Flame's Embrace

by Pillar, Amanda

  “You beat him up pretty bad.”

  Her chin jutted. “You would have done worse.”

  Magda threw her hands up in the air. “I am a Foraci demon. I am meant to do worse. People expect it. That’s why I run the bar.”

  “What? Being a Phoenix means I don’t fight? Do you know what my ancestors did?”

  “Yeah, and that’s why you’re almost extinct.” Magda’s voice dropped. “You have to be careful.”

  Ah, so that was what this lecture was about. Nothing to do with Kara beating up some handsy jerk, but because she’d risked exposing what she really was to the bar patrons. To the Ignis.

  Not that any of them would have dared touch her here. No one messed with a Scryer, and they certainly didn’t fuck with a Djinn.

  “Look, I would have done the same even if he hadn’t been an Ignis.” That, at least, wasn’t a lie. Kara had a zero-tolerance policy for consent violators; after being held captive for twenty years, she had issues. Because Jerome had been the tip of the proverbial iceberg. His brother had captured her shortly after she’d re-formed, and held her captive for almost two decades, trying to break her curse.

  He never worked it out. And she’d never stopped trying to escape.

  Magda sighed and reached into the pocket of her acid-washed jeans. “So, this particular Ignis demon is a descendent of the Asshole and Dickwad?”

  “Yep.”

  Our line will be shaped by the fire of a Phoenix.

  Jerome and his brother had thought that meant marrying her—forcing her to bear their offspring, part Ignis, part Phoenix. Two types of fire demon merged into a powerful new species.

  No.

  Since then, she’d been systemically purging them from existence, every last relative of Jerome and Dickwad, culling the deviant line of demons from Hell. And this one had walked right up to her doorstep. It had been too good an opportunity to refuse.

  There were only two left now.

  One after this one.

  Dickwad’s great-great-great grandsons. All perverts. All assholes.

  Magda pulled out a set of keys and turned to the door.

  “It’s been spelled,” Kara said.

  “I can see that.” Magda inserted a key, hissing a little at the touch of the magic. A moment letter, the lock clicked, and the door swung open.

  The strong scent of cloves clung to the air for a moment, before whatever spell had been blocking reality crashed.

  The stench of blood and shit, unfortunately, was new.

  Kara gagged as it washed over them.

  Magda tsked, glancing around the place. “Dampening spells. They were all over the room.”

  Kara shoved the Foraci aside and stared. That was the first thing Magda noticed? The magic?

  Stepping into the room, Kara rubbed her eyes, as if it would help her process what she was seeing.

  “Is that his dick in his mouth?” Magda asked from behind her.

  The dead Ignis demon was shirtless, his stomach carved open, dark purple intestines drawn out, and up, over his shoulder, and around a red horn, dangling there like some weird scarf. The Ignis demon’s fly was open, revealing hacked off balls, and an open wound where his penis should have been.

  And yep, there it was. The demon’s withered dick had been shoved into a mouth that was still open from screaming.

  This kill was gross—way too much blood—but there was a certain…flamboyance to it.

  You’re sick, you know that? Admiring someone’s murdering abilities.

  “I’d say someone beat you to it,” Madga said, arms crossed over her chest.

  Kara shot her a glare. “Thanks, Captain Obvious.”

  “Who’d you say it was?” Magda asked, picking up her cell and hurriedly texting someone. Probably Lamar.

  “Who? The dead guy? P. Jeremy.”

  “No. The person I should have passed on the stairs.”

  “I don’t know. He threw a memory-altering spell in my eyes before he left.” Fuck, the smell was starting to get to her. It reminded her of those decades being dragged across battlefields, covered in blood.

  The Foraci frowned. “That shouldn’t have worked.”

  “It didn’t.”

  “So…”

  “It’s not like he gave me his name.”

  “Well, what did he look like?”

  Kara bit her lip. She didn’t think ‘hot’ or ‘fuckable’ would be a suitable answer. No, it would just show how fucked up she was, that she still wanted to ride him like a pony. Even after this. “Tall, muscular, gray eyes, had his hair in a manbun, kind of green skin.”

  “Wait.” Magda’s gaze whipped up, away from her cell. “Did you say green skin? Manbun?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Fuck. You’re such an idiot.”

  “What?”

  Magda shoved her cell into a pocket.

  “What demon species has light green skin?”

  “A number of them.” At least fifty. And it wasn’t like she kept a mental list of all the types of demons in Hell. She only really cared about one species in particular…

  “Green skin, yes. Light green skin?” Magda’s voice was taunting.

  “Yes.”

  “He was a fucking Mortus demon, you idiot. Do you know how dangerous they are? One touch of his bare skin on yours and you’d be dead.”

  She hunched her shoulders. “He was wearing gloves.”

  “Great. Fucking great.” Magda threw her hands in the air. “If he had gloves on, you caught a goddamn Mortus demon killing a guy without using his toxin, and you have no idea how lucky you are to walk away. That he didn’t kill you on sight.”

  A Mortus demon?

  “It’s not like I stay dead.”

  A Mortus?

  Wonderful. Here she’d been, drooling over some psychopath killer, who wouldn’t be able to touch her with those sneaky fingers, anyway. She needed to pick better people to add to her spank bank.

  I wonder if latex gloves would work…

  Magda rubbed a hand over her face. “It could give you the true death. Mortus toxin is deadly to all species but angels, supposedly. Or their mates. Even you might not come back.”

  “No one has probably ever tested it.” Mostly because no one dared to cross the Mortus, and also because there weren’t many of her people left.

  Magda’s gaze sharpened on Kara’s face. “Don’t even think of trying it.”

  “Of course not.”

  But that wasn’t going to stop her from using her vibrator buddy tonight, imagining the Mortus’ intense gray eyes looking at her like she was the tastiest thing he’d ever seen, all the while stroking her with those clever fingers…

  Magda sighed, the mind-reading demon clearly sensing where her thoughts were going. “You’re pathetic.”

  “And you’re a pervert.”

  Chapter 4

  Halcyon Guild, Tartarus

  Godric glared at the Reynard’s Imp loitering at his feet, his gray skin and sharp claws enough to make even him wary. The imps were deadly in numbers—one on his own was normally not too much of a big deal, but Metcalf had a thing for flesh.

  “You mean you didn’t bring anything back?” Metcalf’s obsidian eyes gleamed in irritation.

  “Do you see me wearing a fucking Uber Eats sign?”“

  “I just asked for a taste…” The imp grimaced. “This is why I asked to be there for the job. I knew you’d fuck me over.”

  Godric glowered at the demon. “No fucking of any kind was done at all.” Although, he wouldn’t have minded tasting the golden-eyed lurker…

  “Maybe that’s why you’re such a prick.”

  “I am not bringing back body parts for you. You want to eat an Ignis, go kill one of your own.”

  With a growl, Metcalf spun on his heel and stomped off.

  A new voice resounded through the entrance hall, the deep baritone instantly irritating. “You c
ould have brought him back a toe or something.”

  Godric narrowed his eyes at Sylvester. The thief was tall, with bronze hair and a mostly human appearance. He was a Pollus demon—a kind of Incubus—and he was a part-owner of the guild. Thankfully, only a very small part.

  “You bring him severed digits?” Godric asked. Hard to picture the guild’s current part-time medic agreeing to that.

  “Sometimes.”

  “I told you not to encourage Metcalf,” Seraphina said, her voice smooth and cool. The fallen angel had appeared in the entry, her beauty a slap to the face. No matter how many times Godric saw her, it was still shocking—but not in a raw, carnal way. No, it was more that something so physically perfect could exist.

  Dark skin, brilliant eyes, dark-red lips, cheekbones that could were fit for a goddess. No artist would ever be able to get the details right. The balance.

  “I’ve seen you giving him bits of hair,” Sylvester said.

  Seraphina frowned, hand lifting as if to touch her head. “It’s my hair, and only rarely.”

  She’d had braids, apparently, before Godric had started, but had shorn them off. They’d been too much of a temptation to the guild members, apparently. He hadn’t understood what kind of a temptation until now.

  “So, you’re bribing him with them?” Godric asked. He could get behind that.

  Her eyes narrowed. “Motivating him.”

  He smirked. “Of course.”

  It’s not like he really cared, anyway. The Halcyon Guild was a steppingstone to his freedom. Mortus did not leave the den, did not seek out alternative lives. He’d only gotten away with it because his queen orchestrated the whole thing. As far as the Mortus were concerned, she was ‘loaning’ his services.

  Seraphina turned to him, dismissing Sylvester’s mocking presence. “Godric, I have a client who wishes to speak with you.”

  He attempted a smile. “It would be my pleasure.”

  From her frown, his attempt at politeness had fallen flat. It usually did. She turned on her heel and marched down the corridor, toward her office, and he followed, like the nice little puppy he was pretending to be.

  Kill them with kindness.

  That’s what his queen had said. He knew she hadn’t meant it literally, which was a good thing, because he couldn’t do kind. Polite, possibly. But he was settling for not-rude at this point.

  Seraphina’s office was a work in progress; it had that half-furnished look of someone still moving in. He wondered if that was a sign she still wasn’t fully wedded to the idea of to the guild, despite now being its magically appointed owner.

  Till death do us part.

  Marriage hadn’t been the origins of that phrase. No, it had been blood magic.

  He strode into the room behind Seraphina, a cocky grin on his face. As the door clicked shut behind them, his gaze snagged on a tall, beautiful Japanese woman who stood to the side of the large desk, her long hair swept up in a bun, her hazel eyes burning with something akin to amusement.

  Godric’s skin crawled at the stranger’s presence.

  Outwardly, he was all Mortus, but inside, inside he was part Alaris, and they were demons who exulted on sex and life and energy.

  This woman, whoever she was—whatever she was—was the opposite of that.

  She was death.

  “So, this is your famous new assassin?” the woman asked, her mouth turning up in a smile that probably had most guys getting hard.

  It just made his skin itch.

  “I wouldn’t go so far as to say ‘famous’—” Godric started.

  But Seraphina cut him off. “This is the Mortus, yes.”

  Those hazel eyes stroked over his figure, sizing him up. “Nice manbun.”

  He grinned. “It gets all the ladies.”

  She laughed, and his heart skipped a beat. What the fuck is she? Seraphina just sighed and crossed her arms, leaning against the side of her desk. “Godric, this is Asha Himm. She’s Hades’ P.A.”

  “His what?”

  “Personal assistant.”

  “Oh, that’s right,” Asha said. “You literally just climbed out of that Hellhole the Mortus call a den. You wouldn’t know the lingo. Good for you on trying to make something of yourself.” She clapped her hands, praising him like he was a fucking toddler.

  He stared at her. “I kill people.”

  “Yep.”

  “For money.”

  She nodded, all earnestness. “That’s why I am here.”

  She’s insane.

  That’s the only way he could explain her crazy-ass mixed messaging. Scary as fuck one moment, ditzy then next. Although she never acted scary. No, he’d worked that out all on his lonesome.

  There was a reason he’d survived in his uncle’s court for as long as he had.

  “So…you’re the assistant to a death god,” Godric said. “Why do you need me to kill someone for you?”

  “Well, I’d prefer for them not to stay dead.”

  He blinked.

  Would it be rude for him to go and bash his head against the wall? He had a feeling that would be more productive than this conversation. He shot Seraphina a look he wasn’t sure she saw, since she was busy rubbing her forehead.

  “Asha, can you start at the beginning?” Seraphina asked. “A bit of explanation might help Godric work out exactly what you want.”

  “Of course.” She clicked her fingers and a scroll appeared in her hands. “Here.”

  He took it, since Seraphina didn’t seem inclined to. It unrolled itself in his hands, and he squinted. “It just says milk, coffee, chocolate, and a long black—” An eyebrow quirked.

  “Fuck, wrong list.” She snatched it back. “My assistant is new.”

  Hades’ assistant had an assistant?

  Godric looked longingly at the wall.

  “Fuck it.” The scroll vanished. “This what happens when I try to get fancy. I keep telling Hades we need to keep it simple. I need the ashes of a Phoenix.”

  “There are sorcerers—” Seraphina started.

  “Fakes. I need the real deal.”

  “They’re extinct,” Godric said. At least, that was the legend. One of the few near-immortal demons, the Phoenix had been hunted to near extinction after they’d conquered one too many demon kingdoms.

  “Not quite.”

  “And how am I meant to get said ashes?” Godric asked.

  “You kill the Phoenix. Then collect them in this.” She handed him a small black velvet bag, complete with gold drawstring.

  “You want me to kill one of the few members left of a nearly extinct race?” Even he could see that was sketchy.

  “As I said, she doesn’t need to stay dead. She’s a Phoenix, she will be reborn.”

  “So how exactly am I meant to kill her?” If he was only going to kill her temporarily so he could steal her ashes…

  Asha rolled her eyes. “Easy. With your toxin.”

  Chapter 5

  Apparently, P. Jeremy’s brother was the newly ascended Ignis king. It seemed that her sources were a little out of date. He hadn’t taken the guy’s death kindly. Which meant Kara was on the run.

  Well, about to be.

  When the king had come to collect the body, he’d realized there was a Phoenix working at the inn. And then he’d seen her, because Kara had been an idiot and had wanted to check if this guy was her final target…

  He’d recognized her—from the family portraits, she assumed. And she’d recognized him.

  Because yeah, she’d married Jermone’s asshole brother. Against her will, but the ceremony had been performed by a sorcerer. It had been binding, if not legal.

  It hadn’t been enough to break her curse, though. Neither had killing all her in-laws, but

  It’s why she couldn’t believe P. Jeremy had just fallen into her lap like that. Well, the assassin’s sexy lap, anyway.

  But the king had assumed she killed P.
Jeremy. Had even demanded she drink a truth serum to prove her innocence. But Lamar didn’t tolerate that kind of bullshit in his establishment and had kicked the king out. An Ignis was no match for a Djinn, and he knew it.

  However, she couldn’t stay at the Casa de los Condenados knowing that the Ignis would be coming for her. She wouldn’t risk Lamar or Magda that way. Or any of the others she’d deliberately kept at arm’s length. Because one on one, a Djinn would win hands down. But an army against one?

  The Ignis didn’t believe in fair fights.

  “What are you doing?” Magda demanded. She stood in the corner of Kara’s room, arms crossed over her chest and a pissy expression on her face.

  “Leaving.”

  “I can see that. Why?”

  “So the Ignis don’t come after you guys.”

  Magda snorted. “They wouldn’t stand a chance.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Yeah, I do.” She tapped the side of her tattooed face.

  “Overconfidence gets you dead,” Kara said. And she should know. She’d died at least a dozen times because she’d underestimated her enemy. It had just been lucky none of them had been a true death.

  “Where are you going to go?” Magda demanded.

  “Somewhere safe.”

  Her friend glared. “And where the fuck is that?”

  Kara hoisted the bag onto her shoulder. “New Orleans.”

  *

  Technically, if a demon wanted to enter the human world, they had to apply through one of the seven demon employment agencies. They would be assigned a job, a fake ID, and a life. But Kara didn’t have time for the paperwork, and she happened to have a Devilsgate spell in her stash of goodies.

  Kara peered out from the alcove where she’d hidden after stepping through the magical portal. She was in a courtyard, empty tables and chairs waiting to be filled, the sky a burning dawn she hadn’t seen in decades.

  The air smelled…odd.

  Kara had spent so long in Hell, she’d forgotten what it was like to be free of the faint rotten-egg tang of sulfur. Now the air smelled of greenery, stone and something bitter. Pollution?

  Time to find a place to stay.

  She took a step forward, only to be jerked back by a grip on her arm. A heartbeat later, she was pulled off her feet. Scrambling for purchase, she landed on a cold, stone floor, pain jarring up her spine.