Only One I'll Have (UnHallowed Series Book 4)

by Tmonique Stephens

  “Do you know who I am?” Chay asked, already knowing the answer, yet wanted to hear it.

  Voice shaking, the demon answered. “I know you are UnHallowed. Which one I cannot say.” Its Adam’s apple bobbed and it shook its head. “I have no quarrel with you.”

  “Nor I with you,” Chay said.

  “So why have you summoned me?” Irritation entered its voice. The demon felt brave as if it knew it would survive this encounter and have a nice tale to tell its Crossroad demon buddies. Maybe it would.

  “Like I said, you’re not the one I want, nevertheless you’re the one that answered.”

  “I didn’t answer. You forced me here. I couldn’t resist.” A twitch below its right eye took up residence.

  “Good. Tell me everything you know, and you will not be harmed. Let’s get started.”

  ~~~~~

  “You summoned me?” Celine watched the female alternately fiddle with her beaded necklace, her hair, and the hem of her miniskirt. She wished the girl would stop fidgeting and get to the point instead of staring. It was rude.

  “Uh huh.” The girl nodded and shifted from one foot to the other. She was young, twenty-two, and a student, though not a good one. A party girl, she was more interested in the nightlife than anything she’d find in a book. She ran with the A-listers in her small town, but she wasn’t one of them. She was a hanger-on, a hungry girl on the wrong side of the window, while her so-called friends enjoyed the life she desired yet couldn’t afford. The country-club life filled with trust funds, homes in Aspen, Beverly Hills, and New York City, and vacations in Monte Carlo.

  Her hand moved from the edge of her skirt to hover over her abdomen. “You grant wishes for something in return.” Her voice had an airy, innocent quality men probably found alluring. Celine found the voice; the bleached, ash blond hair; the soft brown, bedroom eyes; and pouty lips enhanced with Botox overdone, ruined like overcooked filet mignon. Such a waste.

  “I’m not a genie,” Celine drawled, boredom setting in.

  She chewed her bottom lip, batted her lashes in a futile attempt to gain sympathy and the upper hand from a demon. Foolish human. “Um. Sorry. I know you’re a-a-a demon.”

  “You have a problem saying what I am when you’ve summoned me?” Save her from this generation of millennials. “You may call me Celine. Get to the point, now. Why have you summoned me? Is it about the baby you’re carrying? Maybe you want the father to marry you, declare his undying love?”

  Artifice vanished. The girl’s lips flattened into a grim, puffy line and her voice hardened. “No. I don’t wanna marry Jared. I wanna marry his father, and then I want the old bastard to die, leaving me everything. I want Jared to see me walk away with his inheritance.”

  Celine was impressed with her venom. “You hate the father of your child.”

  The female’s face became bright red. “He said I was nothing. He couldn’t have a child with a nothing like me.” She stuck her hand in her purse and pulled out a fat roll of cash. “He shoved this in my bra and told me to get rid of it.”

  Hell hath no fury. Celine was ready to seal the deal with the usual terms applied, ten years for one soul. “I can give you what you want. For a price. Your soul. Are you willing to forfeit your soul for your revenge?”

  Mouth still grim, the female nodded once. “Yeah, but I wanna raise my child. I don’t want it in foster care. You can have my soul after he or she’s an adult. Eighteen years.” Now, her voice trembled. A powerful thing handing over one’s soul. It wasn’t something a person could get back.

  Eighteen years was long for this simple agreement, may seem like a lifetime for one in the prime of their life. In reality, it was the blink of an eye. Celine studied the woman closely. Not just her, she studied the baby also. While the fetus was healthy, it wouldn’t stay that way. The child would die before its ninth birthday. Leukemia.

  “Eighteen years is an acceptable exchange. Once your child rearing is complete, your payment will be due. Do you understand?”

  Her head bobbed up and down. “Yeah.”

  No, she didn’t understand, not really. Her understanding extended to what she wanted and nothing else. That wasn’t Celine’s problem. She pulled out a knife from the fold of her dress and grabbed the woman’s hand. With a flick of her wrist, she sliced the woman’s palm and then did the same to her own. Celine sealed their hands together. “The pact is bonded and recorded in the annals of Hell.” She released the woman, who stumbled away, as Celine cleaned her hand on a handkerchief she plucked from her bosom. Her wound had healed by the time she stuffed the cloth back between her breasts. “You may leave now. Things will happen as you wish.”

  The girl ran back to her rusted Buick, leaving a trail of blood from her dripping palm. She gunned the engine and sped away as if she were being chased by…well…a demon. Humans. Celine shook her head.

  “She will try to renegotiate when the child dies.”

  Slowly, Celine pivoted and faced a Reaper. The hooded shroud kept its identity a secret. No scythe in his hand meant he wasn’t planning to kill her. That could change faster than she could blink. Was it the one in league with Aiden? Or was this a different Reaper? How to play this? This Reaper could kill her. It was one of the few beings that could end her existence without repercussion, and that gave her pause.

  “They all attempt to renegotiate and they all fail. Evening, Reaper. What brings you to my neck of the woods on this fine night?” She felt its gaze on her body and was glad the form she’d chosen was delicate and curvaceous.

  Deep within the hood, a pair of glowing eyes flared to life. “I come with a warning.”

  “Oh?” She kept her voice light, though fear had her demon blood trembling.

  “The UnHallowed search for you. They stalk the crossroads calling forth your brethren to interrogate them about your whereabouts.”

  Shit! “How do you come by this information, Reaper?”

  His form wavered in the sudden stiff breeze. “I don’t know what you’ve done to attract their united attention. My suggestion is whatever your plan, enact it quickly or end up on the pointy end of their empyreal blades.”

  Of that, she wasn’t worried. Regardless of their anger, they wouldn’t kill her. Those fallen archangels couldn’t without risking their own heads. Which was beside the point. Her plan to get the Cruor was in jeopardy, which placed all her plans in jeopardy. She should never have given Sophie time to decide. She should’ve pushed her into making an immediate decision. Free will, such bullshit.

  Celine wrestled her attention away from her internal strife and refocused on her guest. She didn’t miss the fact that he ignored her question about how he found out the UnHallowed hunted her. “Thank you, Reaper. I’ll tell Aiden of your assistance.”

  He floated away, his body merging with the night. “Whether you do or don’t, suit yourself.” Then he was gone.

  Celine slipped her hand into a secret pocket on the side of her dress and fisted the handful of dirt she kept there. In an instant, she zeroed in on Sophie and her location.

  “So, she ran home thinking they would protect her. Her UnHallowed would save her.” Celine let that thought stew for a second then cursed her. “That bitch.”

  ~~~~~

  “Talk? About what? I know a lot of things about a lot of topics. Which topic would you like to discuss?” The Crossroad demon rambled as his gaze bounced from UnHallowed to UnHallowed.

  “What name have you taken?” Ioath sank to his haunches near the demon, while Chay kept his sword inches away from its flesh.

  “B-Bryce. What can I do for you fine gentlemen?” The demon whined, his attention divided between Ioath and Chay’s sword.

  “B-B-Bryce.” Zed spit his toothpick out. “Fucking generation XYZ, millennial Crossroad Demon. What the fuck is the underworld coming to?” He threw up his hands.

  Ioath pushed Chay’s sword away only to have Chay bring it back on target. “Listen, Bryce. We have a tenuous situation here. We need
some information. Help us and you go on your way unscathed.”

  “How long you been a Crossroad demon, B-Bryce?” Zed stepped forward.

  Bryce’s attention shifted between the sword at his throat, Ioath at his right, and Zed standing at his feet. “Seventy years.”

  “Wow, so about 1950. That’s why you look like that. You got a James Dean fantasy?”

  “Zed, shut the fuck up or so help me I will hold you down and cut your fucking tongue out.” Chay had enough.

  “I’ll help.” Riél volunteered.

  Zed opened his mouth to reply.

  “Me too.” Kush cut Zed off.

  “So will I,” Sam said, the charred black skull flickered beneath his thinning skin. And that shut everyone up.

  “Bryce, concentrate on me. Ignore the idiots behind me. Let’s keep this conversation between us, okay.” Ioath nudged Chay’s sword away again. It took everything in Chay to let Ioath take over the interrogation. Chay wasn’t the former Archangel of Demons.

  “Have the Crossroad demons thrown in with the Demon Army?” Ioath asked.

  “No. No. That’s not what I heard.”

  “Really, so what did you hear?” Ioath pressed.

  “Syndonay oversees the Crossroad demons.”

  “You lie,” Ioath said. “Why would Satan give up the Crossroad demons to a second-rate demon like Syndonay?”

  Bryce shook his head. “Satan’s been chained for the last six thousand years. The Demoni Lords conquered Hell and every demon in it, including Syndonay.”

  Chay couldn’t care who controlled the Crossroad demons; however… How had the Demoni Lords trapped Satan for six millennia?

  Syndonay… Chay had heard the name before. One of Satan’s Hench demon, but was still surprised. “Not one of the Demoni Lords?”

  “Conquering Hell didn’t translate into ruling Hell. Even though they defeated Satan, they refuse to rule. They spend more time fighting each other than anything else. Anyway, Syndonay wants nothing to do with the war between the Celestial Army and the demons. We’ve been ordered to do our jobs and to stay clear.”

  Smart demon, Chay thought.

  “But not all of you have taken that order to heart,” Ioath whispered. “Which ones ignored Syndonay?”

  Eyes darting here and there, Bryce stalled.

  Ioath grabbed the demons face, his fingers sinking death into Bryce’s cheek as he tsked. “Which ones?”

  “There’s only one I know of. I heard a rumor about Celine.”

  Chay quelled the bubble of excitement expanding in his chest. “Tell us everything you know about this Celine. Do it now.”

  “Um, she’s a level one Crossroad demon,” Bryce blurted.

  “Meaning, she’s a leader. At least a thousand Crossroad demons answer to her,” Ioath said.

  “No, she’s not.” Bryce smiled. “That title was stripped from her several decades ago. Rumor has it she hooked up with a Demoni Lord, the one not trapped in Hell.”

  Malphas. The thought was a collective whisper shared by all the UnHallowed except for Razuel, who wasn’t linked. And by the pained expression on his face as his gaze darted between the UnHallowed, he knew he wasn’t linked. Fuck. Now wasn’t the time to deal with him, but here it was.

  “It got back to the other Demoni Lords and they stripped most of her power away.” Bryce pushed himself into a seated position.

  “They stripped her power away, not Syndonay?” Ioath pressed.

  “Yes.”

  “Who is controlling her now? Is it Malphas?” Sam asked.

  Bryce shook his head. “Lovers spat was the rumor. I don’t know which Lord’s her master now or if it’s Syndonay. She’s a rogue.”

  This wasn’t helping. “Are the Demoni Lords running the Demon Army from Hell?” Chay demanded.

  Bryce shrugged. “They don’t share their plans with me.” He held up a finger. “I have one job. Collect souls for Hell. I do my job”—he sliced his hand through the air—“and nothing else.”

  Chay sank to his haunches on the other side of Bryce. “Who is the leader of the Demon Army?”

  Bryce’s eyes got wide, and his Adam’s apple bobbed. “I-I-”

  “Don’t think about lying.” Chay placed his blade at Bryce’s throat, right against his Adam’s apple.

  “You c-can’t kill me. You won’t. Kill me and you take my place as a Crossroad demon,” Bryce said with a bit more confidence in his voice.

  Red blazing from his eyes, Kushiél shoved Ioath out of the way. Kush gripped Bryce’s head with both hands and snatched him from the ground. Dangling in the air at the end of Kush’s hand, the former Archangel of Atonement peered into Bryce’s eyes. “There are worse things than dying. For one like you, atoning for your actions will be worse than death.”

  Bryce attempted to block the mental intrusion, but one such as him had no defense against the former Archangel of Atonement. Chay stepped back and let Kushiél have his way. Bryce thrashed, his legs kicking, feet flapping like one of those inflatables car dealerships placed close to the road to attract drivers, while his hands gripped Kush’s leather duster, ripping the collar. In a matter of seconds, the kicking and the thrashing ceased as suddenly as it started. Bryce hung limp in Kush’s hands. A ragdoll had more substance. Except for the inky tears leaking out of his eyes, Bryce appeared dead.

  Kushiél released the Crossroad demon as one would release a hot poker. He thrust Bryce away and wiped his hands on his thighs in disgust. “Leave him where he lays. Let the animals feed on him if they can stomach his taste. He’ll feel every bit until the end, his essence sentient until it’s finally shitted out to blight the grass. He deserves no better.”

  The UnHallowed peeled away, each heading for the shadows when Razuel’s voice ground each footstep to a halt.

  “Think you all can walk away without an explanation?” Eyes crimson, Razuel stood in the center of the light cast by the lamppost, a few feet away from Bryce who silently cried. He walked up to Gideon, the nearest UnHallowed, and snatched the empyreal blade from his hand. Smoke curled at the contact, which morphed into a sizzle, and then flames licked from Razuel’s palm up to his elbow. With an anguished bellow, he flung the blade to the ground where it gleamed in perfection, the moonlight glinting on its surface. While the scent of Razuel’s charred flesh wafted in the night air.

  As Gideon retrieved his sword, Razuel’s voice quivered from a mixture of rage and pain. “What has happened? Tell me now.”

  Bane answered first. “You abandoned us. We needed you to help us retrieve the Cruor from Malphas in Las Vegas. You left.”

  Razuel shook his head. “I did not—”

  “You did.” Daghony cut him off. “You walked into the shadows without a second glance.”

  “A drunken coward, you slithered away,” Tahariél snarled.

  “To hide in the shadows,” Gadreel spat.

  “Did you even tell the others the straits we were in? Or did you keep your secrets to yourself?” Kush questioned.

  Razuel’s silence gave his answer.

  Chay planted his sword in the ground and rested on the hilt. “Now you want answers when your silence could’ve led to all of our deaths.”

  “We were dead, almost. As close to death as we’d ever been,” Rimmon spoke, his voice as calm as a grave. “Chay and I had iron spikes in every joint. Riél, they peeled the skin from his face. Daghony was gutted, Gideon had his eyes gouged and his limbs chopped off. Sam, Kush, and Zed, they trussed up like three Jesus’s nailed to a wall.”

  “That’s what the fuck happened to us.” Zed whipped a toothpick from a secret pocket hidden inside his tattered coat. “You don’t deserve to know the rest.”

  “Sure he does. Can’t you see it’s killing him?” Tahariél threw back his head and laughed, a brittle sound that echoed when it shouldn’t in the open landscape. “I vote we tell. I want to see his reaction.”

  Sammiél took over. “The Chancellor of the Celestial Army is dead. It’s his grace
that flows through us.”

  “Equally portioned. We’re not angels. I guess we’re not quite UnHallowed either.” Chay eased up on his sword and with a thought, he sent it away.

  “If you had come with us, fought and bled with us…” Bane ground out.

  “Hadn’t given us your ass to kiss…” Crimson blazed from Gadreel’s eyes.

  “Hadn’t bailed on us like the pussy you are…” Kush purred with all the warmth of a tomb.

  “Braile’s grace would be flowing through your veins too.” Ioath finished.

  “But hey! More for us.” Chay clapped his hands, the sound as loud as gunshots.

  The lot of them walked into the shadows, leaving Razuel standing on a Tokyo crossroad, alone.

  Except Chay turned back. Ever the peacemaker, he had one last thing to say. An olive branch to extend. “Return to the shadows, Razuel, and tell the others who prefer their existence in the dark what’s happened. Go against your nature and don’t keep it a secret. Tell them what we’ve become, and tell them if they come to us in peace, they will be greeted as our brethren. If they don’t…” The hilt of his sword settled in his hand and he angled the blade so that the moonlight glinted off the flat surface into Razuel’s stark blue eyes.

  Then Chay let the shadows take him.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  “So, we’re in the bathroom, chatting it up with Pilar, and all hell breaks loose, literally! I’m not exaggerating,” Amaya said, her hands punctuating each word. “Am I exaggerating, Dina?”

  “No, not one bit of exaggeration.”

  Stretched out in the sun, wearing the bikini that drove Chay wild, Sophie lay next to her mother, Amaya, and Dina, who’d come over for lunch and a dip in the pool. Sophie woke to an empty bed. He said they’d talk about the Crossroad Demon tomorrow, well tomorrow was here, and he was gone. The UnHallowed were missing.

  Amaya held up two fingers. “Two demons show up. They wreck the place and snatch Pilar before either of us could get to her.”

  Sophie’s gaze cut to her mother who snored softly in a lounge chair on the patio. “Snatched her! How did you get her back?”