For the Hell of It (Razing Hell Book 1)

by Cate Corvin

Instead of iron-hard scales crushing me to a pulp, soft, silky fur pressed lightly against my cheek.

  I opened my eyes. Belial stood over me, his body absorbing the weight of the wyrm’s impact, legs bowing under the colossal force. He arched his back upwards, tossing the creature aside, and one paw batted me underneath him protectively when the wyrm flopped, lashing out with its spindly legs.

  We were swept sideways and I choked on a mouthful of sand. Belial curled around me, sheltering me against his chest until the wyrm thrashed away, making horrific noises as it fled.

  He shifted, the massive paws hugging me becoming a man’s arms. I looked up into furious aquamarine eyes, my heart still pounding from the near-miss with the wyrm.

  Definitely not from anything else.

  “All right,” he growled. “I’m done with this bastard.”

  I tried to wriggle out from under him, but his full weight was spread across my legs and hips, pinning me in place. The sand was too powdery to gain any leverage. “Let me up, you’re not doing it alone.”

  “Of course not. I need you to fly around and piss it off for me.” He tossed his dark hair back, shedding sand.

  “Like… a gnat. You want me to be a gnat. How insulting.”

  Belial smirked. “You said it, not me.”

  “Touché.” I clenched my fists, willing my magic to life again. “Let’s make it dead.”

  Belial leaned in close to my ear while the wyrm screamed behind us. “I love it when you talk like that.”

  A shiver that had nothing to do with the wyrm’s cacophony ran down my spine. “Maybe we should do the actual killing before we get to the pillow talk, prince?”

  “Right.” He looked up, and I couldn’t help but admire the corded muscles of his throat. “Yes. It’d be impossible to fuck you with that godforsaken wailing in the background.”

  “We’re not fucking in sand,” I muttered, and he finally let me up. “Or anywhere, for that matter, because I specifically remember telling you-”

  “That you wouldn’t,” he said, completing my sentence as he brushed sand off my face. “I remember, because I’m going to prove you wrong. We were already halfway there before that damn Watcher interfered-”

  “Not everything is a contest, Belial.” I shook out my wings and gathered my magic in my hands, barely noticing the taste of ash.

  “Oh, but it is.” He created a dual-headed spear out of his fire. “And you know it, so don’t play coy with me. Dealing with you is like dealing with a constant battle of wills.”

  I jumped into the air, hovering several feet above his head. “Nobody asked for you to deal with me. Like me. I didn’t ask for you to take me captive and brand me. That’s all on you.”

  He plunged the end of the spear into the sand and tied up his hair in a bun, a sly grin on his lips. “How could I help myself when you were just so tempting?”

  “Just because it’s there doesn’t mean you should do it.” I rolled my eyes, catching sight of the injured wyrm beating a hasty retreat into the depths of the desert. “Also, our wyrm is getting away.”

  Belial raised two fingers to his lips and let out a sharp whistle. A moment later, Arcturus galloped past, and Belial easily grabbed hold of his mane and swung onto his back, spear in hand, without Arcturus breaking pace once.

  “You think you’re so fucking slick,” I shouted, but my words were ripped away by the wind as I streaked after them. The flaming warhorse tossed his mane, daring me to keep up with him.

  I pushed myself hard, maintaining a ten-foot lead on the prissy animal. Then an arc of pale light caught my eye: Capheira was on his heels, pulling ahead with every hoofbeat, racing just for the joy of it.

  I grinned despite myself, gathering my magic as we streaked after the wyrm. Capheira finally split away, to my relief. She was too beautiful and rare to risk in battle.

  The wyrm realized it had company and veered left, spinning to face us and lowering that open maw of fangs to catch Belial. Arcturus galloped into the sky over his head, narrowly missing the wyrm’s teeth.

  Time to be a gnat. Awesome.

  I summoned my magic, cupping fistfuls of thorny power and molding them into darts that I flung at the wyrm’s mouth. The first one struck, digging into its gums, and the creature’s mouth snapped shut. It backed away, shaking its head like it was dislodging a fly.

  I pitched another, and another, forming continuous darts that burrowed into its skin.

  And really pissed it off.

  The wyrm’s crystalline green eyes focused on me, brimming with hatred. I waggled my fingers, taunting it, then rolled my hands as I created a lasso out of the raw material of my magic.

  The wyrm hissed. The sheer force of its breath knocked me backwards, my wings straining to ride out the sudden gust.

  I tossed the lasso, directing it with little nudges of my mind until it looped around the wyrm’s front claws. Its head curved around, examining the prickling length of magic, and I tugged experimentally.

  The wyrm slid forward an inch. The sand was so slick and powdery that there was almost no resistance.

  I spooled out another five yards of magical rope and took off, dragging the wyrm over the dunes. It snapped at the rope but the magic bit back, leaving red welts across the vulnerable skin of its mouth.

  “Get iiiiiit!” I screamed when Belial charged downwards, his newly-made spear raised high over Arcturus’ head.

  They galloped past the wyrm’s open mouth and he jammed the spear inside, piercing both its upper palate and the soft spot below the tongue when it tried to snap its mouth shut, but the spear held fast this time.

  I cut off my magic and the lasso vanished, the dark fire fizzling out. The wyrm slid to a halt at the base of the next dune, carried another several yards by the momentum of its own bulk.

  A sword of flame blazed to life in Belial’s grip and he dismounted Arcturus, striding over the sand to the wyrm’s pried-open mouth.

  I landed next to him with a soft puff of sand, but before I could warn him to be careful- really, I had no business warning the Prince of Wrath to be careful, but the strength of the wyrm’s jaws was unreal- he plunged the sword down its throat.

  The wyrm convulsed, smoke pouring from its mouth, and it finally shuddered and stilled. The pearly sheen of its scales was already dulling under the starlight.

  Belial shook his hand, and the fiery sword was extinguished like he’d dunked his hand in water.

  I bounded over to him, already forming the words to scream “FUCK YEAH” at the top of my lungs, when Belial tackled me.

  We tumbled down the side of the dune, flinging sand everywhere, and came to a rest in a sprawled pile at the bottom.

  “Nice work, my prince,” I said, gazing up at the star-strewn sky, still panting, with sand clinging to the fine layer of sweat that clung to me.

  “Flawless sorcery, my angel.” He turned his head to look at me, a wide grin still stretched across his face. “Shall we?”

  “Head home and take a shower?” I asked hopefully, flicking a bit of sand at him.

  He sat up and pulled me over so I was straddling his lap, and gripped my face, pulling me down for a kiss.

  Despite the sand and sweat and wyrm blood, my pulse thundered harder than Capheira’s hooves, storming through my chest. He tasted like fire and victory, his skin blazing hot under his clothes.

  I pushed back his long hair and wrapped my arms around his neck. He was hard under me, pushed between my legs with an insistent throbbing, and I held back the urge to grind against him.

  No matter how much I liked him, or how much his style complemented mine, we were worlds away. Master and soul-bound slave.

  I shouldn’t forget that just because we’d won a fight together.

  I nibbled his full lower lip, almost melting at the sound of his groan, but I steeled myself to pull away. “We are not fucking in the sand, Belial. I draw the line there.”

  His eyes flared with amusement. “Fine.”

  “Fin
e?” I raised an eyebrow, skeptical of his intentions. When was he ever so accommodating when I turned him down? “Fine?”

  He got to his feet, bringing me with him, and his thumb swiped a bit of sand off my lips. “You don’t believe me?”

  Capheira trotted up and nudged me, not-so-subtly nosing the bag of sugar. I slipped her a small piece and stroked her mane. “You never back down from arguing with me. What’s your angle?”

  Belial lifted me onto her back, tucking a strand of my hair behind my ear. The smirk on his full lips was so enticing I leaned back down, but he gripped my chin, and his next words stopped me short.

  Cold realization crashed through me, and I couldn’t stop replaying them in my head the entire ride back to the Brightside of the Seventh Circle.

  Along with every nuance of Belial’s satisfaction.

  “You called it home.”

  30

  Melisande

  I didn’t forget the heat simmering just beneath Belial’s skin in the following days, and he didn’t forget my growing weakness for him.

  Even at the expense of giving up his soul-slave.

  I’d anticipated that Belial would tighten my leash the closer I got to my seventh round, drawing out the anticipation of freedom for as long as possible, but when we returned from killing the wyrm I realized why he was so willing to let me run with my victories.

  He didn’t believe I was going to try to fight my seventh round, thinking I’d back down like everyone else. He thought I’d be his soul-bonded prisoner forever.

  Despite that, my desire for him was unbearable. I couldn’t keep pushing him away.

  Not when I had free will to take what I wanted. I’d have my freedom, and I’d have him.

  The night of my sixth fight, Vyra came back to the Brightside arena. I opened my door and held back an actual shriek of happiness. The last thing I wanted her to think was that I’d lost my mind.

  Truthfully, I was just glad she was alive, well, and in one piece after she’d come so close to Satan again. My blood still boiled in my veins at the way he’d looked at her.

  But his time would come.

  “Vyra,” I breathed, grabbing her into a hug. For once, the succubus was wearing what passed as modest clothes on her. She wrapped her arms around me warmly, smiling.

  “I knew I’d grow on you,” she said with satisfaction. “I’m like a barnacle. Once I’m on, you can’t scrape me off.”

  I pulled her inside and shut the door behind her. “I missed you. Are you okay, after- after what happened?”

  Her smile didn’t so much as flicker, but I felt her sadness. “I am now. It’s just hard knowing I share the same hellspace with that piece of shit. No matter where I go, I’ll never escape him.”

  I gripped her hands, carefully avoiding piercing myself on her talons.

  “You will someday,” I said, meeting her clear eyes. “I swear. You’ll escape him, because I’ll make sure of it.”

  Now it was a promise to more than just me. If I succeeded where Gabriel had failed, not only would I have the satisfaction of seeing that prick rage, but Vyra would have her revenge too, in a manner of speaking.

  “I’m not going to ask what your crazy plans are, but if you’ve made it this far, I believe in you.” The succubus looked down at our conjoined hands, blinking hard. Specifically at my chipped nails. “Oh, sweet baby Antichrist. What have you been doing with these? They’re not shovels, Melisande!”

  She didn’t listen to my protests of innocence, and I let her hide her true emotions behind her work.

  By the time she shoved me into the spectator box, I’d been scrubbed, buffed, polished, and laced into my venom-repelling leathers. She stayed close to the bone dais, lurking in Belial’s literal shadow.

  The prince was already lounging on the throne, directing a fight between goblins. I found my dark contingent of fans- or fanatics, as Belial had taken to calling them- already gathering outside the spectator box, congregating wherever I was.

  I drew closer and reached over the side, and several clawed hands reached back. Their banners and signs were still rolled up.

  “Death, my Lady,” one of them said, tracing a whorl on my palm.

  I realized it was my right hand. The silvery marks of the Sword of Light exposed to them all.

  With a shiver, I eventually withdrew my hand, and my fanatics settled into an expectant silence. There was something eerie but also comforting about their dark presence, swaddled in cloaks and chains.

  I watched for almost three hours as the arena was bathed in blood. My fanatics remained solemnly silent, but the other, less-creepy fans, the ones wearing fake wings and carrying glittery signs, were beginning to bounce in place.

  Time to put on a show.

  I stood up and stretched, shaking out my wings. Belial glanced at me, his burning gaze feeling like a physical touch as he looked me up and down.

  I took a deep breath and steeled my nerves. I’d already made up my mind. I had no choice but to win this match.

  “We’ve got a Serpentine Sister here tonight,” he said, his voice echoing magically throughout the arena. “Anakondra has traveled from the depths of Xibalba to be here tonight, and she’s LOOKING FOR PAYBACK!”

  He screamed the last words and the demons erupted.

  The memory of Snake Bite swam up from my memories, already a little murky even though I’d only killed her weeks ago. Something told me a demon named Anakondra wasn’t going to care if I’d had a choice in the matter of murdering her sister or not, as long as she got her blood in the end.

  I dusted a bit of chalk on my palms and flexed my fingers, my sharp nail-guards catching the light.

  Anakondra strode onto the floor, her slitted eyes sliding from Belial to me. Her noseless face split as she hissed, revealing the puffy insides of her mouth.

  I didn’t bother with shit-talking. If anyone understood the respect a blood-debt deserved, it was me.

  But I wasn’t going to let her steamroll me just because I respected it. The Serpentine Sisters would have two bounties on my head after this.

  “You know who she’s looking for?”

  The crowd shrieked my stage-name, the words No Saint bouncing off the walls and filling the arena like thunder, but the fanatics were finally unrolling their banners.

  My wings beat the air and I leapt up onto the arena wall, looking down at Anakondra. With a flick of my fingers, I used my magic to grab a sword and float it through the air into my hand.

  “Are you trying to take it easy on me, Belial?”

  Instead of just floating to his ears, my voice carried to the entire crowd. The bastard had magically amplified my voice.

  The demons went wild. Great. Now I had some serious shit-talking to live up to.

  Eerily enough, the fanatics were still silent. I glanced at them and did a double-take. The new signs didn’t bear the moniker Belial had given me.

  Instead, they were neatly embroidered with black wings picked in silver, and several bore a new name: Our Lady of Wrath.

  My eyes darted back to Belial. If anything pissed him off, it was surely that my fanatics had practically given me a title, in his realm, his kingdom-

  But he just smiled, calm despite the raging crowds.

  I swallowed, and turned my attention back to Anakondra, who was seething on the floor below.

  “You owe me blood, slut.” She whipped out a pair of daggers, spinning them neatly around her fingers in a way that would’ve made Lady Savage jealous. “My sister’s death calls for pain.”

  I shook off the nerves that my fanatics had given me and flapped again, landing lightly on the arena floor. All thought of shit-talk had left my head. There was only me and the Serpentine Sister. The noise faded to a low background roar, replaced by the steady pulse of my heart.

  I raised my sword as she struck without warning. Venom spewed from her open mouth, sizzling across my armguards, and I just turned my face in time to miss several droplets that would’ve eaten righ
t through my skin.

  I thrust my bodyweight towards her and executed a rapid snap-kick, planting my boot in her gut. She stumbled backwards but didn’t fall.

  Unlike Snake Bite, Anakondra was more focused on the fight than trying to rile me. She was the true danger of the two.

  I swung and chopped, but she always seemed to slither just out of reach, the blade barely kissing her scaly skin. In return, I dodged her daggers, her strikes as fast as a snake’s bite, her body moving in ways that made her seem almost boneless.

  We clashed again, both of us striking out and backing away. Anakondra lifted one of her daggers to her mouth.

  Her forked tongue slid out and snaked around the blade, coating it with venom.

  My lip curled at the sight, and she laughed, her fangs extending.

  She could laugh all she wanted. She had venom, but I had magic. I called it forth and twining vines of thorns snaked around my hands and forearms. The floral taste of it filled my mouth, backed with a burning fire that was more pleasure than pain now.

  I whipped a hand at her and the thorns shot outwards, wrapping around her legs and wrists. One of her daggers clattered to the floor. She struggled against the magic, hissing and spitting venom, but my thorns inexorably reeled her in.

  I drew back my sword to make the final thrust.

  One of Anakondra’s wrists wriggled free, leaving bleeding gashes on her arm, and she lashed out for my throat. My thorns lost their grip as I ducked backwards, and a heavy weight barreled into me, knocking the breath from my lungs.

  The back of my head hit obsidian and I saw stars. I blinked twice, a pair of snake’s eyes shimmering above me.

  “Blood for blood,” she spat, and her maw gaped wide open. Several glistening drops of venom threatened to spill on my face, to burn my eyes out.

  I gripped her throat with my free hand, struggling to leverage her off me, but Anakondra was taller and heavier than me. She held me fast, inches downwards against the strength of my hand, only inches away from her venom burning through me-

  My magic erupted. Vines wrapped around her, covering her like a mummy, and thorns dug deep. The phantom taste of copper filled my mouth, an echo from the pain my magic inflicted.