Untamed: Demon Soul

by Julie Anne Addicott

  Untamed: Demon Soul

  §§§

  Julie Anne Addicott

  Untamed: Demon Soul, by Julie Anne Addicott

  ©2017 Julie Anne Addicott

  Second Edition.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. For permission requests, write to the author, at the address below.

  Julie Anne Addicott

  P.O. Box 8

  Wallan, Victoria, 3756

  Australia

  Cover Design:

  Covers by Combs – Daqri Bernardo

  https://www.facebook.com/coversbycombs/

  https://www.facebook.com/groups/coversbycombs/

  Deep inside his darkness hides,

  He’ll keep it till he’s old,

  For he will always be two parts,

  An angel heart, and demon soul.

  -Julie Anne Addicott

  DEDICATION

  Dad,

  this journey just wouldn’t have been the same without you.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Thank you to those whom, without your love and support, this book may have never seen the light of day, again. To my fans, friends, family, and to the amazing people I’ve met online, and in person, I want to thank you for having faith in me.

  To my family, my husband Dean and my children Teagan, Bailey, Ryan, and Blake – I want to say the biggest thank you. I’ve spent over two years on this book and you’ve encouraged me all the way. Without you, my life would not be complete.

  You are my balance. You keep me grounded and love me for the irrational, obsessive mess that I am.

  I love you all.

  To my son Blake, (here is your name!) thank you for helping me with the “wolf fight,” and for telling me to, “Use better words so you sound like a ‘real’ author.” You were right Blake, and I love you!

  Lynette Maupin, you are the best P.A., EVER! Thank you so muchly for putting up with me day after day, and night after night.

  Daqri, thank you for the gorgeous covers, and for helping me find the balls!

  DEDICATION

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  PROLOGUE

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TWENTY-FIVE

  TWENTY-SIX

  Untamed: Angel Heart

  Excerpt, UNTAMED: Angel Heart

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  Please note, this is the updated, revised, and rereleased second edition of Untamed: Demon Soul, and includes almost 10,000 extra words. For a complete reading experience, you should read this second edition of Demon Soul, before starting Angel Heart.

  Books two and three of the Untamed series, Untamed: Angel Heart, and Untamed: Immortal Sin, continue the story of Belial and Lola.

  Thank you for reading.

  PROLOGUE

  The Underworld

  Three-hundred years ago

  §§§

  Wisps of black ash swirl around the dying woman, as she lays with her arms wrapped protectively around her swollen belly. Short gasps escape her lips as she lingers close to death. The air surrounding her is thick with the scent of decay, and the screams of the dead that echo through the chambers of the Underworld. This is not where she envisioned giving birth.

  The warrior kneels beside his woman, he knows if he doesn’t get her out soon, she will surely succumb. It pains him to see her once vivid green eyes fade into a dark, deep emerald green.

  Yes, even immortals can die. Often it is in the Underworld where they are weakened and surrender to the blackened void of despair, hopelessness and unending sorrow. There are two alternative ways to kill those gifted with immortality. An Angel or Demon Sword through the heart, or decapitation, ceases the ability to regenerate and results in the final death of the body. It is the soul that is truly immortal.

  “Let her go. I will stay,” the warrior begs. Will it help? Probably not.

  This is what the Master takes pleasure in: watching him beg, watching him on his knees, suffering.

  The Master’s long, sharp nails scratch at the stubble on his chin. His lip curls into a devious smile. “Hmm… what are you willing to sacrifice?”

  The warrior pleads, “Anything. I will give you anything to save her.”

  The Master stops pacing. “Anything?” he asks.

  “Yes, whatever you desire. I will give it willingly. My wings, take them. My heart, take it.”

  Devilish laughter echoes through the cavern. Flames rise higher as the sounds of screaming souls fill the air and the acrid stench of death lingers around them, begging for blood to be spilled.

  The warrior stands and stares into the eyes of the Master, his brother, who at one time he’d loved. They had been close, so close, but no more. He is now a demon, and King of the Underworld.

  “Brother?” the warrior questions.

  The Master waves a hand toward the woman, still sobbing on the marble floor of the chamber. “I want the child,” he says.

  This isn’t what he expected. Panic courses through the warrior’s veins. He can only imagine what will happen to his child in the Underworld. He steps forward, confused. “The child is not yet born. It will not live if she dies.”

  The Master nods once. “It will be born. I will see to it, if you agree.”

  The warrior paces nervously. He knows time is of the essence. With a heavy heart, he glances at his love.

  She knows he’s made a decision, one which could ultimately destroy the balance between Heaven and Hell. “No,” she cries, her voice barely audible. She begs, and her eyes plead.

  He has no choice, he cannot and will not lose her now. Not in the Underworld. He kneels beside her, and takes her hands in his. “My darling, my love, I must. We can get through this together… you and I.” His words fall as if they were always meant to be spoken, perhaps fate has played its part. He does not know and if he waits a moment longer, he will not live to find out.

  “Please. No,” she whispers.

  He stands without another word. Her hand grips his ankle. “No…” comes another pleading whisper.

  The decision has been made. “What will you do with the child?” the warrior questions, although his thoughts tell him all he needs to know.

  The Master waves a hand toward the warrior, dismissing him. “Ah, that is my business, brother. Do we have a deal?”

  The warrior steps back and drops his head. “Yes.” With one word, the child’s fate is sealed.

  The woman screams, the life suddenly back in her eyes, there is nothing but fear and dread. The baby is coming. She has no control and can do nothing but beg for its life.

  The warrior watches in pa
in, his heart breaking, his mind a whirlwind of emotions. Will she ever forgive him? He has no idea, but she is alive. The baby’s cries bring him to tears. He can almost feel the shattered pieces of his heart piercing his chest from the inside, tearing him apart.

  The Master lifts the newborn into his arms, and with a wave of his hand the warrior and his woman are gone. Their baby does not belong to them now. Male or female, they do not know. All they know is wherever it is, and whatever it becomes, there will always be a place for it in both their hearts.

  §§§

  Angel Bay

  Mortal Earth

  11 years ago

  Frozen with fear, she crouches in the corner with her knees pulled up to her chest, and her arms wrapped tightly around them. She watches in horror as his sword comes down and pierces her father’s chest. His blood drips down the edge of the neon blue blade. Each crimson drop falls and splatters when it lands on the white marble tiles of the bathroom floor. Her father’s body slumps against the bathtub, his head falls to the side and his once bright blue eyes fade into an empty, haunting stare.

  Not a sound leaves her mouth, though it’s open wide and she’s certain she is screaming. She can feel it in her lungs, her throat burns, her head aches, and her heart feels like it could burst out of her chest at any moment.

  There it is, the screaming, finally. Though it’s not her own, it’s her mother. Her mother begs for her life, and she begs for the life of her daughter. It is all in vain. The sword comes down again, this time into her mother’s heart. The screaming is instantly muted. The silence that replaces it, is deafening.

  Like her birth parents, her adoptive parents are now dead. Their lives taken in the blink of an eye. She doesn’t know if she can go on. If she wants to go on. She is merely a child who’s suddenly been thrust into a world of heartache and sorrow. Every dream, every hope, every moment, shattered and gone.

  She stands, her feet planted firmly on the ground, yet her body betrays her. Her mind is screaming commands, willing her to take flight, urging her to run. Her body will not move. The blood starts to pool and she watches it seep toward her, as if the blood itself is going to consume her before he gets the chance. In that moment, nothing makes sense. Her entire body is numb, she’s no longer afraid. There’s nothing left to fear, she imagines death would be a welcome relief.

  She looks into his black eyes, like dark pools of ebony. Heat radiates off his body, though unlike her dreams, he doesn’t reach out. His bare muscled chest is splattered with her parents’ blood. She tilts her head and watches as it trails down his smooth, bronze skin.

  A tattoo depicting the face of a grotesque monster with two bony horns protruding from its forehead covers his chest. In his left hand, he holds the long silver sword by its hilt. His hand is splattered in blood and his grip is so tight his knuckles turn white. The muscles in his thick, strong arms twitch as he glares at her, emotionless.

  Still, he is magnificent. Dark stubble covers his square jaw and his full lips are slightly parted as though he’s about to speak. He is nothing like anyone she’s ever seen, at least not in real life. He is one of them, the strangely beautiful demons who haunt her dreams. Why does she want to look at him, and why now? He is a demon, a killer. The man who took the lives of both her parents.

  He raises the sword, pointing the tip to her chest. She cannot scream. She stares at the demon who came to murder her family.

  “I will return for you, sweet child. When I do, nothing will save you,” his voice, like him, is beautiful, but there’s a sinister tone behind it. As long as she lives, she will never forget the sound of his voice.

  He vanishes into the darkness, leaving her completely and utterly alone. Finally, the scream comes, loud and painful, tearing at her throat and releasing every ounce of air from her lungs. She drops to the floor on her hands and knees and screams until her throat is raw and her ears are ringing. When she manages to open her eyes, she notices her hands. They’re covered in blood. Her parent’s blood is literally on her hands.

  He will return, she knows it. There was something in his eyes, promising yet threatening. Her dreams are a reminder of what he is capable of. Now, all she can do is wait.

  ONE

  Belial

  The Underworld

  Present day

  §§§

  Beneath the cobblestone bridge that leads to the Gates of Hell, the River Stygian flows. Screaming souls reach up, desperately grasping at the air, screeching to be set free. Smoke billows from the river carrying with it the sins of the dead that will be dispersed through the Underworld to ensure chaos reigns forever more. Amber and scarlet flames rise into the air licking at the sides of the bridge.

  I continue toward the gates where the screaming grows louder before a deathly silence consumes the Underworld, and the gates begin to open. The vile stench of decay assaults my senses and clings to my flesh. There is nothing quite like the acrid taste of death that hovers in the Underworld.

  My father’s chamber, the Core, is the centre of Hell. Demons, devils and furies guard the Core, all desperately seeking the respect and protection they crave, but will never obtain.

  I reach the steel door where two of my father’s guards stand. They carry gilded Demon Swords in leather sheaths on their belts. Here in the Underworld, they appear as true demons. Bone-like ebony horns protrude from their foreheads, and their oversized muscles twitch as the sweat drips down their thick, scarred bronze skin. Their eyes stare into oblivion, dark, soulless, and empty. Their only objective is to protect my father, Hades, the King of the Underworld.

  I pull the door open and a rush of hot air blows past me as I step into Core. I make my way to the throne.

  I bow before my father. “You called for me, Father?”

  He sits in the Ebony Throne flanked by four demons. He waves them away as he stands and runs a hand through his thick dark hair.

  “My son, I have another target.” His tone is flat and his voice is rough. His ebony eyes meet mine and he nods slightly.

  This is what I was born for. I’m always ready. I’ve been training since I was a child. Now, three centuries later, I am known as the most ruthless killer in the Underworld. As always, I am ready to prove my worth to my father, to prove I am more than merely a warrior and brother. Soon, the time will come for me to take my place on the Ebony Throne, and when it does, everyone will know the true ruler of the Underworld.

  My father stands with his hands behind his back. His shoulders are broad and his biceps are huge, he’s my height but much wider, and stronger. In the Core, my father’s strength and powers are at their peak, which is why he rarely leaves the Underworld.

  “You will start with killing Karson Poulter. He has one of the rings. I want it back.” He turns and picks up the Onyx Sceptre from beside his throne then strikes the marble floor. The onyx glows and through a haze of smoke a clouded image of Karson appears.

  He’s in Nevermore, without his pack. Perfect. There is no need for small talk, or questions. I know what I need to do. Killing wolf shifters is second nature to me.

  I take a step back and bow again. “Yes, Father. I will not fail you.”

  §§§

  I know where Poulter will be, he’s well known for selling drugs in Nevermore, and rarely ventures far from Club Stygian. As I walk through the crowd of immortals with my brothers, Evan and Nik, some stop and stare while others continue going about their business, the business of sex, drugs and money. Two female phoenix approach us. Any other time, I’d be ready to take them both upstairs and use them for the night. Right now, my focus is only on Karson, and the ring. Evan waves the phoenix away as we head into the VIP lounge.

  Karson Poulter leans back on the black leather sofa, a bottle of whiskey in his hand, his legs spread wide. He appears dishevelled. His white shirt is unbuttoned and stained with dried blood, his face is bruised and swollen. He’s already been roughed up and is evidently drinking his pain away.

  I’ve spent the bes
t part of three centuries killing rogue demons, shifters, and immortals, both in the Underworld, and on Earth. This doesn’t concern me. I don’t know fear. I have no reason to.

  Luring Karson outside is easy. The moment he sees me, he stands. I motion for him to follow me to the back door of Club Stygian. Evan and Nik stand inside the door to keep watch. As expected, Karson doesn’t question me. He knows better than to argue with the sons of Hades.

  In the silence of the alley Karson leans against the brick wall with a cigarette stuck firmly between his teeth. He holds out the cigarette box and offers me one.

  I shake my head. “Got Vice?” I ask.

  He stares at me, glassy eyed, before he wipes the back of his hand across his sweat covered brow.

  His eyes dart around, he’s clearly agitated, or nervous. I place my hand on the wall beside his head and as I close the gap between us, he inhales and meets my gaze. He swallows, then speaks, “Fifty tokens.” He drops his head to rummage through his pocket, and in the distance, the scent of his pack is carried on the cold midnight breeze. I don’t have long. Karson holds up the small bag of Vice, the only drug worth taking if you’re one of the immortals.

  He scratches at the stubble on his chin. “How ya been, Lord Belial?” he slurs, leaning closer. The scent of whiskey and smoke on his breath is now stronger than the scent of the wolves in the distance.

  He exhales, still staring into my eyes. I lean forward, my lips just inches from his. The bastard is so easy to read. As his eyes close, I grab his neck with one hand. Just a quick twist and he slumps to the ground, he didn’t even see it coming.

  My sword through his heart will ensure he doesn’t return. His soul escapes and makes its way through the ground and down into the Underworld, where it will be used as fuel to feed the fires of Hell. His body remains. He is now dead. Immortals can be killed, if you know how. I wipe the blood off my sword, then slice another mark into my forearm with my dagger. Stinking fucking wolves, they fall for it every time.