Demon’s Fall

by Karalynn Lee

  He froze, afraid that any movement might jar her. She murmured a wordless, satisfied sound, and he felt her lashes brush his skin as her eyes closed. He listened to her breaths deepen, wondering at himself for lying peacefully next to an angel with her soul untouched. His fingers felt strangely bare without a coin between them.

  Kenan stroked her hair instead and thought about moving his hands to other parts of her. He’d come so close. It would be so simple to wake her and lure her to that edge again—perhaps even over it. Her soul would be exquisite, he knew.

  But the notion faded against the warmth of her body along the length of his. He slowly relaxed. This was what he wanted forever, he realized before a pleasant lassitude overcame him, not their mindless joining, but the calm of her presence beside him.

  * * *

  He had never woken to such contentment. There was a warmth alongside him, but within himself too, if he were honest with himself. Jahel was lying on her stomach next to him, a few strands of hair fallen over her face. He brushed them away and drew the back of his hand down her cheek. Her lips curved, although her eyes remained closed.

  He rolled onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow to better view her body, and idly caressed her, thinking of how best to waken her. He carefully ran his hands through her wings, then stopped.

  She made a sleepy murmur of protest.

  “Your feathers have grown back,” he said. He’d forgotten how quickly angels healed.

  “I know.” She yawned. “They itched abominably.”

  “Jahel.” That woke her, using her name. “You could have flown away any time.”

  She stretched, a sight that normally would have aroused him, but he was too intent upon her response. “I can’t get the collar removed in Heaven,” she said.

  “Of course,” he said. His voice sounded distant, even to himself.

  She tucked her knees under herself, then pushed up so that she looked down at him. “And I couldn’t just leave you, Kenan.”

  “I know—your debt.”

  Her fingers feathered their way down his face. “There’s more to it than honor.”

  Her eyes held an adoration he had seen before in mortal women. It was the curse of being an incubus, and in the beginning he had sometimes mistaken it for more. He occasionally indulged in a mortal woman for an extended period of time, but lost interest quickly once he had her soul in hand. He didn’t even want Jahel’s soul anymore. Nor did he wish for her to be bound to him by mere physical desire.

  He had to remove that collar. Angels didn’t belong in Hellsgate, and Jahel didn’t belong to him.

  Kenan turned to her, summoning all the skills at his command. He focused on her, ignoring his own needs in favor of overwhelming her with every sensation he could give her. As he’d promised, he kissed her everywhere, exploring the texture and taste of her skin, and then finally, once she was writhing, tonguing her to her peak again and again.

  Afterward he watched her fall back into slumber and knew he would never tire of it.

  He slipped out of the bed and got ready quietly. The city outside seemed different, or perhaps it was the lack of Jahel beside him. Would it be thus every day after she was gone? He was glad he passed no one he knew.

  But there was someone heading directly toward him. He veered toward one side of the street, hoping to avoid the demon, when he recognized the hellhound. It continued loping toward him.

  The hound came to a stop just before him, panting. “Incubus. I was seeking you.”

  “Why?” He should have given the soul to Jahel instead of selfishly keeping it—then there’d be no way for the hellhound to demand it back.

  The hellhound said, “Edom has been bridled.”

  He felt a chill. There were only four who could bridle a demon-horse of such rank. But the Horsemen were supposed to be safely sealed away until the end of the world was to come. “The Four Horsemen ride?”

  “Just the one. But he is herald to more.”

  Conquest, war, famine, death.

  Armageddon. Heaven and Hell would strive in a battle so tremendous it would destroy the mortal plane.

  “Why come to me?” he asked, but even as he spoke, he knew the answer.

  “The Horseman has been ravaging the city already and calling demons to arms. They know war is to be loosed against the bright realm above. They have seen you with the winged one. She will be the first casualty.”

  His first instinct was to return to her, but there was no way he could protect her from a multitude of demons. Now it was all the more imperative that Jahel be freed. “My thanks for the warning,” he said, and began running toward Tiras’s workshop.

  It seemed a longer distance than usual, and along the way he saw either empty streets or gatherings that were too large, with ugly moods. When he burst into the workshop, it was with a sense of deep foreboding.

  Tiras was sitting at his desk, frowning at a disassembled lock and oblivious to all else. There looked to be a hundred parts, but Kenan didn’t worry about breaking his concentration. He had an even more complex problem to offer.

  “I need to unlock the collar,” Kenan said, holding onto Tiras’s desk as he fought for breath.

  Tiras looked up from his work. “Around the angel’s neck?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s locked?”

  “It has a seal set upon it,” he said. “A holy seal.”

  “An angel can remove that easily,” Tiras said patiently.

  “It’s been set with sticky sin.”

  “That’s an odd combination.”

  “And impossible to touch,” Kenan said. “Do you know a way to get it off?”

  “I’ll try,” Tiras said. “I’m human, once angel, and now a denizen of Hellsgate. I can’t think of anyone better suited.”

  “There’s no key?”

  “Those two were not set together to be removed that simply, Kenan. But my locksmith’s intuition tells me this may work.”

  Perhaps any mortal unaffiliated with Heaven or Hell would be able to manage this. But most humans in Hellsgate, even if they had the ability, wouldn’t do such a thing as free an angel. Tiras would, though. “All right. We have to hurry.” Kenan seized his wrist and hauled him to his feet, then set off.

  “I thought she was wearing it by choice, pretending to be your slave,” Tiras said, panting as he tried to keep up with Kenan’s relentless pace. “Otherwise I would have offered earlier.” His step faltered. “Someone chained an angel?”

  “Tiras,” Kenan said, “what’s more important now is that someone unchain her.”

  In the distance he could hear wails, and a hot wind breathed upon him, carrying with it the smell of ash. The crowds he’d seen before seemed more purposeful now—they were spread in front of several homes, as though conducting a search.

  Kenan almost careened into a succubus, who sniffed at the apology he yelled over his shoulder. Then suddenly she called out, “Isn’t that the one? The one with the angel?”

  Kenan skidded around a corner to get out of sight, cursing. Why had he paraded around half the city with Jahel in tow?

  “Are they hunting her?”

  “Now they are,” Kenan said grimly. There were shouts rising behind them. Just before they rounded the next corner, Kenan looked back to see a mob following them.

  Somehow Tiras found more speed, and they made it to the house having gained some distance from their pursuers. When Kenan fumbled with his key, Tiras shouldered him aside, shoved one of his own keys into the lock and turned it with a click.

  Jahel was still slumbering. Her hair had fallen to one side, revealing the seal.

  Tiras reached toward it. He jerked his hand back at the first touch, and Kenan saw the blister already rising on his skin.

  “It’s no use,” Kenan said.

  “But I touched it. That’s more than you can bear to do.” Tiras took a deep breath, then caught hold of the seal. He dug his nails under it and prised it off, then flung it away into
a corner with a hiss. His hand was burnt from the contact with both the holy and infernal, the mark of the seal lay branded upon his palm and wisps of smoke still rose from his flesh. The skin was charred black with bone showing through, the fingers permanently curled. Blood trickled from his lip, where he’d bitten down on a scream.

  Kenan wrapped a spare piece of cloth around Tiras’s hand as a bandage, wishing he could do more. “My deepest thanks. You should go. You won’t be safe here. If I ever can, I will repay you.”

  The locksmith hesitated, then nodded. “Be safe, angeliki,” he said to Jahel, who was just stirring awake, then, “And you, my friend,” to Kenan. He darted out the door, slamming it behind him in his haste.

  Kenan threw the bolts, then flung open the door to the back.

  “Kenan? What’s happened?” Jahel asked, sitting up.

  He spilled the contents of his pouch onto the table. Coins rolled everywhere, but he knew every one of them, had touched and won over each woman whose soul glinted there, save one. He picked it up and pressed it into her hand. “Hold on to this.” Then he seized the collar on either side of the seam where the seal had been set. At first he thought that he would do no more than leave his fingerprints imprinted on the metal. But the stark contrast of that black iron against the coolness of her skin made him strain even harder, and it gave way and he held the open band in his hands.

  Her hand flew to her naked throat and she stood. With her other palm, though, she still held out the coin as though she expected him to take it back.

  “Take it to the girl,” he said impatiently.

  She looked utterly lost. “You’re giving me the soul? And my freedom?”

  “Yes.” He flung the collar and chain away. They skittered across the floor. He picked up her dress and forced her arms through it, and made a desultory effort at closing some of the buttons. “You’re set now.”

  “But I have nothing to give you—”

  “Just go, damn you!” The thunder outside his door was growing. He pushed her out the back. “I don’t want you here!”

  Her face was stricken, but she turned and leapt into the air with a beat of her wings. The wind caught her, and carried her away from him.

  Chapter Five

  She was beautiful, flying. The sight of her, wings spread and embracing the wind, near-blinded him in its glory. It had been wrong to hold her in chains. Even…a sin.

  The door exploded open.

  “Bring us the angel!”

  Kenan turned to face the horde that had gathered outside his home. There were demons of every stripe, but they blurred into a sameness of expression, a sort of insanity.

  “She’s gone!” he shouted back at them, but his voice was swallowed by theirs. The tusked demon in front of him shoved a fist in his face and he reeled back. Around him, he heard the sound of feet and hooves tramping through his house, and glass breaking on the ground. Two demons caught hold of his arms. Someone butted him in the chest, and he was the next thing to fall to the floor. A kick to his stomach made him curl in agony.

  A deep voice scythed through the uproar. “Quiet and begone!”

  There was a sudden silence. One imp didn’t manage to finish his shout in time, and his words rose into a squeak.

  A rock-demon dared to speak. “An angel—”

  “Leave us,” a woman’s voice purred dangerously.

  Kenan raised his head to watch the demons scurry away to either side like parted waters, and they kept going, out of his house and to whatever corners of the city they had come from, leaving only two still figures in the doorway where just moments ago there had been dozens screaming. He hauled himself to his feet to greet them properly.

  From the demons’ obedience, he had expected one of the princes of Hell. Instead there stood an archangel. The sheer size of him was overwhelming enough, but he also thrummed with unmistakable power and he wore a thunderous frown.

  More daunting, though, was the woman next to him—also tall, but not at all plain. Her hair was a long fall of sable, her eyes coal-black. Wings rose from her back, but no one would have mistaken her for an angel. They were bat’s wings, dark and leathery.

  She was not beautiful. She was perfect.

  “First,” Kenan said, and crouched on the floor. He knew the name she was called by, of course—it had been known since the first mortal—but he used her title out of respect and fear. She had been the first demon to tempt a man. Even the demon princes of Hell accorded her deference.

  “You may stand,” Lilith said, so he rose, only to have his head snapped to one side by her slap. Four lines burned across his cheek where her nails had torn the skin.

  He did not touch his face as he turned back to look at her. “I will do as you say, First,” he said. “You need not abase me in such a common manner.”

  “Tell me, then, where you’ve hidden your angel.”

  The archangel came closer. His wings spread in an obvious threat, opening to nearly twice the span of Jahel’s. “I was told she was caged and chained, like an animal,” he said.

  “She was,” Kenan said. “I freed her. She’s likely on her way to Heaven.”

  “Useless incubus,” the archangel said, advancing, but Lilith laid the same hand that had struck Kenan upon the angel’s arm to hold him back.

  “He’s done well for himself, I hear,” she said. “Don’t judge him by his breed.” She turned back to Kenan. “And why did you free her?”

  She was smiling slightly, encouragingly. But he knew she would not brook any feeble excuse, no more than the archangel who stood by her with his fists curled.

  He thought of Jahel and said, “I’ve fallen in love with the angel.”

  It sounded no more plausible out loud.

  Lilith threw her head back and laughed. “You poor thing,” she crooned. “At the mercy of one of those creatures.”

  The archangel glowered.

  She twined her arms behind Kenan’s neck and leaned her forehead against his. “So an angel seduced you?” she asked, a mocking lilt to her voice. “You couldn’t resist the charms of one of the Heaven-born?”

  “She didn’t seduce me,” Kenan said. “I tried to seduce her, and only ensnared myself.”

  She drew back and searched his face. “Incubus, if you lie—”

  “Truth, First,” he said.

  “A demon and an angel?” the archangel broke in, incredulous.

  It was Lilith who turned to him. “Yes, Baraqiel. A demon and an angel. It isn’t unheard of.”

  He looked away. “But never condoned,” he said harshly.

  “No,” she said. “But she’s gone now.”

  “It concerns me more that she was ever here.”

  “Indeed.” She eyed Kenan again. “Imagine angels storming Hellsgate, looking for one of their own who had been treated disgracefully. Imagine what would follow. If Baraqiel hadn’t come to me for help finding this lost angel, instead of simply calling together the other archangels to descend upon us, it would have meant war. What were you thinking, keeping an angel captive?” Lilith paused, and then her voice hardened. “What kind of love is that?”

  It was Baraqiel who intervened this time. “Enough. She’s free now. Incubus, what color were her wings?”

  He couldn’t help remembering the sight of them spread open as she rose above him. “White.”

  The archangel released a long breath, an odd mixture of relief and disappointment. “She isn’t the one—she should have changed by now. But it still smells of someone rousing trouble between Heaven and Hell.”

  “She’s not the one?” Kenan asked, bewildered.

  Baraqiel glanced at him. “A scroll was disturbed in Heaven’s library.”

  “I heard,” he said cautiously.

  “It was the Scroll of Revelations.”

  The attempted theft suddenly became a far more serious matter. That scroll not only revealed the details of the end of the world, but would cause it if fully opened. The only reason to take it would be t
o bring about Armageddon.

  “Was it opened?” he asked. The scroll was said to be so potent that it took more than one person just to open it.

  “One seal,” Baraqiel said grimly.

  Still ill news, but at least it was but one of seven. Surely it took the opening of all the seals to completely devastate the world.

  “When I heard of an angel who had come to Hellsgate,” Baraqiel went on, “I thought it might be the thief, fled to where other angels might hesitate to follow. But then it sounded as though she had been enslaved by a demon. That almost roused me to raise the battle cry. If I had—even if we arrived to find her already freed, a war host isn’t so easily stopped.”

  “There will be war, then?” Kenan asked.

  “The princes of Hell are ever-ready for battle,” Lilith said.

  Baraqiel said, “Some of the archangels, as well. We hope neither will hear of this. But there’s trouble being brewed between our realms. Someone bestirred that mob to come after the poor angel you’d been keeping here. If she had been killed…”

  Kenan felt the vertigo of having ventured into waters deeper than he’d expected, with no ground to be found beneath his feet. “It may be too late,” he said. “I heard one of the demon-horse lords was bridled.”

  Kenan had never thought to see dread on an archangel’s face, and never wanted to again.

  “One of the Horsemen may ride, but there are still six seals left,” Lilith said. “We can still stop this from turning into outright war between Heaven and Hell.”

  “We have to find the thief first,” Baraqiel reminded her. He spread his wings and took to the air.

  Lilith stayed a moment longer. “Be wise, incubus. Meddle not with angels,” she said with a twist of her lips, and then she too flew away.

  Kenan slumped back against the table, shaken by the encounter. He knew he should do something about the ruin of his house but couldn’t muster the energy. He let himself slide to the floor instead, brooding over the loss of Jahel, and slipped into dark dreams about meeting her from opposite sides of a battlefield.