Watcher Redeemed

by JL Madore

  Austin exhaled and got to her feet. Running her arms around his sides, she stroked his back at the base of his wings. When he dropped his chin, she kissed him with all the gratitude she could muster. “Thank you. Now, why don’t you run a hot bath. We can wash our troubles away before you head out to your big meeting tonight.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Cassiane climbed the last of the steps to the top of Wandread Castle. Her breath felt thick in her chest but thin in her head. Her mind reeled at the lack of oxygen getting to her brain, but the hyperventilation had nothing to do with the climb and everything to do with her destination. She was about to attend a meeting hosted by the Dark Prince.

  The. Dark. Prince.

  The rooftop portal swirled to life and opened the passage. On unsteady legs, she walked through, accompanied by her escort. Dougal’s large hand pressed at the small of her back as they came out on the other side. “Mistress, you’ll do fine. You are ready for this.”

  Right. Lifting her chin, she tried not to hear how her boots crunched over the crushed-skull path as they made their way from the portal to the stair-bridge to Purgatory’s center. She climbed the first set of stone risers. The suspension chains swayed, their point of tether swallowed in the distance by the hiss of night. The hair on her arms rose, but she remained focused. How many times had her father climbed these stairs and crossed this bridge in his years of uniting the Dark powers?

  She cast a glance to the male at her side. Dougal was a loyal hunter and meant well, but he was wrong. She wasn’t at all prepared to stand on her own in this meeting. Devious was supposed to escort her, to aid her in the political nuances and social etiquette of what they were about to do. He had abandoned her and left her to her own end. He knew the power players of the Hell Realm almost as well as her father, but had chosen to let her flounder.

  Punishing her for her criticism, no doubt.

  She glanced down at herself and wanted to cry. “I look ridiculous. I’m an orphaned heiress entering a gathering of the most vile and vicious of the Darkworld, and look neither vile nor vicious. The Shedim need me to do better than fine, Dougal. They need me to seize the respect that my father and grandfather earned.”

  Dougal unsheathed the massive battle-ax from his belt and gestured for an undead to mind his business as they passed. “And if the heads of the other races interpret your silk skirts and cinnamon curls as a sign of weakness, then more power to you, Mistress. Their underestimation is to your benefit.”

  She hoped so.

  The baleful screams of tortured souls bound and woven into the webs above their heads drew her gaze. She cringed at the chains, linked through their taut flesh, stretching their faces, shoulders, palms, and feet, pulling in opposite directions in never-ending tension. It was as bad as she’d ever imagined. Worse. She pitied the damned, the sight forever burned into her memory.

  For the hundredth time, Cassiane fought the urge to turn back to Castle Wandread. If she didn’t hold ground as a Dark leader, the Shedim would lose face, and there would be nowhere to run when the dominant races found them lacking. She climbed the last set of stairs and the path widened to reveal their destination. Too late to turn back.

  The four bridges of Purgatory intersected at the crossroads of Hell, the only neutral ground in the Darkworld. She eyed the circular plateau and the eerie opulence of the Prince’s cylindrical temple upon it. Bathed in the crimson and gold of Hell’s fire, the shrine to the savior of the realm shone like no treasure she’d ever seen, the opulent structure at odds with the dire brutality of the surroundings.

  Dougal gripped his weapon.

  She stiffened and followed his glare.

  Devious straightened from where he leaned against the structure, looking bored. “It’s about time you got here. Where have you been?”

  She pressed her hands down the bodice of her dress and exhaled. “I could ask the same of you. You were supposed to help with the Watcher’s execution.”

  He shrugged, a crooked smile lifting his lips. “I had something to nail down first. Why? What’s wrong?”

  Cassiane shook her head and tried to hide her pique. No matter what she said, Devious would twist the appearance of a dragon claiming the prisoner as her failing. She didn’t have the energy to fight his insubordination here. And though she would never admit the sadness lurking in the pit of her stomach for the loss of Kyrian’s life, somehow, she was relieved she was not the direct cause of his death.

  She focused on the bulky frame of her father’s protégé and sighed. Devious had been groomed by her father and his value as an advisor inside couldn’t be disregarded. “Dougal, would you mind waiting, to escort me back?”

  The male dipped his chin and stepped to the side of the entrance, ax in hand.

  Together, she and Devious crossed the temple threshold and entered the large circular chamber. She strode forward, projecting a confidence she didn’t feel, her chin up, her shoulders straight, her unease buried behind both her posture and her political focus.

  The murmur of the space hushed as they stepped into the meeting place. She stood straighter. If nothing else, her height generally garnered some respect. However, looking over the other faces, she thought perhaps not. She was the least remarkable and certainly the least intimidating among the two dozen attendees.

  The room remained silent except for the rhythmic clack of her boots on the black marble floor and the hiss of the ceiling burning thirty feet above their heads. She glanced up. The ocular dome flickered and snapped, the blazing flames reflecting off the solid gilded walls, lighting lush décor in a dancing golden glow. Sixteen high-back chairs encircled an enormous round table set with engraved goblets at each place. A plush throne, embellished in blue diamonds, sat raised and off to the side.

  “Take your seats.” The command came from everywhere around her and at the same time, inside her head. A bright light flashed and a svelte male wearing an ebony, leather kilt strode toward the cushioned throne. His long dark hair brushed his shoulders as his gait announced him at the very top of the power struggle. “So, for the sake of speeding things along, let us dispense with the tiresome teeth baring and cock measuring. There are no others meaner, more ruthless, or vile than each of you and your species, blah, blah, blah. You are all the shit.”

  As he stepped up onto the dais, everyone shuffled around the table and found their seats. Cassiane followed the scramble of bodies, winding around the table until she found the chair marked with a glowing symbol of the Shedim. She took her seat and Devious took his place, standing behind her chair as the other attendants had.

  Leaning back on his cushioned throne, the Dark Prince let out a long-suffering sigh. “For the sake of the new blood, I’ll go over the basics. I am your mediator, judge, executioner or whomever I choose to be. I am the summation of all power that was and will be. I make the rules, change them, and create chaos at my whim. You may voice your grievances, but if you raise a hand against anyone while in this room, I will expire you, and possibly your entire bloodline, without explanation.”

  Cassiane’s eyes widened. She’d heard the Dark Prince was sexy and powerful—and he was. She’d just never imagined he’d be so . . . spunky.

  The male snorted and cast her an amused look. “Show on the road, people. The horsemen and I have souls to claim, assholes to torture, and meat suits to launder. Gregor, why don’t you start this pow-wow off—age before beauty and all that.”

  A regally cloaked male, with chalky black skin and hollow eye sockets, laid his gnarled hands on the table. As he stood, the snakes writhing from his skull hissed and thrust at the men seated to either side of their master.

  The ancient Serpentine King. Huh, it seemed time truly was the cruelest enemy of all.

  Cassiane sat quietly as the male spoke, taking in the dynamic of the group, learning the protocol of how things progressed in a gathering of such lethal and volatile leaders. She glanced around the table—careful not to meet the gaze of anyone directly—a
nd recognized a few of the daemon traits enough to determine some of the other races present.

  She eyed the glittering scales and poison horns of the Fire Demon, the electric blue eyes and staggering attraction of his seductive cousin, the Ice Demon, the Native American cannibals, the Rugaru sat next to a Wendigo and she was sure the male beside him was an Incubus. As she continued her assessment of the powers she faced, she skipped over the ghoul and goblin, they made her skin crawl, and then there was the—

  The Dimme Queen’s steel-gray gaze bore through her. The woman, petite yet voluptuous, swept her golden hair from her face, her attention locked. The woman seethed, hatred seeping from her pores. How could Cassiane have inspired such animosity in a woman she’d never laid eyes on? She glanced to the woman’s attendant and gasped.

  The first thing that tripped her heart was that the Dimme’s second-in-command was a young woman who, by the striking resemblance, could be no other than the Queen’s daughter. The second was the girl’s eyes. How—

  Trickery. The girl must be wearing contact lenses or some other form of disguise. For the eyes of the Dimme Queen’s daughter were the saffron yellow that only the Shedim bore.

  “Is there a problem, Mistress?” The Dark Prince asked, a manicured brow arched with apparent amusement.

  All heads at the table turned and Cassiane realized she had risen out of turn. “Apologies, no. Please, go on.”

  She reclaimed her seat and tried to focus. The daughter flashed her an unmistakable look of triumph. No. Not her. The female’s gaze had locked on Devious standing behind her. A chill raced up her spine. What was that abou—

  “Look boys, a party, and our invite lost in the mail.”

  Cassiane jerked her attention toward the deeply accented voice behind her.

  Seven Nephilim warriors flooded the chamber and strode the circumference of the table. The room erupted in a fit of curses. The fact that they were topless and carried no weapons was a shock, but when the Fire Demon’s attendant lunged at the Watcher who wore a spiked, leather collar, she understood. The attack was short-lived as the demon exploded into a splattering mass of black goo.

  “No, no, please, don’t get up.” The Sumerian commander ambled toward the Dark Prince, ebony wings arced and rigid as he strode to the throne and took a knee. With his head bowed and his hand over his heart, he spoke. “My Lord, excuse the interruption. We come on Watcher business; not to disturb your house, nor to offend.”

  Cassiane waited for Zandros of Kish to splat all over the black marble tiles as the Fire Demon’s second had. She glanced at the mess across the table, the Ice Demon and Rugaru still picking chunks from their hair.

  The Sumerian didn’t explode. Instead, the Dark Prince stood and held out his hand. “Don’t fuck a fucker, Watcher, you live to disturb my house.”

  Zandros rose to his full height and the Prince descended to stand before him. The two stared at one another. And though she expected the Prince to strike the male down, he clasped wrists and laughed. Laughed.

  She glanced around the room to see if the others were as shocked—Oh, Sweet Prince.

  She clasped a hand over her mouth as she met his pale green gaze. Kyrian was alive. After the initial flutter to her heart, it froze in her chest. Yes, he was alive and reunited with his fellow soldiers. That was their official business. The Nephilim had come to claim her and there was no way for Devious or Dougal to fight back.

  She couldn’t breathe.

  “You know, Z, I still have the hangover from the last time you paid me an unexpected visit, and that was well over two centuries ago.”

  “Good to see you too, Shaytan.” The Watcher chuckled, the timbre rich and deep. “I was drunk for that whole month. Did you ever figure out where we left your scullery wenches?”

  The Dark Prince barked out a laugh and scanned the room. “That’s a story for another time. So, tell me, Sumerian. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  Cassiane scrubbed her palm across her eyes and blinked. The Dark Prince, Lord of the Darkworld, speaking informally with the enemy? Allowing him to call him by name?

  “You heard about Tanek?” the Sumerian asked.

  Her master nodded and opened his palms to the Watchers standing sentinel around the meeting table. “Your warrior-brother serves my sister with honor. I spoke with her the other day, and she mentioned how she values his council.”

  Cassiane brushed a stray piece of hair from her face. What was happening?

  “Did you see what was done to him?” Zandros asked, his voice tight.

  The Dark Prince nodded and adjusted the cufflinks of his silk shirt. “I did. It went viral and overloaded our dark web network. Big news.”

  “Yeah, the slaughter of a Watcher makes great Hellevision. I’m sure the skinning of our brother will rank your top watched video clip for centuries.”

  Zandros scowled and turned to the Watcher with flaming red hair, wearing a plaid skirt and sash, and an elaborate gold torc. The male stepped forward and handed him an electronic pad with a video already cued up on the screen. “The Shedim Slayer didn’t get a chance to post the second video. And it’s too bad, because some of the stars sit in this very room.”

  The Sumerian’s gaze cranked around to the blonde Dimme with saffron eyes. “Hello Emma, how’s things?”

  “Fuck you, Zander.”

  Ebony wings flared from his back as the flames on the ceiling surged in wild arcs. The Watcher strode forward, the flames crackled, his boots echoed through the air. “You already did fuck me. Not literally, of course. You’re not good enough to blow my wife’s dog, but that’s why you did it, right?”

  The girl bared her fangs and sneered. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Yeah, that dog don’t hunt, bitch. Did you think I wouldn’t figure out it was you who released Austin’s picture? You offered my wife up as bait to the Darkworld. Am I supposed to just let that slide?” The Sumerian’s long, brown hair brushed his sculpted shoulders as he shook his head. “I have something special planned for you. A little reunion between you and your Shedim deadbeat daddy, Stryker.”

  Cassiane’s chair scraped the marble before she realized she’d stood. “What were you playing at, Watcher? She is no Shedim. And Stryker was certainly not her father.”

  Zandros turned his head, the corners of his lips curving in a sly smile as he stalked closer. “Your father’s illegitimate love child did recon inside my house, Mistress. She invaded my privacy. And together, the two of them struck the first blow. Nephilim do our damnedest to play nice, but Stryker and your little Shedim army crossed the line.”

  Cassiane folded her arms over her chest and scoffed. Hearing her father’s name drip from his lips made her physically ill. “You are mad. I’ve never seen this woman in my life. She’s no more a member of my family than you are.”

  Zander studied her, his brow creased. After a moment he chuckled. “Well, well, this is getting good. You didn’t know daddy was off procreating?” His head turned to the Dimme Queen sitting across the table. “What, Xamia, Stryker keep your whore offspring a dirty little secret?”

  The Queen spat and in the same instant Zandros grabbed Cassiane and stepped them back. The Dimme’s saliva sizzled on the surface of the stone floor, pitting the luster of the finish where Cassiane had stood.

  “Behave, Xamia,” the Dark Prince said. “I’d consider that an attack, and annihilate your pretty little ass, if I wasn’t enjoying the show. Very Maury Povich, Zander. I can’t wait for the paternity tests to come back.”

  Cassiane broke free from Zandros and stumbled back. “Don’t touch me. You come here uninvited to spread lies about my father and my people. You are the monster. You attacked him. For all I know, this girl is part of your drama to further your scheming, hateful lies.”

  Zandros frowned and held up the tablet still in his hand. “My Lord, if you would.” When the Sumerian touched the screen of the device, a scene materialized in the air above the table.

/>   Cassiane stepped to the table as the video started. She recognized the brunette lying on a dirt floor from the intel Devious had shared with her. It was the Commander’s mate. The human sheep, Austin. She’d just been slapped by a female holding the camera and twisted to land on a discarded heap of carcasses and bones on a cave floor.

  “You won’t be laughing when my father kills Zander while the entire Darkworld watches. He’ll be a hero in the Darkworld, and everyone will know that I was the daughter who helped him do it. Me.” The frantic screech of the female’s voice held the wail of a spoiled child.

  “Let me guess, Daddy didn’t spend enough time with you when you were a kid? Too busy killing innocent woman and playing with his soldiers?”

  The female’s next blow smashed Austin into the rock wall of the cave. Her head sagged forward, her body trembling. Austin searched the ground for a sharp bone and closed her fist.

  “How stupid do you think I am, bitch?” The camera focused on the boot crushing Austin’s wrist. She tipped to the floor and seemed to black out.

  Male voices built as heavy footsteps approached.

  Cassiane’s gut wrenched when the camera panned up to capture the tall, well-built image of her father. “Well, well, Emmalixa, Devious said you had a surprise for your old man. And look . . . it’s just what I wanted.”

  The woman handed the camera off and hugged Stryker. “Then reward me and start calling me by my hunter’s name.”

  Her father kissed the top of her blonde head. “Very well, Thrash, you have earned it.”

  Cassiane rubbed her chest. It felt like a knife’s blade had impaled her, but no hilt protruded from her bodice. She had begged her father to take her on hunts for years. Pleaded with him to let her earn a hunter’s name, so she could be respected by soldiers and hunters of her community, and the Darkworld as a whole.