And here she was. As far north as she’d ever been, lost in a winter wonderland unlike any she’d ever imagined. She’d never seen snow. Never felt the soft tickle of a flake or witnessed the crisp, Nordic beauty of a pristine and clear snowfall.
A giggle escaped her lips as she held her hand out, watching more flakes fall until they nestled in her palm and eventually melted. Up ahead lights shone, and though she was in the middle of the most beautiful winter wonderland ever, she wasn’t cold. Or scared. She wasn’t tired or anxious.
Kira moved forward and several minutes later the lights took form. They were windows, windows lit from within, perfect little windows in several buildings that made up what she could tell was the most perfect little village imagined. If Snow White or Cinderella emerged she’d not be surprised. It was Disney-perfect.
She paused near Main Street, wondering about the quiet. There was no one about. No vehicles, though she saw several antique’s parked along the street.
“Find the lady in blue,” Logan had said. She bit her lip, her brow furrowed in concentration as she took another step forward and hopped onto the sidewalk that ran along the right side of Main Street. She passed several storefronts. All of them darkened. The barber shop. The post office. Even the bakery.
The quiet pressed on her and a nervous flutter erupted in her chest when she spied a neon sign up ahead. “The Blue Lady.” It pulsed and shone through the gloom like a beacon. Soft light spilled from inside, falling out onto the snow. As Kira approached she heard the low rumble of voices. Music.
She paused at the entrance to what was obviously a club, unsure.
“Are you going to stare at the darn thing all day or are you coming inside?”
Kira nearly jumped out of her skin and pressed a nervous hand to her chest as a young man, probably in his early twenties, appeared from nowhere. He cocked his head to the side and smiled, moving toward the door as she stepped out of the way.
“Come on, then. You’ve come this far, haven’t you?”
He was full of golden sun and fresh air. Tall, with an athletic build, the man was dressed casually, in jeans and a simple white T-shirt. His easy smile and soft blue eyes put her instantly at ease and Kira nodded as he opened the door. He winked, stepped inside …
And, with a deep breath, she followed him.
Chapter Twelve
* * *
THE ROAR OF the crowd was deafening. The heat and chaos and frenetic energy intoxicating.
Logan rolled his shoulders as he glanced across the cage at his father. Santos stood, features dark, his white teeth bared to all as he held his arms high and welcomed the chants from below.
Santos. Santos. Santos.
His father was bare to the waist. His powerful muscles bulged along his arms as he held them aloft and acknowledged the love thrown at him. Behind Santos, Merlin stood half-hidden in shadow.
“You can bet your ass he’s juiced up Father with something nasty.” Zane’s harsh voice penetrated the shouts from below as Logan exhaled. The nervous tension in his gut burned and twisted, but Logan had been around long enough to know he was better off feasting on whatever energy he could.
He nodded, though his eyes never left those of his father’s. Santos’s gaze was fiery crimson and it glowed, emphasized by the light cast by the torches that were hung around the entire chamber. The heat in the arena was incredible. The energy palpable. The decadence unprecedented.
“Are you sure you don’t want the cocktail?” Zane asked quietly.
Logan glanced over his shoulder at his brother and shook his head. “No.” Zane cursed him out something fierce but he ignored him. When his brother was done, Logan clasped his shoulders. “It’s enough that you’re here. I can’t chance an adverse reaction to whatever the hell it is you procured from Seth. I don’t trust him and you shouldn’t either.”
He stared at his brother for several moments, hoping Zane would understand. He would defeat Santos, but he’d do it using his own fuel—hatred and vengeance.
Zane’s eyes stared back at him until Logan looked away, hating the emotion that clogged his throat.
A horn sounded, a shrill echo into the darkness.
“All right,” Zane said softly, eyes ahead on the cage several hundred feet away in the middle of the chamber. “Let’s do this.”
Logan started forward but was yanked back, hard, into his brother’s embrace. “Kick his ass, understand?” Zane whispered fiercely.
All he could muster was a nod, and then Logan broke away and stepped out onto the catwalk. Below him he saw the fires that burned near each and every viewing chamber. The arena was filled to bursting, and from the sound of things, everyone was here to see Santos beat his own son back into the pit.
Logan pushed all sound from his mind. He glanced to his left, his gaze sliding over Lilith as she stood in her chamber, her naked body glistening. Seth the Golden sat at her side, and on the other side was Samael. He paid attention to neither; instead, his gaze rested on the young boy in Kraghten’s arms.
The child stared at Logan, his eyes filled with tears and something else. The child knew that Logan was his only hope, and as Logan watched, the boy raised his small hand and waved. It was a tentative motion but one that pulled at his heartstrings.
It was the only magical potion Logan needed. He nodded to the boy and turned to face his father. And then he stepped into the cage.
For one second the roar of the crowd disappeared as did the darkness and pain. Kira’s face drifted in front of him. Her warmth and smile. Her strength and spirit.
“Get ready, babe,” Logan whispered hoarsely. “I’m coming home.”
Santos entered the cage from the opposite side and the world fell away. Logan saw nothing but the man he hated above all others. The man who had soiled and hurt his mother. The man who stood between Logan and freedom. Between Logan and Kira.
“Welcome, one and all.” A small dwarf of a demon shuffled into the middle of the cage, appearing from nowhere it seemed. His voice was amplified, and everyone quieted as the keeper of the chamber gazed below. The small demon was cloaked in gray, his snakelike features almost nonexistent as his shiny black eyes and razorlike teeth glinted in the firelight.
“We have an unprecedented fight today. Overlord Santos has been challenged by his son, Logan Winters.”
He waited for the sudden burst of noise to die down a bit before he continued. “The rules are simple. Each hellhound must retain human form in the cage, and only one leaves.”
No sooner had the demon uttered his last word then he disappeared, leaving only Logan and his father inside the cage.
Santos charged immediately, throwing his hands out as if casting a net, and Logan barely had time to twist out of the way. As it was he took a glancing blow off the side of the head and staggered, blinded, as searing hot liquid burned his eyes, no doubt fueled by whatever it was Santos had flung his way.
A snarl sounded to his left but he had no time to defend himself as his father beat him savagely. He took a flurry of hits to his ribs, and it was only because his father pulled away that the beating stopped.
He couldn’t see shit and swore as he flailed madly, trying to gain his footing and not doing a very good job of it. He stumbled backward, hissing as his shoulders connected with razor-sharp spikes that erupted from the shell of the cage.
Santos was there in an instant, his breath hot against Logan’s cheek as he pushed his son into the spikes even harder. They tore through his flesh, leeching into muscle and reaching bone. The pain was so intense that for a moment Logan felt his sanity bleeding away. It felt as if a thousand tiny knives were on fire inside him, worming into his soul, infiltrating his veins, and searing him from the inside out.
The poison from the spikes was excruciating.
“You think to challenge me?” Santos raged. “In what realm would you ever triumph? You’re as pathetic as your mother.”
Logan grunted with the effort it took to push the pain away
. He reached deep inside himself for the cold, calculating, and lethal bastard he knew was there. Breathing heavily, it took everything inside him to push his father away and he staggered to his right, clutching at the cage until he could center himself.
Santos didn’t attack right away. Like a cat toying with a mouse, he reveled in Logan’s pain. Reveled in the noise of the crowd and the adulation thrown his way. He strode around the cage like he owned it, gesturing madly as the roars and screams from the spectators crept up several more decibels.
Logan couldn’t see anything, but his other senses kicked in as everything inside him quieted. His nostrils flared. His ears perked up. His skin quivered.
When the hit came, he saw it coming in his mind, but he took it. And then he took another crushing blow that brought him to his knees. And then another across his back. His father roared, “Are you that weak?”
He kicked Logan in the ribs and sent his son crashing into the cage wall once more. “Are you that pathetic?”
Logan exhaled, and though his fingers burned fire, he dug into the enclosure and dragged himself up. He heard his brother Zane shouting, “Are you insane? Kill him!”
He heard the shouts of the crowd. The anger and hatred. He felt the electricity in the air. The heat and madness. He thought of Kira and his unborn child. And of the little boy held in Lilith’s chamber. He thought of all those who would perish if he didn’t prevail.
It was enough to give him strength to go on. To take as much from his father as he could. To wait for the perfect opportunity to strike.
So when Santos picked him up and flung him into the air like a paper doll, he went with it, though he rolled at the last minute, barely avoiding a wave of acid that erupted from the cage ceiling. The acrid smell of burning flesh reached his nostrils and for the first time, he knew his father had been struck.
On all fours, Logan was aware that Santos crossed to Merlin, who waited on the other side of the cage. He rolled again, nostrils flared as he sought out his brother. When he found Zane he half-ran, half-staggered over to him. “My eyes,” was all he could muster.
Immediately, cold liquid squirted onto his face, and Logan rubbed it into his eyes. The burn subsided somewhat and he blinked rapidly, shaking his head and trying to clear his vision. But it was no use. He saw shapes and shadows, a definite improvement over total blindness, but that was all.
“You need to take him down,” Zane whispered hoarsely. “What the hell are you doing? You’re not even trying. Do you want to make it the hell out of here with that little boy or not?”
Logan heard the anguish in his brother’s voice but didn’t have a chance to respond. He was yanked backward and twirled around like a top, his arms flailing, his senses confused as he tried to gain his balance. As he tried to find his father among the shadows.
Too late to duck, he took another crack to his jaw and blood spurted everywhere as he took yet another. And then another.
Logan took two steps back, feeding on the rage that rose into the air. Santos was more than pissed off. He was beyond that. His father was angry that Logan had not raised one hand in his defense. Sure, Santos wanted to beat the crap out of his son. Send him to the pit. He wanted to dole out a lesson Logan would never forget. But he was a proud man, and the fact that his son was responsible for the jeers and junk tossed their way—at Santos—was enough to make him furious.
Logan was a reflection of Santos, and at the moment he was far below par.
Santos picked up a metal rod that had been thrown at them. He bared his teeth and advanced on his son. There was no mistaking his intent. He wanted to finish what had become an embarrassing spectacle.
Logan spread his feet slightly, adrenaline pumping through his veins. He pushed all thoughts from his mind, save one. Getting his ass out of District Three. He didn’t see or hear his brother Zane shouting from behind him. Didn’t take note of the crowd, or Lilith, or even the boy who stared down at him from the darkness.
He blew out a hot breath and focused all his energy on Santos, ignoring the fire that still raged beneath his skin as the poison from the spikes continued to burrow and infiltrate his muscles.
Santos leapt into the air, intending to bring the metal rod down into his son’s chest, but Logan’s arm shot out and he grabbed the end instead. For several moments the two of them held on as the crowd grew quiet, sensing something afoot.
Logan saw the blurry outline of his father as the man bore down on him. Eventually, his father’s age and superior strength won out, and Logan fell to his knees, though he managed to keep his grip on the rod.
The weapon, tugged in both directions, slowly bent as Santos took two steps closer to Logan. And then the heat of his breath fell across Logan’s face as he bent lower still, his anger a thick, palpable thing.
Santos opened his mouth to speak and in that moment, Logan struck. He yanked—hard—on the rod and his father stumbled forward and the two of them tumbled to the ground. What had been a one-sided fight suddenly erupted into a deadly wrestling match, one that brought both hellhounds down to a basic level of survival.
The crowd was silent as the sweat-soaked, straining father and son grunted, swore, and locked themselves into a deadly battle of brute strength. Santos had the edge, yes, but Logan had something his father didn’t.
Hope. Love.
Kira.
But would it be enough?
Santos locked his arms around Logan’s neck, pushing his son into the ground as he kneed him in the back. “I will kill you.”
Logan blew out a hot breath as he tried not to panic. The poison had worked its way through his upper body and he was barely holding on. The more he strained, the faster it worked and for a second, despair flooded his mind.
Santos bent low so that his mouth was beside Logan’s ear. “I will end you down here and it will be my mission to make sure you spend eternity in the pit.”
Logan bucked his hips suddenly and Santos, not expecting it, lost his grip. It was enough for Logan to break his hold and roll to the side. He gained his footing and stood up as Santos lunged at him again.
The metal rod, forgotten by his father, was already in Logan’s hand and he brought it down across his father’s face, breaking his nose and slicing into flesh and bone. Santos roared in anger and staggered back.
Logan lunged forward, pounding into his father with relentless precision, using every sense he possessed to hunt his father like an animal in the small cage. He pressed forward, digging deep and finding the kind of strength that only comes from desperation. He fed from the darkness in the chamber, from the love and pain inside him. Logan used everything he had as he pummeled Santos with blow after blow—using both his fists and the metal rod.
And when he finally brought his father to his knees, Logan followed him down, nearly spent. Santos was breathing heavily. He was a bloody, ripped up mess of flesh and exposed bone. A low rumble sounded from inside his father’s chest as Logan stared at him—both men, face to face.
“I will crush you the way I should have crushed you when you were days old.” Santos ground out as the air around him solidified into magick and shadows.
“You can try,” Logan sneered, knowing his insolence would do more for him now.
Santos’s eyes were wild as the beast inside him blurred and melted with his human form. Insanity shone there—a thirst for something just out of reach—and in the end it cost him.
The minute Santos shifted into his hellhound form, the small demon who’d started the festivities appeared, his form dwarfed by Santos. The hellhound snapped his great jaws, the eyes burning red as it tried to get to Logan but he was unable to. Magick held him in place and eventually Santos quieted as he realized his error. The moment he’d shifted, he’d forfeited any hopes of winning the match.
The master of ceremonies turned to Logan and held his gaze for several long moments as chaos rained down on them. He nodded and said simply, “You are free to go.”
The cage walls disapp
eared and so did Santos. Logan cracked his neck and turned his beaten, tired body toward his brother. Zane was quiet and Logan followed his brother down the catwalk, ignoring the shouts of glee and congratulations from the crowd.
The two brothers made their way to Lilith’s chambers. Logan could just make her out—his vision was still blurry—but he ignored her and went straight for the boy. The small child cowered in Kraghten’s arms and Logan knelt down, knowing his bloody, sweaty appearance wasn’t helping things.
He waited until the child settled and then held out his hand, palm up. “Do you want to see your mommy?”
The small boy slowly nodded, his tear-stained face anxious and scared.
“Come with me then.” Logan smiled. “I promise everything will be all right.”
Kraghten released the boy and Logan scooped him up.
“Well done,” a voice said from the shadows.
Logan paused and stared into the darkness. He knew Samael was there. He could smell him. He nodded, and then strode from Lilith’s chambers, his brother Zane following in his footsteps.
And less than five seconds later he’d left the Hell realm behind for the last time.
Chapter Thirteen
* * *
THE BLUE LADY was a smoky, jazzy place filled with soft, sensual music. Kira sat at the bar, twirling a straw inside a tall, cool glass of lemonade. The bartender—the young man she’d followed inside—had given her the glass an hour earlier.
Or was it only minutes earlier?
It was hard to tell because Kira couldn’t shake the feeling that things were off here. She felt like she’d only arrived, but then she remembered seeing some of the customers come and go and then come again. Weird.
She’d eaten a hearty meal of stew and bread and she’d also enjoyed the most amazing strawberry shortcake ever.
And still the lady in blue hadn’t arrived. She wasn’t sure what to do, and whenever she asked the bartender about the woman, he just smiled and nodded and said that everything was going to be all right.
To Hell and Back Page 8