The sound of his voice trailed off as if Seth was walking away.
As it moved, his voice took the air with it. The vacuum sucked in the energy, the air pressure dropping until his lungs squeezed into useless crumpled blobs. Screaming behind the gag, he fought to stay conscious as the demon’s taunting laughter settled around him. The sound reverberated inside his mind until everything went black.
Loki’s sudden uncertain growl distracted Raphael from watching Uriel work. Slinking back and forth in the hallway, the dog narrowed his ice blue eyes to examine the unconscious angel on the bed. Growling more aggressively now, he curled his lip to display the whole set of shiny white puppy teeth. What did the dog see that Raphael didn’t?
“You look like you’ve got this under control. If you don’t need me, do you mind if I go have a chat with
Declan? I suspect he has a few questions. Rori does as well.”
Uriel didn’t look up, but replied gruffly, “I never need you. Go do what you have to. I’m nearly finished.”
Raphael wasn’t surprised. Uriel rarely needed him. He rarely needed anyone. That was part of the price he paid for being gifted with Tartarus. He had to rely on himself. His Archangel brothers were scattered around in more pleasant locations while the demons surrounded him with darkness and lies. Demons couldn’t be trusted. Period. Dot. Many a human learned this lesson the hard way. This is what kept Hell in business. Unfortunately, Uriel didn’t have many friends above or below the human plane. Af was one of the few angels he got along with. They belonged to a special sect, shared a unique bond—a bond that caused other angels to tread lightly around them—or to simply avoid them altogether.
Both were Angels of Destruction.
He found Declan and Rori in the kitchen. Rori was doing her best to cope with this crisis by cooking enough food to feed a small army. A pot of potatoes simmered on the stove while a cabbage sat waiting to go into the food processor. He had to smile. When he first met her, she was barely eating enough to survive. Now that she had enough money for food, she’d blossomed into quite a talented chef.
“You’re going to make us all fat if you keep feeding us like this.” He kept his tone light and picked up a slice of celery that had bounced its way to his side of the island.
“This is for tonight. I might as well do it now.” She glanced up from feeding the cabbage into the machine. Her expression was unusually serious as she examined him from wide shoulders to narrow waist. “Can you even get fat?”
Moving in behind her, Declan wrapped his arms around her waist before kissing the top of her head. “Not a chance, love. Our metabolism’s off the chart. So you just keep feeding us and we’ll keep eating. Especially today; I’m going to need extra energy for our honeymoon.”
Shrugging away from his touch, she finished mixing the coleslaw with quick, jerky motions. Observing her carefully, Raphael nibbled a celery stick while she finished her tasks. Rori was one of their success stories. Born of a human mother and a Primani father, she grew up with natural psychic gifts that she had learned to fear. She had no understanding of her visions and no one to mentor her. Her father didn’t know she existed and her mother had been taken when Rori was a toddler. It was a small miracle that they had found her after so many years. Azrael was no doubt still furious over losing her soul, but he’d have to get over it. She was a kind, sweet woman who deserved the immortality Uriel granted her.
“Fuck me! Sonofabitching motherfucking knife!” She hurled the chef’s knife into the wall just a foot from Declan’s face. The twang of the blade resonated in the shocked silence that followed.
Still snarling, she whirled to the sink and jammed her hand under the faucet. Pink water splashed up the sides. Stunned speechless, Declan gaped at her back before cutting his eyes towards Raphael. Nearly visible waves of annoyance surrounded her as she rinsed her sliced finger. She muttered under her breath as she dried her hands with violent swipes of a towel.
The uncharacteristic aggression was shocking enough, but the words coming out of her mouth alarmed him much more. Enokian? How was she speaking the language of angels? Keeping his tone as casual as he could manage, he said, “Rori, child, why don’t we sit down and talk now? I know you have questions about Af.” Moving purposefully, he skirted the island and offered his hand. “It’s more comfortable in the living room, isn’t it?”
Comfortable and devoid of sharp objects . . .
Her features hardened with anger, and she replied in a low, chilly tone, “I am not a child. Don’t talk to me like that.”
After she shoved him aside and flung open the French doors to the garden, Declan gave him a sidelong glance of utter disbelief, and begged, “Tell me this isn’t happening.”
“I wish I could.”
He was alive. Alive was relative though, wasn’t it? Af’s corporeal body clung to life. The heart still beat. The lungs tried to expand despite the damage. The agony was almost too much to bear, but bear it he would. He would fucking survive anything this little prick could throw at him. He was Af! Only the mighty Michael could take his life. He was indestructible to lesser beings.
Lesser beings included dumbass demons named Seth.
He couldn’t kill an Angel of Destruction, but he was having one hell of a party giving it a shot. Seth’s booming voice surrounded him, deepening to a grating purr that set his bloody skin crawling with anticipation of another blow. Warming to the task, he tapped his claws against the blackened chain lying across Af’s waist. The simple contact heated the rock until it glowed like lava. The sizzle of his own flesh reverberated inside his head.
“I can do this all day. It’s no skin off my nose,” Seth stated flatly, before adding thoughtfully, “Though I might need to start on your pretty face next. Can you grow a new face?”
Af could only blink in response. The madness in the demon’s eyes wasn’t anything new. Seth was insane. He’d always been insane. Once upon a time not too long ago, that insanity had been amusing. Seth had been just another tool in Af’s destruction toolbox. History didn’t get made without a few nudges here and there, and Heaven wasn’t above instigating change to move things along. Over many, many millennia, Af had proved particularly useful to his father. Of course, Lucifer had uses for him too.
Until he’d pissed him off one time too many . . . Hence, his playdate with Seth.
Glaring daggers at his torturer, he swallowed the bile that rose with the smell of cooked meat. Fuck you.
Seth dabbed a speck of blood from the side of his face, the motion fussy for his kind. His mouth thinned with concentration as he circled Af once more. Af tossed a challenge with his eyes. Bring on the pain, demon. I’ve got all day too.
As if reading his thoughts, Seth jerked to a halt and cocked his head. As he contemplated the rack, a slow smile crossed his face, and Af shivered with a sudden, icy dread. Taking his time, Seth released each claw, one after the other, his yellow eyes flaring with incandescence as he considered his options. Tapping twice, he shattered the rock that covered Af’s chest and abdomen. The unexpected brush of cool air was nearly painful when it washed over his burning skin, and though his flesh crawled with goose bumps, he was more worried about what was coming next.
Without pausing to look at his handiwork, Seth removed the gagging stone from his mouth with a menacing, “The screaming’s the best part.”
When the first cut came, he took it stoically. He ground his molars together and snarled at his torturer. When the second slice came, he sucked air between his teeth and gripped the chains to keep from arching his back as agony raced through him.
He lost track of time as the demon worked. It could have been minutes or even hours. It felt like years. After each slash, Seth asked questions. Af refused to answer.
“Open your fucking eyes, angel boy.”
Those vicious claws dug into his jaw, forcing him to open his eyes. The demon held a long sliver of bloody meat between the very tips of his claws. “Rib meat is the sweetest. Did you know that? It’s juicy and tender compared to . . . say . . . thigh meat. Heavy muscle has an unpleasant taste. Gamey. It’s stringy too. I guess it’s all that messy blood flowing through it.”
He held the strand over his mouth and slurped it like a spaghetti noodle. Chewing with relish, he swallowed, licked his lips and said, “I’m not really hungry, but I’m not one to refuse dessert.”
“I hope you choke.”
“I bet you do.” Knowing he had the upper hand, Seth broke into a genuine laugh. “You only have so much flesh to peel, and to be honest, I’m getting full. I’ll tell you what. Since we’re old friends, I have a proposal for you. You tell me what the boss wants to know, and I’ll stop eating you.” He burped into his hand and said, “I’d say you have a 50-50 chance of getting out of here alive if you cooperate.”
Af didn’t reply. T
here wasn’t anything to say. He absolutely would not tell Seth what he wanted to know. Too much was at stake.
Frowning at his silence, Seth leaned across Af’s chest to press his palm into the mess that was left. The pain didn’t even register now. He was shutting down. Preparing to lock his power deep within his core, he carefully drew his wings inward. Self-preservation was kicking in with a vengeance. He would survive to fight another day. And when that day came, he would eviscerate this asshole with extreme prejudice.
Never one to show much patience, Seth slapped him across the face. “Did you hear me?”
The light in his eyes dimmed as his saol withdrew to safety. The roar of the ocean filled his ears as he sank more deeply within himself to protect his precious wings. With one last breath, he croaked, “Counter . . . offer. Tell Lucifer . . . to go fuck himself.”
Uriel grimaced as he finished healing the brutal wounds that covered most of Af’s body. Was there anywhere the bastards hadn’t touched? From the soles of his feet to the top of his thick, stubborn skull, he was a wreck. This kind of torture was professional. It was calculated to inflict the most amount of pain while keeping the prisoner alive and probably awake. Someone knew what they were doing. The nearly surgical removal of skin cinched it for him. This wasn’t the work of some random lower-level demon who’d somehow, against ridiculously high odds, managed to get the jump on Af, subdue him, and transport him to an escape-proof facility.
He tried to smother an involuntary smile at such a ridiculous idea. That scenario was funny. Not ha-ha funny but not-even-remotely-possible funny. There was simply no way a demon could take down an Angel of Destruction.
Not without help.
Hmmm. Right. He knew exactly who had that kind of power. It wouldn’t be the first time the bastard played dirty. Absently patting his patient’s forearm, he took this idea to the most likely conclusion. Once he’d worked it out in his head, he wasn’t even surprised. No, not surprised at all.
Saol Mates (Primani Book Six) Page 5