Not even for Kira. He couldn’t.
Logan squared his shoulders and let everything fall away.
He would get the child out of District Three. Or he would die trying.
He moved until the boy was safe behind him and spoke directly to his father, his tone hard. “I asked, who sanctioned this run? Why has the child been brought down here? I sense no darkness in him.” Logan scowled fiercely. “In fact I sense nothing at all except puppy dogs and rainbows.”
“You would question me?”
Logan ignored his father. “You took this child from his bed because you wanted to teach me a lesson. You wanted to torture me as much as you could, but it’s not going to work. An unsanctioned run to District Three is punishable by time spent in the pit.” Logan paused. “Even for you.”
Santos’s eyes bulged as his anger boiled over. “You think to threaten me?” he roared.
Logan shook his head. “No,” he said softly, “I’m issuing a challenge.”
“Well done,” Lilith murmured, sipping from a glass of blood-red wine. She nodded at Logan in approval, her thirst for a diversion finally appeased. “Well done.”
Santos didn’t have a chance to reply because Logan beat him to it.
“I challenge you to the cage.” Logan’s fists clenched and his eyes blazed red.
Santos’s chest rumbled. His eyes flashed crimson and his brows furrowed so low he looked demented. “You know what this means?”
Logan bared his teeth, more than ready to meet his fate. More than ready to claim his destiny.
His father snorted, amused, though the amused look faltered for one precious second when he caught sight of the fire in Logan’s eyes.
“I know exactly what it means.” Logan scooped the child up in his arms and strode toward the door., His father laughed—a harsh, guttural sound that died a quick death when Logan paused at the door and focused his steely gaze on Santos.
The two men stared at each other for several long moments and then Logan spoke so quietly that Santos wasn’t sure he’d heard him correctly. It was only several seconds after Logan had disappeared from the room that his words penetrated Santos’s brain.
“Only one of us will leave so you’d best be prepared to spend the next several centuries in the pit because it won’t be you. And I hope every single second is absolute fucking agony.”
Chapter Ten
* * *
THE CAGE WAS suspended a hundred feet in the air. A ten-by-ten torture chamber designed to break the strongest of fighters. That was the thing about challenges. It wasn’t just your opponent you needed to defeat—it was the cage itself.
The arena chamber was a catacomb-like structure, several stories high, with hundreds of viewing chambers layered in a circular pattern all the way up. It resembled the inside of a bee’s nest and, in fact, was referred to as “the hive” by all.
At the moment it was filled to the brim with all sorts of otherworld creatures. Word had gotten out quickly—most likely due to Lilith’s insatiable desire for pageantry and mayhem. It wasn’t every day that an overlord of Santos’s reach and power was challenged to the cage; in fact, it probably had never happened before. That it was his son who’d issued the challenge made it all the more interesting.
Demons loved to gamble and favors were trading hands, currency exchanged. It was a veritable feast of darkness and not unlike the human spectacles held in Sin City, otherwise known as Las Vegas—the ultimate fighting championship. Except down here the stakes were so much higher and the rewards …
Logan glanced up at the child now held by Kraghten in one of the upper decks. His pale face stared out of the darkness—a beacon of uncertainty, the eyes unfocused. Logan feared he’d seen too much already and that his mind was damaged beyond repair. Was he to be another Kira?
“Are you fucking crazy?”
The harsh voice sounded so close to his ear that Logan tensed. He turned and gazed into the hard, unyielding face of his oldest brother, Zane. The hellhound stood inches from him, his tall, powerful body clothed in the requisite leather they all preferred. His features were similar enough to Logan’s that you could tell they were brothers, but Zane had a few inches on Logan, a few more pounds, and as the oldest of Santos’s sons, a hell of a lot more souls dragged to Hell to his credit. He was hard and unforgiving, but fair and loyal to a fault.
“I’ve been called worse.” Logan cracked a smile, though it faded quickly when Zane stepped closer and growled.
“What the hell are you thinking? Santos will kill you.” Like their father’s, Zane’s head was shaved, with an intricate pattern of tattoos covering most of his skull. The veins along Zane’s neck corded and stood out in stark relief as he pushed into Logan. “All of this for a fucking kid? A human? Are you kidding me?”
Logan’s eyes softened for a moment. As the oldest of his four brothers, Zane had looked out for him from the get-go. From the moment he’d arrived in this foreign, dark, and brutal place, Zane had had his back. Even when he’d defied their father all those years ago and brought Kira out of the darkness back into the human realm, Zane had defended him.
It was only because of Zane that Logan had finally been freed from the pit. He would always be grateful to his older brother, but he knew that Zane would never understand. How could he? The blood that ran through Logan’s veins was different from his brothers. The light was as much a part of him as the darkness, and he’d always been conflicted. He’d always been looking for something to hold him together. Hell, it was the reason he’d joined the League of Guardians in the first place.
But now he had Kira. She was the glue that kept him together—sane—and he would do whatever it took to get back to her. He just couldn’t sacrifice an innocent to do it.
Logan’s gaze moved upward once more until he settled on the young, pale, face that stared out into the madness.
“Logan, are you listening to me? It’s a fucking kid. Why are you doing this?” Sweat beaded Zane’s forehead. “Father will pulverize you and then you’ll end up in the pit, and this time there’s nothing I’ll be able to do to get your ass out of there.” Zane’s voice was hoarse. “Nothing. He’s been looking for an excuse to send you back ever since you got out,” he said with a frown, “which wasn’t all that long ago. How in the hell did you get your ass involved in something bad enough to warrant Lilith’s interest?”
Logan clasped Zane’s forearm. “I could use a good man in my corner.”
Zane stared at him long and hard, his strong features twisted in anguish. “Did you not hear anything I just said?”
Logan shrugged. “None of it matters.”
Zane growled. “How can you say that?”
How could he make his brother understand? The crowd was louder, the atmosphere angrier. Logan ran his hand through the tangled hair at his nape, a wince crossing his features as he did so. He was still sore from the punishment doled out by Lilith earlier. His gaze traveled upward. The viewing chambers were full. It wouldn’t be long.
Movement along the side of the cage caught his eye and Zane turned and looked up as well. They both watched as their father, Overlord Santos, walked out of his private room and stood along the catwalk that led to the cage. He flexed his muscles and squared his shoulders, as a cacophony of cheers rose to greet him.
Even from where they stood Santos’s eyes burned blood red, and when he smiled, his razor-sharp teeth glistened. At his side stood a shrouded figure, a small man they all knew—Merlin. In the human realm he’d been a sorcerer with unparalleled magick at his fingertips, but down here? He’d tapped into the darkness that clung to everything and he survived by doling out favors to those in power. Men like Santos.
“You’re going to need more than just a good man in your corner, brother,” Zane murmured. He reached into his pocket and grabbed a cell phone. He spoke quickly and then pocketed it, turning to Logan, his gaze fierce. “Let’s go.”
Logan turned without another word and followed his brother
up into the darkness that led to their private room. He had maybe ten minutes to prepare before he met his father in battle. Ten minutes in which to figure out how he was going to defeat Santos and get a safe pass out of District Three.
This time, forever.
AT THE EDGE of the arena, there where the darkness met the heat of the fire from below, a man stood, his body shielded from most of the crowd. He was tall, well built—his muscular arms covered in leather, his jean-clad legs encased in heavy boots. His blue-black hair was closely cropped, leaving his handsome face accessible to all. A strong chin, chiseled cheekbones, and wide forehead suggested noble lineage, but the eyes were what gave him away. That and the dragon tattoo that adorned his neck.
Eerie and incandescent, his eyes were pale and swirled with a strange silver color when he was angry. Or amused. Most of the time—like now—they were hidden behind a pair of silver aviators.
Samael’s gaze wandered the chamber, his body thrumming with energy. As the demon Lord of Chaos, this was the kind of food he craved. The kind of food he thrived on. As it was, there was lots to eat down here. He took a long drink from the flask he’d brought along, his gaze taking everything in as he leaned his shoulder against the hard stone wall.
Bob, his head bartender for Club Doom—a club located in District One and owned by Samael—stood several feet away with no idea that his boss was nearby. Samael’s gaze narrowed. Bob was supposed to be on duty, but no doubt his well-known gambling addiction held more sway than did the fear of reprisal.
Samael’s even white teeth flashed in the gloom. He’d deal with Bob later. At the moment his concern was the hellhound. Winters had gotten his ass into one hell of a mess. What the hell had he been thinking, challenging his father to the cage? Santos was one of the fiercest overlords in the underworld. His bloodthirsty persona was legendary.
It would take a fucking miracle for someone as young as Logan to defeat him.
Samael moved through the crowd of various otherworld creatures, inhaling the decadence—sex and drugs most prevalent. To his left a large snakelike demon screwed a human female. Propped on a table, legs spread with the demon thrusting between her thighs, she was a pathetic creature. Long, stringy, blonde hair fell about her face and she whimpered as Samael passed by, her dark eyes beseeching.
“Help me,” she whispered.
The scent of heroin and cocaine still clung to her, and Samael stopped for a second. His gaze penetrated her eyes, digging deeper until he saw her soul. Until he saw her sins. She’d offered up her own sister to a deranged boyfriend who’d raped and killed the young girl. The first of several young victims.
Samael ignored her cries as he disappeared into the dark. The bitch deserved whatever the hell she got.
Demons parted as he strode toward the upper chamber. It wasn’t every day that Samael graced them with his presence. The demon was notoriously reclusive. Several cried after him as he passed, the tone reverent and filled with respect. He ignored them all.
Samael climbed higher until he reached a large opulent chamber. He entered, grabbed himself another drink, and slid into the empty seat beside Lilith. He wasn’t surprised to see Seth the Golden on her other side. Their hatred was legendary, but he supposed the unusual match between Santos and his son was enough to combat the mistrust—at least for now. And down here Lilith’s chamber held the best view.
Neither one of them glanced his way. They were both focused on the drama unfolding below. In the corner of Lilith’s chamber, Santos’s man Kraghten held a small human child. Interesting.
Lilith clutched a glass of wine, several flies buzzing around her fingers, when suddenly she leaned forward, spilling drops of crimson on her naked, creamy flesh. Her breasts swayed gently and Samael leaned back, enjoying the show. He hated her guts, but still, the woman had an amazing rack.
“There he is,” she said softly.
Samael followed her gaze to the right and watched as Logan made his way along the catwalk, his brother Zane a few feet behind. He glanced at Lilith once more, surprised at the look of hunger in her eyes. It was then he knew the hellhound had at least a small chance to win.
Any creature who had enough balls to refuse Lilith, even when all seemed lost and desperate, had the kind of balls needed to get the job done.
Samael settled back and signaled the server for another glass of scotch.
He hoped he was right. Because as much as he’d like to see the hellhound break Santos and send that fucker to the pit, there was nothing he could do to help. No trick up his sleeve to save him at the last hour. His hands were tied. He was here merely to observe.
Bill would understand. Some things just couldn’t be fixed. Some things were out of reach of the League.
The server brought Samael his glass and the demon lord drank the contents in one long draw. He asked for another as the fire settled. He let it burn in his gut and slipped off his aviators.
Logan stepped up to the door leading into the cage, his expression fierce, his eyes alive with fury, anger, and something Samael couldn’t quite put his finger on. It was that something that would give him an edge.
Samael just hoped it would be enough.
Chapter Eleven
* * *
KIRA ARRIVED AT the edge of Hill Valley at the break of dawn. It was nearly two days since Logan had been taken from her. Two days since she’d escaped Priest and Cale. Two days to reach this place. She was tired, cranky, and—a shiver rolled over her—cold as hell.
She watched a puff of exhaust roll from beneath the large van she’d just exited. It was crammed full of migrant workers on their way to the mines located in the mountains nearby. They’d been able to spare a seat for her at the last truck stop, and for that Kira had been grateful.
A small woman, probably no older than Kira, waved, her large, sad, brown eyes tugging on Kira’s heartstrings as she watched her disappear into the early morning fog.
Her name was Mary and she’d come north from Mexico to work and make extra money for her family. She’d left a small daughter behind with relatives, and on a trip that had taken less than an hour, the woman had shared her pain.
“I hope you get home to her soon,” Kira whispered.
She tugged the collar of her jacket up around her ears and shuddered. They’d passed a sign a few miles out of town that proclaimed Hill Valley as the “Diamond of the North.” The driver of the van had refused to take the road into town, mumbling something about it being out of the way and “creepy.” He’d dumped Kira on the edge of the highway and told her the walk was a good ten minutes but that he was going no farther.
Nothing would convince him to take her all the way in. Not even the offer of more money.
The air was crisp this early in the morning, and it was still dark. In the distance, small slivers of sunlight were just making their way over the tops of the trees that thickly lined the only road into town.
Kira glanced uneasily, trying to penetrate their depths. Was that a shadow there, lurking in the forest?
She whirled around, breath caught in her throat, small puffs of vapor falling from her nostrils as her heart sped up.
In the distance, the sad, lonely cry of a wolf split the eerie silence and she took off at a run, scared—terrified actually—and fighting a sense of abandonment she couldn’t help but feel. How had it come to this? Where was her hellhound?
The ache in her chest twisted. It burned and spread. Was Logan even alive?
She cried out as her feet flew over the loose gravel on the road. Had she been handed paradise only to lose it after a few weeks?
Kira ran like the very devil was on her heels. She forced all thoughts from her mind, save one—getting to Hill Valley and finding the lady in blue. Whatever the hell that meant.
She would do it. She’d promised Logan she would get there. And she would wait for him. For as long as it took.
The stitch in her side pulled hard and she was breathing heavily when she spotted something emerging fr
om the mist. The trees seemed to shrink on both sides and she glanced around warily as she approached a bridge. It was old fashioned, the kind seen in long-ago movies. Covered, it rose up out of the eerie fog that swirled beneath it, a gaping mouth filled with darkness.
Kira paused at the edge. Unease filled her gut, but from what she could see there was no other way to cross. Forest lined each side of the bridge, and though she could hear the water, she couldn’t see it. The fog was too thick. She had no idea if the water was shallow or deep, but had no desire to find out.
She squared her shoulders and whispered, “Get your shit together, Dove.”
Kira gritted her teeth, exhaled, and moved forward. She took a few tentative steps and then, as the opening of the covered bridge rose up in front of her, the fear inside was overwhelming. She took off at a run and plunged into the darkness, fighting the fear. Fighting it hard.
A gust of wind whistled through, sliding over her and carrying voices with it. A sliver of energy sizzled along her body as her legs and arms pumped.
Or was it all in her mind?
When she emerged on the other side, laughter bubbled up inside her—crazy, hysterical laughter—and she paused, bent over, bracing herself with her hands on her thighs.
She stared down at her feet, waiting for the rush of dizziness to wash away. For her heart rate to return to normal. For the fear to subside.
Gradually she straightened and her mouth hung open. Slowly, she turned in a full circle, eyes wide in wonder.
Giant snowflakes fell from the still, dark sky, their fluffy shapes sparkling with luminescent light. They drifted down lazily like feathers, and she smiled in wonder as a single large flake landed on her nose.
Kira Dove had been born in L.A. She’d moved from that warm climate to the Regent Psychiatric Institute in Florida.
To Hell and Back Page 7