by Cate Corvin
He tipped my head up for a kiss. “Don’t kill them all. You’ll have no one left.”
“They’re not fighting me.” I raked his golden hair, touching the dark feather braided into it. My handiwork wasn’t perfect, but I was just happy to see yet another male I was powerfully attracted to wearing my token, like I’d branded him. “They’re fighting each other.”
He stretched and sat up, and I ran my fingers over the muscles in his back as he tugged his pants on. “When will I see you again? I wish there was a way for me to call you.”
Lucifer tugged me into his lap, keeping an arm around my waist to prevent my escape. “Let the feathers be the first step,” he whispered in my ear. “If it makes you happy, I’d like to do something a little more… permanent.”
A shiver went through me, both happiness and something darker. “Lucifer. Are mating bonds permanent, or can they be broken?”
He rested his chin on my shoulder, his arms tightening. When he spoke again, his tone was guarded. “They can be broken, but it’s… extremely painful to the binder.”
I winced, turning my face away.
I shouldn’t have asked. Now I knew why I felt that empty hole in my chest, why Belial had been so angry, in such agony…
“I want you to be sure before we do this. Beyond a shadow of a doubt. I’ve never bound someone to myself before, and once I do… that’s the only one for me.”
I twisted in his lap, wrapping my arms around his neck. “I will be sure,” I said fiercely. If I ever caused another male that sort of pain, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. If it’d hurt for me, I could only fathom how badly breaking the bond had hurt Belial.
Maybe he was still in pain.
Lucifer rested his forehead against mine. His quicksilver eyes became my world for a moment, swirling with infinite depths. “So will I.”
Lucifer left through the window, swooping through the garden like a dark shadow. I’d barely pulled a robe on when Vyra started pounding on my door.
“You are not going to greet your new fighters without your hair done!” she shouted, and stopped dead with her fist still raised in the air when I pulled open the door, a big smile on my face.
“Nope. And I want this in it.” I held up Lucifer’s feather, revealing the iridescent sheen.
Vyra’s mouth fell open, then she shut it with a snap. “You’ve been busy, haven’t you?”
A huge grin split my face. I couldn’t help myself.
She looked from the feather to my face, trying and failing to hold a stern expression. “Damn, woman. For as modest as you were when you got here, you’re learning your way around a dick really fast.”
I let her in and shut the door behind her. “I had no idea what I’d been missing out on.”
“A lot,” she said, plucking the feather from my hand and steering me to the chair. “A. Lot.”
She braided my hair and wove Lucifer’s feather in so it brushed against my collar bone. I stroked the feather as she wove a long piece of fabric around my shoulders and torso, making a dress that revealed bits and pieces of my sides, stomach, and back.
“Now for the fun bit.” She started rummaging in a small velvet box.
I raised an eyebrow. “This wasn’t the fun bit for you?”
Vyra held up a ring set with a silver orb. “This is hollow. It’s also full of the most virulent poison known to demonkind. Just make sure you keep it away from your mouth.” Then she pulled out silver filigree hairpins, with long, thin needle-like tips. “Just pull one of these out, and stick ‘em in the eye.”
I held still as a statue as she arranged the eye-sticking hairpins in my braids. “When did you become so bloodthirsty?”
“Azazel had a few ideas in mind, and I executed them.” She finished arranging my hair with a flourish. “I never thought fashion and killing people would go so well together. It might be my new passion.”
If I’d been feeling warm towards Azazel before, I was downright on fire now. Now here was a male who understood my penchant for needing to be able to kill anything in a fifty-foot radius.
I wished he was here so I could thank him in person by shredding off his clothes with the claws he’d given me.
I turned to look at the new additions in the mirror, and Vyra held up a pair of leather straps. “Oh, we’re not done yet.”
She strapped them around my thighs, sliding thin stiletto daggers into the attached holsters. “He’s never given Grigori weapons to a woman before.”
I pulled one of them free easily, examining the slight but deadly-sharp blade. “I really, really like your brother.”
“Good.” Vyra beamed up at me as she slid more knives into my boots. “When you have an official bonding ceremony, I get to make your dress.”
“What makes you so sure there’ll be a ceremony?”
She stood up and gave her work a last critical look-over. “Melisande, please. What am I?”
“A succubus,” I muttered.
“Damn right. And believe me, I’ve had enough centuries’ experience feeling other people’s sexual tension to know when that shit is going places.” She fastened a necklace around my throat. “And if you don’t let me make your dress, I might use one of these daggers on you.”
I held up my hands in surrender. “Whatever you want, Vyra.”
She smiled, her luminescently-pale skin practically glowing in the twilight. “Oh, good, I knew you’d say that.”
We both strode out to the arena balcony. The soft glow of rose and lavender lanterns lit the massive room with a comforting glow, but the crowd gathered on the floor below was anything but comforting.
Lucifer had been right. At least fifty fighters were arrayed in the arena, each one bristling with weapons and muscle in equal proportion, with more flowing in. They all looked up as I approached the balustrade with Vyra at my side.
My Chainlings were arrayed along the arena walls like an honor guard, keeping them from wandering further. I swallowed past a nervous lump in my throat at the weight of all those eyes on me.
Before I could speak, a large demon with green, scaled skin went to one knee. “My Lady Wrath!” he called, placing a hand over his heart. “I dedicate my blades to your cause!”
“You haven’t heard my cause,” I said, nonplussed, but his striated eyes didn’t lose a speck of the blind adoration he held.
Several others had the same look. It was disconcerting that so many demons were free to declare allegiance to whomever they chose after living for years in the tightly-knit ranks and hierarchy of Heaven.
“My arena is not like the Prince’s,” I said, holding the balustrade in a death grip. My palms were already clammy. “If you wish to be here, you’re free to stay. If you wish to leave, that’s on you. This arena is not here for entertainment. It’s for a purpose.”
“Any purpose,” the scaled demon declared fervently.
I smiled thinly, wondering if he’d regret his words. “This is an army. I’ve hunted many beasts, from lamias to dragons, but now I want the head of the largest one of all.”
It was as close as I could come to saying “I’m going to rip Satan’s head off” without outright shouting my treachery.
To my surprise, only a few blinked, but no one so much as shifted.
“If you want to join me, you need to prove yourselves.”
They did shift now, glancing at each other from the corners of their eyes.
“There will be no killing today, but we’ll hold a contest. This arena is your battlefield. The first three demons to third blood will become my generals.”
Almost on cue, every single one of them drew a blade, dispersing across the arena floor like a tide, arms raised defensively.
“Now shed some blood for me!” I shouted, and the fight commenced without preamble. Blades struck blades, the high clear sounds ringing through the room. My scaled devotee moved like liquid, slashing his way through the crowd.
Vyra shifted, leaning over the balustrade. “He’s a
n enthusiastic one.”
One of the Chainlings reached out, handing him a black cloth embroidered with feathers. The scaled demon tied it around his bicep, clambering over the side of the arena wall.
“One down, two to go.”
My plan had been simple: whereas Belial couched his army under the guise of entertainment, my arena would be for those who had a passion to fight. Anyone was free to join, as long as they had the fire of war burning in their heart.
My Chainlings would serve as my guardians and highest advisors, but I needed competent demons to keep my arena in check while I was hunting the Sword of Light. They would be the ones to gather new recruits and train them.
A female demon with a shaved head and silver rings lining her ears joined the scaled one, accepting her armband and tying it on.
To my surprise, a familiar face waded into the fray, cutting a swath through them all. Lady Savage’s lips were drawn back over her teeth as she nicked and scratched, turning killing blows into bloody kisses.
She climbed up the wall, tucking her bloodied daggers away, and held out her hand for her armband.
Her eyes met mine from across the arena. I read the message in them as clearly as if she’d spoken it: you know what you promised.
I nodded. The next time I saw Belial, I was taking Blind Luck with me, or I’d die trying. They weren’t my first choices to have at my back, but with Lady Savage to keep them in line and whip them into flawless form… Satan wouldn’t stand a chance when the time came.
Without thinking, I stroked Lucifer’s feather, drawing comfort from its presence. This was a very deadly game I was playing. Any one of these fighters could slip out and whisper in Satan’s ear, and yet…
I had no fear. With the princes and Grigori backing me, I’d make sure I had the Sword before Satan sent another rose my way.
“You have your generals,” Vyra said. “Now, I think we need a Nephilim.”
“I agree,” I said softly. “I think I should go win him.”
“Maybe you should win Belial as well,” Vyra said, just as quietly.
I couldn’t stop a cold smile from crossing my face. “If he apologizes first, he can have whatever he wants.”
Despite my flawless façade of contempt, I ached for him. I needed Tascius, but when it came to the Prince of Wrath, there was almost nothing I wanted to win more.
I’d caused him terrible pain, but as long as he kept Tascius away from me, my anger would never cool.
We were just two people, full of pride and wrath, who couldn’t seem to stop wounding each other.
It was a match made in Hell.
8
Melisande
I strode into Belial’s arena with my head held high and a small army of Chainlings around me.
Mist shimmered around me and Azazel appeared at my side, materializing out of nowhere. I paused mid-step, looking up into violet eyes, and he smiled and held out an arm.
“I thought you might want some moral support,” he said quietly.
I looped my arm through his, trying to ignore how my heart fluttered at the warmth of his body even through his black coat. “You know I’d never turn down the pleasure of your company, Azazel.”
He pulled me a little tighter, leaning over me as we approached the dais where my Chainlings had already draped my raven-feather banners, announcing my presence. “Then I’d like the pleasure of yours later tonight.”
I licked my lips, unable to stop the uneven thud of my heartbeat. “Let’s be clear. When you say ‘pleasure’, do you mean kicking the shit out of me in magic training?”
Azazel laughed and mock-pushed me into my throne before lounging on the steps at my feet. He draped an arm over my thighs with casual insouciance, but I was suddenly hyper-aware of the fact that the fabric of my skirt was so thin there was almost nothing between us. His fingertips grazed the side of my knee, tickling me.
It was impossible to tell if he didn’t notice, or if he was deliberately toying with me.
“I mean leaving business behind for a night,” he said, looking up at me with a slight grin. “There’s an entire half a Circle you have yet to explore. Get out of the dusty old arena and come see my side of Dis.”
He pulled one of my legs into his lap, casually entangling us and leaving no doubt that he knew exactly what he was doing to me. Especially when his fingers trailed up the bare skin of my calf and back down again, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake.
I swallowed, unable to pull my eyes away from his gaze. His smile was a little forced, but now I knew it was because of the hunger in his eyes.
There was no doubt in my mind that if he lost his self-control for even a moment, he’d be peeling off my dress right here in front of thousands of demons.
“Where would you take me, Azazel?” I leaned back in my throne, bracing my elbows on the feathered arms and stretching my legs. “I’ve already seen Blackchapel and the fields.”
He took my cue, his hand stroking back up my leg. My nerves tingled under his smooth, deliberate touches.
“Anywhere you want.” His tongue darted out and ran over his lower lip. I followed the motion with the intensity of a viper eyeing its prey. “You have an entire half of a Circle that belongs to you. There’s more to Wrath than just the arenas.”
“Like what, underground pit fighting?” I asked with a laugh, but Azazel just raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
“Under the princes are the noble families of Hell. Do you think they make their money by being squeaky-clean?” Azazel smirked. “No. The arenas are mass entertainment… an easy way to gather loyal followers under your banner. Then there are the rings, the clubs… the invitation-only fights.”
I realized I was leaning forward in my throne, gripped by every word he said. “How would we manage to get one of these invitations?”
His fingers trailed back up my calf, moving only a bare inch past the inside of my knee. They lingered there for a long moment as he smiled slowly. “Is the arena not enough for you?”
I dropped my hand on my thigh, covering his fingers before he could pull them away. “You know I live for a good fight, Azazel. If there’s private fights going on, I want to see them.”
Hell, I wanted to be in them. My muscles were already clenching in anticipation of picking up a weapon.
“I know of a few procurers you might find interesting.” His hand slid higher. My breath caught in my throat at the boldness of it. “Some of the fights are limited to magic. It would be training and entertainment at the same time.”
“As long as you only bet on me,” I said with a smirk. “Make a good show of confidence.”
He lowered his hand, grazing all the way down with tempting slowness. “After what I’ve seen, I think it would be wisest to never bet against you.”
“Damn right.”
My words were lost as the door shut with a massive boom and Belial strode into the arena, grinning up at his demons.
I wasn’t sure if my lungs were frozen because Azazel was still stroking my leg languorously, or because the gleam of Belial’s wide smile still took my breath away.
A chain of hellhounds followed him. Each wore an iron muzzle, and chains kept them from bolting at the nearest bystander. The Overseers herding them held them at bay with long poles, prodding the snarling creatures into the center of the arena as Belial ascended his dais.
The Prince of Wrath finally deigned to look at me. Anger and regret battled in my chest like living things as I met his gaze, still regretting the way we’d parted the last time I saw him.
I could’ve been less cruel. He could’ve been less cold.
The moment seemed to stretch between us, everything else slowing to a halt. A thousand unspoken words remained unformed on my tongue as I gazed at him, the phantom taste of spices lingering in my mouth, the memory of how hot his lust burned still emblazoned on my skin.
Belial paused, gripping the arms of his throne with white-knuckled fingers like he was poised to get up and s
tride over, but then his gaze dropped to the inky feather brushing my chest. The rainbow sheen immediately gave it away for what it was, who it had belonged to.
The prince’s face darkened like storm clouds rolling in over a sunny sky.
As soon as I saw that look, I knew there was no forgiveness.
At least not for today.
My stomach started churning as he turned that black gaze on the hellhounds below. “Let’s see blood tonight, demons!” he bellowed, and the stands cheered back, waving their swords. “No bets. No daring, foolish-” he looked directly at me for a split-second when he said it- “Exploits, no losers. Because the losers will ALL BE DEAD!”
My ears ached from the cacophony the demons raised. They clanged their swords off one another, and Azazel’s fingers tightened on my thigh.
Belial’s lips drew back over his teeth, more of a snarl than a grin.
I sat poker-straight in my throne, refusing to be cowed. I had every right to accept Lucifer’s token, every right to claim the mates I wanted.
Maybe apologizing to Belial wasn’t in my future. Maybe we’d been made under stars too different to ever align.
The thought turned my own mood black despite the warmth of Azazel’s hands on me.
“Bring out the new blood,” Belial called, and the Overseers that hadn’t been tasked with herding hellhounds began cranking up the gates. I felt a momentary flash of pity for the newcomers to the arena, most of whom likely wouldn’t get another fighting chance.
None of them felt sorry for themselves, though. They came out with hard faces, bristling with weapons, armed and ready to take on whatever Belial threw at them.
Most of them were demons from the upper Circles, but one male stood out, his bloodline immediately obvious: Nephilim.
Long black hair fell down his back between a pair of leathery, pitch-colored bat wings, but his strong, bronze-skinned face was just as beautiful as Tascius’s. A pair of curling horns twisted over his skull.
I wondered if he was meant to become Belial’s new seventh-round foe. There was nothing twisted about him, so it seemed unlikely he was to kill my own Nephilim.