by Faulks, Kim
Hell is a Harem - Book Three
Lick of Fire Series
Kim Faulks
Illustrated by
Jacqueline Sweet
Copyright © 2018 by Kim Faulks
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Created with Vellum
For Nicole
Contents
Hell is a Harem Book 3
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Hell is a Harem Book 4
One of Us Series
Hell is a Harem Book 3
The Circle’s job was to protect the innocent.
But what happens when the innocent aren’t exactly what they seem?
What happens when they become the Nine?
Gabriel can’t bring himself to look at me. Broken wings. Broken will.
Titus lays in a hospital bed, with the vultures hovering close.
Rival stands beside me…but he may as well be on the other side of the world for all the lies that divide us.
They killed my family.
They tortured those I love.
I won’t wait for death to come for Titus.
I’ll become the monster they feared and hunt them down.
The Nine tremble at the sight of my father, Lucifer?
They haven’t met me yet.
Chapter One
Lorn
I thought there’d be gray skies on this day.
Thought the world would slow, if not in respect for the dead…for the abyss of hate that welled inside me.
But there were no sullen clouds, and no hint of rain.
I wanted the wetness on my cheeks—the Heavens shedding tears I couldn’t…not yet anyway.
This was not a time for weeping. This was not a time for fragile hearts. I turned away from the casket as it was lowered into the ground and lifted my eyes to the male standing next to me.
My father, Lucifer, stared at my mother’s weathered headstone. Nothing reached him in this moment…not pain…not anger.
The battle raged within.
Just like it raged in me.
Alma Goodchild, beloved mother of Stephanie and grandmother of Lorn.
Sleep now Alma, I’ll fight the demons when they come…
Chiseled words on the headstone glinted with the sun. I clenched my fist and felt every word…they were more than whispers of comfort…more than murmurs of respect.
They were a promise…a warning for all those smart enough to take heed.
I turned away then, letting the image of those dirt walls sink into my mind.
I’d hold onto that memory. I’d clutch it with talons of hate while I washed their blood from my hands.
Others stood at the cemetery gates, too many to count. Humans and supes had all come to honor the mighty Alma Goodchild…the woman who single-handedly created the laws that governed this city…laws that allowed us to live together in peace. Laws that’d been adapted and used in every major city across the world.
They loved her. They respected her…
If only they’d told her this when she was alive.
Just like I should’ve…
Unspoken words…
Director Alistair Horton stood alone, hated by all, it seemed. Betty huddled with the others, whispering words of comfort as she clutched their hands.
“Lorn, honey,” Betty murmured.
I stilled her with the shake of my head. Not now…please not now.
She was my grandmother’s best friend, and my confidant. I wanted to hold on to her, wanted to sink into the comfort of her arms…but that was the old me—that was the me filled with hope.
Half human, half Fae, the Priestess Neon shifted her gaze to mine before she lowered her head in a sign of respect. Her silver hair glinted in the sun. My stomach tightened as I scanned her perfect features. It was hard to see all the races turning up for this.
They were all here…shifters, witches…vampires, even the towering Minotaur. Fresh tears glistened in their eyes, as their gazes slipped behind me to the Lord of Hell. They stiffened with his silence…nailed to the spot as a tiny tendril of his rage slipped into the air.
The sting was fast and brutal, flaying my nerves with three simple words. “Lorn, we should go.”
Boots crunched against the pebbled ground as he headed for the Darkened Moon Gates. A cemetery for supes to honor the dead.
My mother wasn’t a supe…
And neither was my grandmother.
But no one was going to argue the point with the Lord of Hell. No one was going to say a damn word. They parted as he neared, shuffling massive frames with the bow of a head.
And still the sun shone, beating against my back as I turned and followed. My duties here were done…two more of my line buried deep.
There was only me left now.
Only me to carry on the line.
And that haunting question returned…the same one that’d haunted me day and night since I’d signed the burial documents.
Would my death be next?
My feet moved on their own, black boots shining as I strode through the arched gates of the cemetery and headed toward the sleek midnight limousine.
Lucifer opened the rear door and scanned the grounds as I climbed in. He’d not said a word to me, not today…or the four days before. It was Betty who relayed the information to me in clipped messages left on my phone…
We lived in a world of silence.
A world starved of comfort and kindness.
The door closed behind him with a soft thud. He glanced toward the front of the car as we rolled forward.
“I have no one left,” the words slipped from my lips.
I caught the flinch at the corner of his eye before he turned his head. “You have me.”
The Lord of Hell and his Princess…I turned to the front of the car, aware my actions mirrored his. Cars sped past us as the long limousines turned the corner, heading back to the hospital.
“Lorn,” Lucifer murmured…still he stared straight ahead.
So many things were buried here, bodies, burdens…secrets. I turned, catching the dangerous glint in his eyes.
“Just don’t do anything reckless.”
The flare of heat burned inside me, spreading through my chest and along my arm to well in the mark on my palm. I clenched my fist as the car turned, counting down the passing buildings like seconds…almost there…the hospital waited—my new home now.
One in the ground…one barely hanging on to the thread of life.
Lorn Payne.
Daughter of the Lord of Hell.
Cursed for anyone who loves her.
I wanted to hit him. I wanted to lash with pain and pummel with rage. I wanted a reaction…anything but this cold, empty silence. The limousine slowed as the hospital came into view. The hiss of leather was instant as I gripped the leather seat and shoved forward. “Don’t worry, daddy dearest. When I want to go to
war with the entire Unseelie race, I’ll give you a fucking heads-up.”
He paled then, turning a shade that resembled my entire goddamn world—gray.
I was already reaching for the handle as the car pulled up outside the towering brick building. I yanked the lever and pushed, desperate to get out of here, to feel anything.
“Lorn, please,” the Lord of Hell begged as I stepped out of the car and shoved the door closed behind me.
I never waited for the remainder of his words…never waited for a second.
It seemed I didn’t even have to raise a fist to hurt those around me. All I had to do was…be me.
Heads turned, following me inside. There was the flare of a camera, the snap of a shutter. They waited for me like vultures hovering around the dying, and this time there was no Titus to save me…
Could they smell it…this disease inside me?
Could they see the trail of bodies I left behind?
“I’m sorry for your loss, Ms. Payne,” a male reporter stepped close, blocking the others. A camera hung around his neck, but he made no move to reach for it…only for my hand. He pressed a business card against my fingers. “If there’s anything I can do to help, please don’t hesitate.”
I stared at the back and white blur, gave a nod, and then pushed past. I didn’t want his help…not unless he could work miracles…
The automatic doors to the wing opened with a rush. Desperation raged inside me as I strode for the sterile comfort. A nurse lifted her head from behind the desk as I neared and gave me a nod.
I caught the black pentacle hanging from the chain around her throat and looked away. We’d tried everything…every spell from the banishing of disease, to a sacrifice to Ishtar, the Goddess of Resurrection. Incantations, rubs, and smoke, we’d tried it all…and still there was nothing.
Just the beep…beep…beep of the monitor next to his bed, constantly reminding me how fragile his human existence was.
I slipped along the hallway and then turned left, going to the last room at the end of the hall. This was all the privacy we had, all the privacy we needed.
Power whispered against my skin as I neared, the wards testing my energy…acknowledging their mistress. I lifted my head to the white walls. I’d whispered my words into the air, and painted sigils on the walls with my fingers.
No one was getting in here without me knowing. Movement inside the room caught my gaze. I slowed my steps, watching as Rival, on the far side of the bed, leaned in close. His lips moved, mouthing words I didn’t catch.
Memories crowded in…and the sting of betrayal followed. We hadn’t spoken about it…not yet. But the words roiled in my gut, weighing me down like stones. He reached for Titus, slipping his hand under the tubes that ran to his mouth and the cords that ended at the monitor, to squeeze his shoulder.
There was something about the way he leaned down…something about the look of anger and fear. Perfect lips curled as he mumbled before he stiffened. He looked down and the lash of anger and desperation slipped away in an instant.
He dragged his hand away from Titus’s shoulder and then rose. Only then did he lift his gaze to mine…only then did he acknowledge my presence.
The glass doors opened with a rush. I glanced at the monitor, and then at Titus’s perfect face, expecting him to open those perfect blue eyes and give me that look of love.
And he did love me.
That I knew with all that I am.
“Are you okay?” Rival murmured.
Quiet voices. That’s all we had now. Whispered words, kept secrets—small, tiny…insignificant things. I took a step inside and rounded the foot of the bed. Two chairs sat in the corner of the oversized room. There was always one of us here…always one of us waiting for the moment Inspector Titus Banks came back to us.
Was I okay? The question hung in the air between us and the answer was no. I wasn’t okay…none of us were okay. How could we be? Two of our family were broken…and two more at war.
Even without weapons…
“The funeral…” Rival prompted, taking one slow step toward me. “Did everything go well at the funeral?”
“Yes.”
Machines beeped, others expanded and collapsed with the rush of a breath. I reached out, skimming my fingers along Titus’s hand. He was so warm…so perfect and warm. I sat on the edge of the bed and lifted his hand to my face, palm pressed against my cheek—just to feel him…just to smell him.
He was alive and yet so far away from me. “Has the doctor come?”
“No, not yet…have you been home?”
I shook my head. Home. Four walls. An empty bed. I never wanted to go back there again—not without him—not without all of them. If he’d only open his eyes…only take a breath on his own, then maybe we could move forward. Maybe we could get past this…maybe I could finally find peace.
No more secrets.
No more lies.
No more hiding anything.
Please God…I send out the plea. I’ll do anything…give anything…be anyone.
A memory returned…a moment just like this when the world seemed to collapse all around me. Butterflies filled my mind. Perfect yellow fluttering all around me smothering the windshield and the front of the car.
God came to me then, I was sure of it…sure that perfect touch against my cheek had been Him. Would He come to me now? Would He send a miracle?
“Lorn, I’m sorry,” Rival murmured.
I could still see Rival…in that cold, dark place—still see him carrying Gabriel’s broken body on his back—pain raged in his eyes then…just as it raged now.
I turned my head and kissed Titus’s fingers before placing them gently against his side and then rising from the bed. Rival stood against the wall, watching…waiting…hoping.
“I know you are,” hollow words slipped from my lips. “We’re all sorry.”
I flinched as he stepped closer and hated myself even more. Fear was a beast that lurked in the shadows now—hiding behind the guise of a woman who went through the motions of day-to-day life.
Rival lifted my hand and kissed the marks across my palm. Heat raced with the brush of his lips, carving into the straight lines of the sigil and then moved deep, finding my veins…my body.
I stiffened as his lips moved and brushed the bandages around my wrists. “I’ll make it up to you, just give me a chance. I’ll do anything…” give anything…be anyone.
He prayed to me like I prayed to the Heavens. I closed my eyes, urging the vise grip around my gut to unfurl. The soft thud of footsteps drifted to me. I opened my eyes as Rival dropped my hand.
The whoosh of the automatic door filled the hospital room as Dr. Valez stepped inside. His smile was fast, lighting up his brown eyes. But there was a tremor there…a tremor I’d not seen before. “How’s our patient today?”
He never waited for the answer—because the answer was always the same…no change. He grabbed the folder at the foot of the bed and stepped closer. I watched him while he placed the stethoscope against Titus’s chest and then moved to the foot of the bed, casting the covers aside. I stared at his feet, desperate for a reaction as the doctor pressed and prodded and then finally dragged the cotton sheets back over his body.
He made his notes…the pen lingering a little too long on the page before he inhaled deeply and then lifted his gaze. “I think it’s time we have the talk.”
My heart lunged, slamming against the confines of my chest.
He was a blur, everything was a blur. A hand gripped mine, warmth brushed my arms.
“I’m worried about his state,” the doctor took one more look at Titus before turning back to us. “The longer he’s unresponsive, the fewer his chances of actual recovery.”
“No,” the word slipped free.
“We don’t even know if he’ll wake,” the human doctor stepped closer, glancing at the hellhound by my side before continuing. “There could be irreparable damage to his brain. I’ve seen it before…
”
“But some survived, right? There had to be others who woke up…” I jerked my gaze. Was there a twitch on his cheek? I was sure I’d seen it…sure there were all the signs. “He’s made noises…”
“It’s not him waking up. It’s his body making them automatically. I don’t want you to give up hope…not yet. But I need you to be realistic here. I need you to be prepared for the day to come when we switch off the machine.”
And let him go…
My heart was made of glass…cracks ran across the surface, spilling the ash inside. No. Not Titus…never Titus.
I think the worst has passed now.
His voice came to life inside my head, bringing the memory with it.
Titus sat on the edge of his mattress on the first day we’d worked together and stared at my hand…the same hand that’d been a conduit for my father’s power…
Every moment we’d spent together closed in. All of the laughter…all the tears. Rushing headlong into Ruba to chase a goddamn shifter.
Him standing in the bar in Wicked, ready to go up against Lucifer himself to protect me…
And Titus defending me against his own kind—those who were supposed to protect—those supposed to save.
A tiny thud echoed in the room near the head of his bed, dragging me from the memory.
“Ms. Payne, are you okay?” Dr. Valez murmured.
“She’s okay, just can you give us some time alone, doctor?” Rival muttered, his voice thick with pain.
Valez forced a smile and gave a nod. “Of course, take all the time you need. And if there’s anything I can do to help you, please don’t hesitate to ask.”
I nodded, because nodding was all I could do as he turned and left.