by Larissa_Ion
“Fuck me, I know what I have to do,” he murmured. “Fuck!”
“Hawkyn?”
He didn’t appear to have heard her. “He’s going to see it as a betrayal.”
“See what as a betrayal?” She seized his biceps and forced him to look at her. “Hawk, what are you going to do?”
His gaze met hers, the gravity in his emerald eyes sending a chill of dread up her spine. “I’m going to rat him out to Reaver,” he said. “I’m going to turn him in to Heaven.”
Chapter 13
‘Sup, Lil?”
Lilliana blinked at the sound of the feminine voice as light flooded the chamber she’d been shackled inside for…a century, maybe? It was probably no more than a couple of days, but it felt longer. A lot longer.
“I brought something for you to eat.”
She groaned, expecting a bowl of curdled gore or a maggot-covered shank of mystery meat. But the fallen angel, a backstabbing female named Flail, put down a wooden trencher with a sad but not terribly disgusting-looking cheese sandwich and a bruised, shriveled apple.
Lilliana sat up, tugging at the scratchy, stained tunic she’d been given to wear. She tried to be nonchalant and dismissive of the food, but her stomach betrayed her with a growl that echoed inside the cramped chamber.
Still, she resisted the urge to fall on the food like a starving lion on a dead gazelle.
Flail closed the heavy chamber door and used her power to increase the glow of the single torch on the far wall. “I was actually kind of sad when I found out that Moloch had managed to abduct you,” she said. “You were always decent to me in Sheoul-gra.”
“That was back when I thought you were an ally.” Lilliana used her foot to shoo away a shoe-sized hell roach as it skittered toward the sandwich. “Now that I know you were the enemy all along, I wish I’d spit in your traitorous face.”
Flail smiled, a malevolent baring of fangs. “I’ll bet you do.” She stomped on the roach and nudged the plate of food closer. “I didn’t have to bring you this. Moloch said to let you starve.”
Lilliana gingerly propped herself against the spikes jutting out of the wall and said nothing. Flail was toying with her, waiting for her to ask the obvious question of “then why did you bring it?” Lilliana could toy right back.
When it became clear that Lilliana wasn’t going to budge, Flail stepped on the sandwich, squashing it beneath her spiked-heel boot like she had the bug.
“You ungrateful bitch.” She lifted her foot, the top slice of bread sticking to the sole of her boot. “I just thought you’d like to feed the baby.”
“The baby and I are fine. But thank you for caring,” she added, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
Flail kicked the flattened bread across the tiny cell. “Eat it or don’t. I don’t fucking care. Maybe you like the idea of growing weaker and weaker until you’re a pathetic wisp that can’t die. I’ve seen it happen, you know. Immortals who are too stubborn to do the things they need to do to function. It’s sad. And stupid.” She shook her head, making her long, dark hair swing loosely around her biceps. “Oh, so stupid! Why would anyone choose to endure such endless torment?”
“The kind of endless torment I’m enduring right now?”
“You laugh, but don’t you think you should stay strong? For the kid?” Flail asked. This was ridiculous. Flail didn’t give a shit about the baby. “I didn’t poison the food. If I wanted you dead, I’d do it myself. Eat.”
Lilliana eyed the offerings. She really was hungry, and Flail was right. She needed to stay strong until Azagoth could rescue her.
And he would. Of that, she had no doubt. She also had no doubt that Moloch would come to regret kidnapping her and murdering Azagoth’s sons.
Casually, she reached for the apple. Studied it. Gave it a sniff. Flail watched, amused, as Lilliana finally took a tentative bite. It was mealy, dry, and sour, but it was the only thing she’d eaten since she’d gotten here, and the only thing she’d been offered that resembled food.
It was delicious. She had to force herself not to moan in ecstasy as she gobbled it down to the core.
“Now,” Flail said with a slight smirk. “Let’s talk business.”
There it was, Flail’s real reason for being here. Lilliana took a bite of the cheese-topped bread while the fallen angel pulled a phone out of her pocket.
Flail held out the cell. “I’ll let you talk to your mate if you promise to tell him to release Satan from his prison.”
She nearly choked on her sandwich at the continued absurdity of these people. “Releasing Satan will jump-start the Apocalypse. Azagoth will never do that.”
“Listen to me, Lilliana.” Flail’s voice held a note of urgency, her gaze dropping to Lilliana’s belly with such intensity that Lilliana wrapped her arms protectively around it. “If you can’t convince Azagoth to do this, you and your baby are going to suffer horrors you can’t even imagine.” She shoved the phone closer. “You have to try.”
Lilliana laughed, the acoustics in the room making her sound a little demented. “You almost sound like you care.”
Angry red splotches bloomed in Flail’s cheeks. “Let’s get one thing straight, you fat whore. I don’t give a shit about you or the little fuckstain in your belly. My only desire is to serve the Dark Lord and revel in the End of Days.” She jammed the phone back into her pocket. “And it would be best for everyone if Azagoth did things the easy way.” She spun gracefully toward the door, but before she stepped out, she looked back over her shoulder. “Think about it, but don’t take too long. Moloch gave Azagoth forty-eight hours to act, and he’s eager to take the next step. I promise you won’t like it. Get some sleep. You’re going to need it.”
Chapter 14
Azagoth had spies everywhere. They had monitored demon, human, and angelic activity for eons. They’d kept him up to date on politics, natural disasters, and every war that had been fought since the day he’d cobbled Sheoul-gra together from the remnants of the universe’s creation.
In less than twelve hours, they’d be reporting on the start of a battle he’d put into motion by releasing a hundred thousand souls to fight for him. Cara was sending five thousand hellhounds, and with Ares commanding the army, they would win.
He waved away the spy who had just informed him of something new—perhaps important, perhaps not. Moloch had a strange, frequent visitor, one who he said, “reeked of Satan’s blood,” which Azagoth assumed meant that the visitor was one of Satan’s unholy spawn. Too bad his spy hadn’t had a name to go with the description.
It was also too bad he couldn’t have texted the info. Technology had been the greatest thing ever for his spy network, but some species, like the Malibites, couldn’t use it, whether for religious reasons or because their physiology didn’t allow it.
Malibites couldn’t touch anything electronic or it would short out their memories. He wondered if that included battery-operated things like sex toys. Then he pondered if one of Lilliana’s toys could short him out and get rid of all of these fucked-up days.
He should be with his mate, preparing for a baby. Instead, he was in his new war room, prepping for the fight of his life.
Preparing and pacing the fuck out of the floor. His boot strikes clapped like thunder, rolling in waves around the polished stone walls of his rarely used great hall, its arched ceiling, and six massive entrances barely letting the sound escape. The demonic gargoyles perched atop the four corner pillars kept watch, their crimson eyes glowing.
As far as he knew, they’d never moved from the obsidian pillars they’d been carved from, although Lilliana speculated that they came to life at night like the exhibits in that museum movie she’d made him watch.
Someday, though, they would fly, at least according to the angel who’d carved them with the tools of a dead demon sculptor. They’d serve as protectors when the walls of Sheoul-gra came tumbling down. “At the force of the Beast’s will,” the angel had said.
Yeah, wel
l, there were still over nine centuries to go before Satan was free, so the gargoyles would just have to wait. Azagoth wasn’t going to make it happen any sooner. Satan hated him, had tolerated him running Sheoul-gra, but Azagoth had no doubt that the bastard was just biding his time until he could someday strike at Azagoth in the most painful way possible.
“Please, Father.” Suzanne stepped in front of him as he made his five-thousandth pass around the room. Over on the table that could seat a hundred, his phone, laptop, and Moloch’s cell sat silent. “You need rest.”
“I can’t rest while my mate and child are suffering.”
“They need you whole.” She handed him a steaming cup from the tray next to his electronics. “Have some tea. I made it myself.”
He didn’t drink fucking tea. Who the hell did she think he was? The Queen of England?
“Come on,” she said, completely oblivious to his glare. “Let me at least get you to your room for a shower and a change of clothes before the battle begins. Dress for success and all that.”
Suzanne had always had the spunky, positive attitude of a Disney princess, but at least what she proposed was halfway reasonable. And maybe it would get her, Hawkyn, Cipher, and Jasmine off his ass about getting some rest. No, he didn’t need it, not in the way mortals did, but quiet time and sleep helped speed up healing…both physical and mental.
The thing was, he didn’t need to heal jack shit. What he needed was his mate.
“I have to talk to Zhubaal. He said he had an update about the investigation.” Azagoth started to put the cup down, but Hawkyn blocked him. Where had he even come from?
“I just came from talking to him. He emailed you a list of everything given to Lilliana since she got back, and who gave it to her. He’s interrogating everyone.”
Azagoth arched a brow. “Even you?”
Hawkyn growled. “I was the first.” He gestured to the cup. “Now you don’t have an excuse not to go with Suzanne.”
Grimly amused, because Z was a hardass bastard when he was in mission-mode, Azagoth downed the tea, which could have used a shot of whiskey to make it palatable, and handed the cup back to Suzanne.
“I can find my way to the bedroom.” He swiped both phones from the table. “If you hear anything about anything, let me know immediately. I’ll be back in ten.”
On the way to his room, he checked both phones for updates. There wasn’t any low-level chatter about his forces building in Moloch’s territories yet, but the underworld was definitely talking about the rash of demons falling dead and then rising again as completely different people.
Griminions were gathering the souls of those who had been forced out of their physical bodies by the souls he’d set free, and so far, they’d brought in almost seventy thousand. Which meant that thirty thousand of the bastards he’d released hadn’t found a suitable demon to take over.
“Hurry up, you picky fuckers,” he muttered as he entered the bedroom.
The door closed, and a huge, instant weight lifted from his shoulders. This room had never been his favorite place in Sheoul-gra, but since Lilliana’s arrival, it had become his sanctuary. The place where he could relax. Where he could lose himself in his mate. Where he could forget what he was and be who he wanted to be.
Fighting a yawn, because why not—it seemed like he was fighting everything lately—he stripped off his clothes and hit the shower. His mind still spun with a thousand thoughts, but under the hot spray, his body turned to rubber. Damn, it felt good. He hadn’t showered since Lilliana went missing. He was still covered in dust and his own blood. Hell, his horns were still accessorizing his head, as he discovered when he tried to shampoo his hair with Lilliana’s coconut-scented frilly stuff…just because he wanted to smell her on himself.
Fuck, he was a disaster. No wonder everyone had been trying to get him to take a break.
Filth sluiced off his body, and by the time he felt clean, his eyelids were drooping. What the hell—?
“Suzanne,” he growled. “Damn you.”
She’d drugged him. Maybe not with an actual drug, but with her cooking mojo. His culinarily talented daughter could infuse food and drink with emotions or the ability to relax or be more creative, have more energy…she was expanding her powers constantly.
He didn’t bother drying off. He was going to get dressed and ream Suzanne a new one.
Right after he parked his ass in Lilliana’s favorite chair and composed himself.
Sinking down, he lay back and closed his eyes. He’d rest for a minute, just long enough to get his kids off his back.
Damn, he was tired. Physically, he could go without sleep for centuries. He’d go insane, sure, but he could do it. He knew because he’d done it once, a couple of thousand years ago.
Mentally, though, he needed a recharge, no matter what he’d thought about that earlier. Anger and hatred had sustained him for days, and it would continue to fuel every decision he made until Lilliana was back.
Background noises and thoughts faded as thoughts of Lilliana filled his mind. He drifted, his memories giving him his first moments of peace since this nightmare had begun.
“Azagoth?”
He leaped to his feet, startled by the sound of Lilliana’s voice. “Lil?”
He spun around toward the doorway and froze at the sight of her standing inside it. She wore a shapeless, stained, gray tunic, but her hair was perfect, hanging in smooth ringlets, her skin rosy, her eyes bright.
She flew into his arms. Her scent, vanilla and jasmine, surrounded him. “I’m here. How am I here instead of inside Moloch’s dungeon?”
This couldn’t be real. But he couldn’t let her go. “I don’t care how,” he murmured into her hair. It smelled like coconut.
“I think…” She pushed back slightly and looked up at him. “I think we’re asleep.” She dropped her hand to her flat belly. “But it’s not a dream.”
He frowned. “You think we’re dream walking? Or astral projecting?”
“I think the baby is making it happen.”
That was entirely possible. Females pregnant with a powerful child often temporarily inherited the baby’s abilities. “If that’s true, how will we know if this is real or not?”
She thought about that for a second. “I know.” She gestured to her chest of drawers. “When you wake up, open my lingerie drawer. In the very back, there’s a little red box. It’s a gift I was going to give you when the baby was born. If you didn’t know about it before just now, then that’s proof that this isn’t all a dream.”
He supposed that was true, but he didn’t like how she’d framed the argument, that she was going to give it to him.
“You’ll be here when the baby’s born, Lilliana.” He kissed her, losing herself in the warmth of her sweet lips. “I’ll find a way to bring you home.”
“I know,” she murmured against his mouth.
He lifted his head and took in the sight of her, memorizing every eyelash, the curve of her jaw, the graceful slope of her nose. He should have spent more time admiring her before. How wasteful he’d been these past years.
“How will you know this is real?”
“I don’t need proof,” she said. “I can feel it through the baby.” Her eyes grew bright, the way they did when she was excited about an idea. “Azagoth, we can use this.”
If this was real, and not some kind of trick, then yes, they could. “First, I need to know how you are. I saw video—”
“Shh.” She put a finger to his lips. “The baby and I are strong. But please tell me you have a plan to get me out of here. Don’t tell me what it is, though, just in case this is some sort of trick, or Moloch is somehow listening in.”
Damn, he loved how in sync they were. “I’m working on it now. But can you tell me anything that might help? Did Moloch tell you who betrayed us?”
“I asked him, but all he said was that I’d find out eventually. He’s so awful, Azagoth. Totally demented. He actually added an H to his name so
history would differentiate between Moloc and Moloch, as if anyone gives a crap.”
“I know,” he ground out. “He sent out an official announcement over the demonweb. A fucking diatribe about how his good friend John Milton misspelled Moloc in Paradise Lost, but that it must have been fate that he’d added an H, because now the universe would witness the rise of Moloch. The guy is a narcissistic lunatic.”
He was far more unstable than Azagoth had anticipated.
Lilliana nodded absently, and when she spoke, there was a hitch in her voice. “I’m sorry about Maddox and Journey.” At his choked-up nod, she went on. “I don’t know if this is helpful or not, but Moloch said he had everything planned out, from my admission to Underworld General to my plan to go to Ares’ island afterward.” Pulling away, she moved toward the glass doors leading to the balcony. “And Flail’s here. With Moloch, I mean. Can you get some background on her? Anything from her past as an angel, maybe?”
Flail. That bitch. She’d betrayed them more than once, and he was certain she was behind the death of at least one of his children. “Has she hurt you?”
He was already planning to kill her, but if she’d harmed Lilliana in any way, he’d take a long time doing it.
“On the contrary, she’s being nice.” Lilliana pulled the curtain away from the balcony doors, letting in daylight. There was no sun here, but the endless sky above kept to the day and night schedule, the brightness during the day directly in tune with Azagoth’s mood. Right now, it was as brilliant as the noon sun in any desert. “It’s most likely a ploy to get me to cooperate, but she has the advantage of knowing more about me than I know about her.”
“I’ll get whatever you need.” He came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her midsection, tugging her close.
“I need you.” There were tears in her voice, and his heart broke open, spilling agony all through his chest cavity.
“Soon,” he promised. “I will do anything to get you back.”