by Multiple
She spun before he could see her answering blush. Harder to hide were the nipples poking through her cups, and the moisture wetting the crotch of her panties. Please don’t’ tell me he’s one of those demons with a wicked sense of smell.
“I’ll be waiting in the other room.”
Stunned he’d leave so easily, she whirled around but he was gone. Hmph. Figuring out his quick mood switches occupied her mind while she finished dressing. But she forewent the pantsuit for a short black skirt with pleats, a low cut red blouse and fishnet stockings.
Perusing her appearance in the mirror after, she smirked. Just because she didn’t want him didn’t mean she shouldn’t torture him.
It seemed she’d finally found a pastime she enjoyed – sparring with Remy. But how far am I willing to take this battle of words? For some reason, the words all the way, sprang to mind.
*
Pacing in Ysabel’s living room, Remy once against castigated himself for the madness leading him to beg Lucifer to keep him paired with the witch. He only had to picture her looking delicious in her proper underclothes – which begged to be ripped off – to know why.
Fuck, did he want her. His restraint in the face of the temptation she posed surprised him. With most females, he would have attempted a kiss by now. Or a full on seduction that never, ever failed. But with his feisty witch, he didn’t dare. Despite the sweet scent of her arousal, oh yes, he’d not missed it, he doubted she’d give in so easily.
So he backed off, disarmed her when she thought she had him pegged. Little did she know, the very things she accused him of were what he would have done in normal circumstances. However, there was nothing normal about his cougar.
Speaking of which, what the fuck happened before he arrived? He’d not just busted down the door because she didn’t answer. He could have sworn as he travelled the corridors leading to her suite that he heard screaming. Female screaming. Ysabel. He’d run the rest of the way and when she wouldn’t answer, he busted in, ready to commit murder, only he found her looking fetching in her underwear, though pale, with lines of pain bracketing her mouth and eyes.
Something or someone had hurt her. And yet, she was alone, the smells in her place belonging only to her and the weird burning scent which faded as he conversed with her.
She hid something, of that he’d wager, but what?
He’d find out sooner or later. And if it hurt her, he’d kick its ass.
First things first, though – investigating the prison where the souls she’d paid to have tortured resided.
Some would think it was unfair for one person to be able to sell their soul to the Devil in return for eternal punishment of others. And to be clear, it wasn’t allowed in all requests. In order for the exchange to work, the soul asking for vengeance needed just cause. Remy didn’t have access to Ysabel’s file, buried in his Lord’s private vault, but if she’d managed to get numerous souls condemned to the worst Hell had to offer, then they must have fucked up royally.
Knowing they must have hurt her, and bad, pissed him right off. Never mind he didn’t know her when it happened. Or that she pretended to dislike him now. He now felt like he had a vested interest in making sure those who’d done her harm got punished, starting with the being who aided five of them in escaping.
Why do that? And more importantly, who? Who possessed that kind of clout and more importantly, wanted to screw with his witch?
Remy intended to find out. And then he’d fuck them up.
Chapter Six
Hell bore many faces, the most common that of a sprawling metropolis with a scenic background of smoking mountains and raining ash. But Hell was more than its tenement housing, dilapidated castles and winding, dusty roads. The pit was growing constantly. Literally. It kept expanding to greater and greater size despite the wild jungles surrounding the ever widening nine circles. No matter how many cartographers tried to map the ever changing landscape, unexplored territory kept cropping up, dangerous places that few returned from.
But, if one ignored the Pit’s magical ability to accommodate all the souls, demons and other beings that kept arriving and multiplying, then you could see just how normal it actually was.
In many ways, Hell resembled the mortal plane, which would have surely disappointed secular scholars. Housing and rambling streets littered the nine circles. Buildings of all shapes and sizes, including stores and theaters, cropped up wherever a spot could accommodate it. Hell had it all, built by the damned looking to make the Pit feel like home. A home for those that sinned only a little at any rate.
There was one aspect of the eternally hot plane that would have delighted those who preached of fire and brimstone; the prisons.
Hell knew how to punish. Made an art of it and reveled in it. The screams of agony and pleas for mercy echoed long before the twining trail leading to the establishment, known simply as Hell’s Prison, ended. Fear not though – while most souls were destined to live in the Pit, only the really spectacular ones earned punishment and imprisonment.
Rapists, serial murderers, corporate leaders, lawyers – all suffered the eternal agonies for the misdeeds they’d performed in life. Lucifer, with so many souls to shepherd, saved his best for the worst.
The rusted, metal gates flanked by guard towers loomed into view and the agonized shrieks increased in pitch. Remy glanced at his witch to see her reaction, but she didn’t cringe or shy away. She marched alongside him, cool and imperious, unafraid and unashamed of what went on beyond the prison doors. Obviously, she’d visited this vile place before, but he wondered for what purpose.
The warden, a corpulent demon covered in black pustules met with them, his yellow, slitted eyes lingering overly long on Ysabel’s curvy frame. Remy allowed the visual admiration, but if he dared touch… A possessive streak for the witch surprised him. Jealousy was not something he’d encountered often, and never for a female. Job promotion or cool digs, yes, but a woman?
It was probably because she refused him. He saw her as a challenge and until he got into her pants, he didn’t want anyone else getting a taste of his prize. Oh yeah, that was a big fat lie. His boss was probably so proud.
“Remy, Lucifer’s own guard. What brings you to our fine establishment?” said the warden, recognizing him.
Surprised, Remy looked harder at the demon, then smiled. “Crax, you old bugger. So this is where you ended up?” He almost didn’t recognize Crax, the emaciated youth he once knew now enormous in size.
“After the academy,” where all demons, full, half or quarter went when still in their teens, “my Lord assigned me to the prison, but it’s only recently I earned my promotion.”
“Congrats on running the place. Nice gig,” Remy congratulated. Personally, more than a few hours in this place and he’d probably go mad and end up drooling in a corner. It took a tough stomach and mind to work in a place like this.
His old school chum puffed up his chest. “Thank you. But since you didn’t know I was here, something else obviously brought you.”
“I’m here on behalf of our Lord. I am investigating the escape of five of your prisoners.” And there went Crax’s jovial smile, which, for the uninitiated was more frightening than the scowl he currently sported.
“Those bloody fuckers. We got one of them back last night. He’s getting reacquainted with the rack as we speak.”
“Did you question him on how he escaped?” Ysabel asked before Remy could.
Crax’s yellow gaze took her in before he answered. “I asked. He won’t answer. Some kind of spell is stopping him. I’ve called in the Lord’s witch to take a look since my resident magikers can tell me nothing.”
“Might we have a turn? My lady friend and I have an interest in the case and have our Lord’s permission to investigate.”
“Be my guest.”
Crax led them through a warren of hallways, some of the archways branching off, showing scenes of fire and torture, others whipping, some skinning, and one strange one
involving tickling.
The warden saw Remy ogling and chuckled. “That there psycho thinks that laughter is a sin. Killed the neighbor’s kids because they kept giggling in their yards. So, we spend all day making him laugh. You should hear the chap sobbing in his cell at night as he beats his head on the wall.”
Yeah, like he said, Lucifer excelled at what he did.
Entering a part of the building that seemed awfully quiet compared to the rest of their journey, Remy frowned. “Do you have silence dampening spells on this section?”
Crax shook his head. “I told you that Pedro fellow wasn’t talking. And I mean at all. Not a scream or peep no matter what we do. It’s freaking the boys out.”
It freaked him out, never mind the others, and flicking a quick glance at Ysabel, he saw the troubled line on her forehead.
They entered a chamber, well lit with fluorescent lights which made the scene shine in all its gory details. Suffice it to say, it was nasty, even by his standards, and bloody, hence the drains in the floor.
Ysabel stepped daintily over the red rivulets inching their way down into Hell’s plumbing until she stood in front of a large rack. Splayed, spread eagle and raw, like meat skinned for a spit, was their friend from the night before, Pedro, and he didn’t look like a happy resident of the Pit which suited Remy just fine. Scumbags deserved punishment.
Despite the lack of noise, only a blind idiot wouldn’t notice that Pedro suffered. His eyes bulged. His mouth hung open in a silent scream, but nothing, not even the hiss of air could be heard. It wasn’t right. Even mutes made noise.
Remy watched as his witch eyed the man up and down, then sketched some symbols in the air. He caught a hint of magic, the ozone scent and electrifying tingle giving her attempts away. The scene didn’t change and it remained quiet enough to keep even a baby demon sleeping.
After a few moments, she turned, appearing pensive. “Whatever has him bound is strong. And subtle. I can’t even see the threads to the spell preventing him from speaking.”
“Which means he definitely had some kind of outside aid in escaping.”
“Impossible,” sputtered Crax. “We monitor visitors closely. Frisk them more thoroughly than their lovers.”
“You can’t see magic though,” she advised dryly.
Crax scowled at her observation.
“We’ll need copies of the visitor logs,” Remy ordered. “And I want to see their cells. Maybe their mysterious benefactor left a clue.”
“Of course. Follow me.”
Ysabel strode after Crax, and Remy dropped back, more to admire her ass than anything else. Round, with enough cushion for the pushing, he couldn’t wait to –
“It looks even better bent over,” she tossed over her shoulder. “Not that you’ll ever see that. I save that for my special friends.” She laughed, a husky sound that went straight to his cock and stroked him. Then the minx added a little extra wiggle to her walk. Like he said before, his Lord knew how to torture, even his favored soldiers.
They visited five solitary cells – stone walls, no window, seamless rock for the floor, thick metal bars for a door – bare of everything, even a blanket.
“There’s nothing here,” Remy growled as he paced the last one. Not even a misplaced scent.
“No magic,” she mused running her fingers over the stone blocks. “No carved messages. Nothing. How did they escape again?”
Crax shrugged. “We’ve yet to figure that one out. One moment, they was all in their cells crying for the abyss, the next time we checked, they was gone. The doors still locked, not a single alarm tripped.”
“What about the video footage?”
A glob of spittle hit the floor and sizzled before Crax answered. “Fucking wiped. The whole lot of them. And before you ask, no, we have no idea how the fuck it happened. Bloody imps most likely, though. The pesky buggers get into everything.”
“So let me get this straight,” Ysabel asked. “You lost five prisoners, have no idea how or when, have no video footage due to some malfunction, and you can’t even make one chained up soul talk?”
“When you put it that way, it sounds bad.”
Ysabel stepped up to the warden and although she remained shorter than him by almost a foot, she seemed to grow somehow in presence. “What’s bad is if you let any more prisoners escape, the Devil won’t have to fire you because I’ll come down here myself, carve your body parts off one at a time and feed them to the hounds. Incompetence is unacceptable and I will not tolerate it.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Remy laughed as Crax reeled back from her, a dazed look on his face. He was still chuckling as they exited the rusted gates.
“What is so damned funny?” she asked through gritted teeth.
“You. I mean, you couldn’t even hold your own against Pedro last night and yet you’re threatening the warden of Hell’s Prison. That takes balls.”
He received no warning, just a flick of her hand and he went flying, his impromptu airborne status halted by a crag of rock. And not a smooth one. Ouch.
Ysabel stalked toward him, hips undulating, power weaving around her frame lifting her curls in a wild dance. Stuck like a bug, her magic binding him in place, he enjoyed the view of his witch having a tantrum. Talk about hot.
“First off, demon, let’s get one thing straight. I. Am. Not. Weak. What you saw last night was another fucking subclause of Lucifer’s that makes me of the same strength physically and magically as when I died, but only when on the mortal plane in the presence of the souls I damned. Any other time, I am not to be messed with.”
“If you’re so bad ass, how come I never heard of you?”
“I prefer to stay out of the spotlight, unlike some sorceress’s I know,” she said with a smile as she came to stop in front of him. “But I do have a nickname.”
“Hot on a stick?”
“No.”
“Spanks with magic?”
“Most definitely not.”
“I know, you must be the famous BJ Swallows.”
“I am going to hurt you.”
“I was right?”
“No. And your made up names are just pissing me off.”
“Made up? I’ll have you know those monikers are just a few of the more famous witch ones I know. Of course, I don’t know if their magical abilities extend beyond the pole they dance on, but still, they’re very well known in my circles.”
“Why am I not surprised?”
“Are you going to tell what your name is then? ‘Cause I’m gonna wager it isn’t Magical Pie.”
He really needed to learn how to keep certain thoughts to himself, an easy thing to promise with the iron grip she had on his balls. Not exactly how he pictured their first time touching.
She twisted. He winced. “Let this be a reminder not to fuck with me. And just so you know, while my nickname is the Blood Witch, my true title is Satan’s Assistant.”
She was the one who had all the damned souls trembling? Hot damn. “I have heard of you.”
“Good, then you know what I can do. And might I add it hurts.” She leaned up on tiptoe as she said it, her lips so close to his.
But Ysabel wasn’t the only one with surprises. And truly, she’d pushed the boundaries of temptation too far. He snapped her magic binding and wrapped his arms around her, bringing her flush against his chest. “Did I mention, apart from ability with fire, I can unravel several forms of magic?” Then he kissed her, and by all the coals in the furnace of Hell, he’d never burned hotter.
*
How did I go from putting him in his place to having his tongue in my mouth?
An interesting question for sure, but not as intriguing as the fire he ignited. While Ysabel on a few occasions – usually drunk –let other men kiss her –before she decked them with magic –nothing compared to Remy’s embrace. Not even Francisco’s kiss.
How he could suck her lower lip and make her feel it between her legs was a mystery – one she enjoyed. Ho
w he could curl his tongue around hers and wring a pleasurable shudder from her body made no sense. His hands cupped her bottom, squeezing her cheeks, pressing her against his firm body. A body excited to feel hers, judging by the hard bulge nudging her belly.
The moment was one of utter madness – and arousal. She wanted to rip the shirt from him and drag her nails down his torso. She wanted him to hoist her so she could wrap her legs around his waist and…
She tore her mouth from his and shoved at his chest. “What have you done to me?”
Eyes glittering with desire, he regarded her. “I kissed you.”
“Obviously. But how did you make me enjoy it? Kisses aren’t supposed to make me feel like, like –”
“You’re a beautiful, desirable woman in need of man’s touch? Aching to feel his –”
“Don’t you dare say it! I don’t want you. I don’t even like you. So again, what kind of magic did you use? Or is it a drug?”
He smirked. “It’s called expert technique, little cougar. For an experienced woman of your years, I would have thought you’d know that.”
She refused to blush or avert her gaze. “I’ve been with men before.” Actually, a single man, who while capable of giving her pleasure, ended up betraying her. Apart from her education with Francisco, her only comparison came from drunken fumblings that never went further than sloppy kisses, which she followed by a rinse with 99% proof liquor to wash out any residue. “This was nothing like that.”
“Thank you. Shall we continue?”
“No. And don’t you do what you did to me again.”
“It’s called a French kiss.”
“Whatever. Try it again and I’ll –” Bend over and beg you to take me. Scream as you tongue my pussy. Fuck you until – “Argh! I hate you.”
Stomping away wasn’t one of her shining moments, especially since she felt his gaze boring into her backside, and damn it all if it didn’t make her add an extra wiggle.