by Nikki Sex
What the fuck?
Excited, ecstatic, my demon purrs over his idea of demon wonderland. This chamber is enormous, shaped like a horseshoe. Well-preserved wooden tables and chairs run down the center. People once ate here, it seems. No one is eating now. They haven’t for a very long time.
Our headlamps shine brightly on a line of horizontal bodies, neatly arranged around the perimeter of the room. Stacked on top of each other, the row is two to three people high. Shifters, vampires, or non-paranormal, whatever they are, they’re in human form.
No bones, no smell of rotting flesh.
There must be two-hundred corpses in this chamber, and not a single ghost! Taboo of the perfect skin and generous breasts lies on top of two bodies. What really freaks me out is who’s resting right beside her.
How in the hell did he get here?
Paradox, Master of the Vancouver Vortex, rests beside his blood-bonded. Eyes closed, I’m not certain if he’s alive or dead.
A shiver runs up my spine when I see the small body lying next to him. No wonder Stafford lost his shit. Child killers are the worst scum on Earth. Yet, I instantly recognize this poor kid, with her white-blonde hair, cherub-like face. This is Noah Greenfield's Lilly, the little girl he wanted me to find.
I’ve seen her in my dreams.
In 1809, a hundred years earlier, “Hawk,” Alard LeBlanc, disappeared and was never found. Is he also entombed here?
I can’t take my eyes away from Lilly’s young, innocent face. Leonidas stays by the King, while Stafford and Owen continue investigating further along the long line of stacked bodies. Without being anywhere near him, I feel my mate tense.
“What is it?” I send.
“Hope, John, Millicent and Toby—they’re all here.”
“What? How did they get here?”
“I don’t know, but Jan,” he hesitates as if gathering his breath, “they’re stacked like all the others. Enchanted, just as Paradox and Taboo are.”
My heart stops. “No!”
“I’m sorry.”
“Stay back! Do not touch them!” Leonidas cautions.
His warning comes too late. I rush to my friends, only to find Owen, eyes shut, lying beside his sister. His heart has stopped beating.
Not Owen, too!
My chest tightens with grief, unspeakable pain is a fist around my heart. Sending tendrils of awareness out, I force myself to search for Owen’s ghost. His spirit must be here! He can’t have crossed over this fast.
But he’s gone. I can’t find him.
I’m done. This is unbearable. The last straw. It’s too much! The walls of the cavern seem to draw closer, moving in on me. My throat is dry, it becomes hard to breathe. “What the hell’s going on here?” I demand, my voice strained and high-pitched.
“An enchantment.” Leonidas frowns. “You cannot see it?”
“No. I only see them. All of them.” I swallow. “Christ, are they—” Tears roll down my face. I take a deep breath, “—is everyone dead?”
“There’s no way to tell,” Stafford says with forced calm, keeping the horror to himself. “I think they’re in some sort of magical stasis. Look at them—look with otherworldly eyes,” he advises.
I tilt my head, view my friends with demonic vision. Abruptly, I see a shimmering whitish aura surrounding each body, isolating each of our friends within their own personal cocoon. Everyone’s packed, stacked, and wrapped.
“Ah, yes. I see it now.”
“Let’s get the hell out of here,” Stafford says. “It’s not safe, we might be next. We’ll consult Maloo, or maybe the Sorcerers Guild. We should be alright as long we don’t touch anyone.”
But he’s wrong.
My ring flares to life, heating, pulsing—burning me into immediate action. My spine straightens, my senses blast into overdrive. Adrenaline surges through my veins as I become conscious of a tremendous malignant power, a chilling blood-red energy.
Something terrible is coming! It’s nearly here!
“Watch out!” I scream.
Then all hell breaks loose as we are attacked.
Chapter 52.
When I say, “we are attacked,” what I really mean is, “I am attacked.”
The hair on the back of my neck stands on end, a classic “bend-over-and-kiss-your-ass-goodbye,” warning. I’m braced for impending danger when at least twenty silver spears shoot out of the walls toward me.
Talk about déjà vu! This is reminiscent of when the Regius Magnmus’s library exploded, causing hundreds of knives flying my way. Some of them found their mark, landing in lethal areas, nearly ending my long life.
Fuck!
I’m armed with two knives, a Taser, and ass-kicking boots—none of which will help me now. I feel like a cat on my tenth life. I immediately drop onto the stone floor, curl into a ball to protect my head and stomach as much as possible. Werewolves can shift to heal. Vampires Leonidas’s age, only need blood—unless silver pierces their heart, and someone chops off their head while they’re down and out.
My knightly protectors, Stafford and Leonidas, stand over me repelling fast-moving blades. I hear relentless metal to metal thunderously ringing, with preternatural speed. Rapid as machine gun fire, they fend off the killing missiles with their swords.
Unscathed, I gasp when Stafford is hit, a spear piercing his shoulder. It’s not his sword arm, thank God. I hear a grunt as Leonidas falls. I know instantly as a silver spear punches right through his heart, the arrow-head tip exiting out his back.
A new vampire would be dead from such a strike. Thankfully, I’ve heard Master Vampires as ancient and powerful as Leonidas, are nearly impossible to kill. If the rumors are right, blood can bring him back.
“Leave me, Jan. Just go. Run!” Leonidas weakly sends.
“No way! You’re our friend. We’d miss your breezy, light-hearted personality. Stafford and I won’t abandon you!”
“Think of yourselves. Who will care for your children? A child needs a mother and father. Get away!”
The volley stops suddenly. “Get up, Jan,” Stafford gasps. “Quickly, let’s get out of here!”
“Hell, yes!”
Instinctively, in unison, we each grab an arm, dragging the injured vampire toward the exit. Despite everything, I smile. My loyal mate. Stafford never once thought of deserting Leonidas.
Before we escape, we’re stopped in our tracks by a strong blast of magic. Instruments of power sound, each note unique. The musical energy is as thunderous as an orchestra heralding a king. A dangerous, red, melody. I recognize that aura the moment it enters the chamber.
It’s here! Finally, we’ll see our enemy!
Shock hits me like a sledgehammer to the chest. I struggle to draw air into my lungs.
My father! Here?
Blindingly bright, the angel towers before us, radiating hate and menace. I can’t see his face, not with his fiery halo. Just as the first time I viewed him in this form, he takes my breath away. He’s glorious! The godlike asshole has shining white wings.
How can he be here? Have Earth’s anti-fae wards fallen? Are other creatures from Faery also here? Jesus Christ on a cracker, what’s next?
The bastard’s magic is rich, pure, and perfect. If I didn’t know better, I’d think it was Heaven’s Mana. My father’s wings glow so white, so distractingly beautiful, I can scarcely look at him.
“Demon!” he shouts, echoing through the chamber like the voice of God.
Demon?
The commanding ring booms through my soul. Such a wondrous voice! Yet his ice-cold fury burns me from the inside out! It hurts! Christ, the pain makes my demon hum with delight. The angel’s potent magic roars over me, crushing all hope of escape with the force of a tidal wave.
Stafford’s badly wounded, Leonidas might die, and my douchebag dad is calling me a demon while looking for payback. Terrified, I can’t stop trembling.
“Fuck you!” I scream, mastering my fear. My sentient ring answers my call.
Just as I did once before, I raise my hand and point at him with hate in my heart. “Die! Die this time, you piece of shit!”
A blast of crackling blue flame streams from my ring—her energy slamming into the SOB. Yet, the sneaky bastard doesn’t die—he fucking disappears. The chamber darkens, once more our headlamps are necessary. I realize then, the angel was an illusion. A conjured glamour.
“Grab the Jugulo, let’s run!” Stafford sends.
“Right.”
Before we have a chance to seize him, Leonidas sits up. Much to our shock and disbelief, he slowly pulls the sword out of his own heart. His blue eyes glaze-over as he pushes to his feet.
Stunned, Stafford and I instinctively take a step back from him.
Like a robot, my Jugulo marches to the nearest row of bodies. In strict formation, he climbs up, carefully lies down upon the “dead-person-pile.” His eyes close. A prickly taste of power rolls over my tongue. I keep my headlamp on him, watch as a translucent cocoon swiftly forms over his body. Our connection vanishes.
I can’t feel his collar.
My eyes swimming, I blink back tears.
Nooooo!!!!
Hearts pounding, chests heaving, Stafford’s mind and my own have reached the point of total meltdown. Frozen with shock, mouths open, we can’t seem to move.
Thankfully, our beasts don’t have the same problem. Our wolves take over.
Then we run. Fast.
Chapter 53.
Terror pulses through my system, along with a shit load of adrenaline. I take off, flying away like a bat out of hell. The Meatloaf tune hums in an insanely fast melody in my head. It seems apropos as there is “evil in the air.”
Sprinting, our shoes pound on rock, echoing loudly in the silence of the cavern. The lights from our headlamps jerk and shake, illuminating the way out.
We escape the weird burial chamber, turn left, run past the long line of prison cells. Our minds back online, I realize Stafford’s psychically blocking me. Protecting me. He doesn’t want me to know how he feels. Just how badly is he injured?
I jerk to a stop, spin to face him. “Let me see your wound.”
“No time. Keep running!”
“Fuck that.” I wince, noting the blade went right through to his scapula. Ouch! My poor mate’s in considerable pain, he’s also still bleeding. “Shift to beast form,” I tell him. “You need to heal.”
He glares at me. “Then how, pray tell, will I keep you safe during the next spear attack? If more stone walls start hurling sharp, silver objects our way again, I’ll need my hands to hold a sword.”
I rip open his shirt, buttons flying in all directions. “I doubt the creature has enough energy left for another round. You can protect me well enough as a wolf. Besides, injured as you are, how soon before you pass out?”
Stafford throws his sword aside, toes off his shoes, scrambles out of his jeans. Promptly, with what feels like joyous relief, he transforms. One moment he’s human, the next, he’s a huge, light-gray wolf.
The Beast Lord’s earthy magic settles over me. I blink, warmed by the heat of him healing. I feel whole when we’re connected like this. My inner wolf preens, proud to be mated to a strong, virile beast.
Stafford lopes down the tunnel, looks back at me. “C’mon. Let’s get as far away from here as possible. If we follow the river, we’ll find a way out.”
I stay where I am. “No, we need to go back.”
The wolf growls. “What? Why?”
During these last ten adrenaline-saturated minutes, several ideas rampaged through my mind. Now’s the first chance I’ve had to speak of them. “The angel is a super powerful being,” I begin. “Why did he send an illusion of himself?” I pause, let him think about it. “I believe the creature fears us. Otherwise, he would’ve attacked us in person.”
“You think so? I guess you would know. He’s your father, the scary son of a bitch.”
I snort. “As if that makes a difference! He was usually away at war, at least we thought he was. He left for good when I was thirteen. I never really knew him, and that’s another thing.”
“What’s another thing?”
“That creature’s magic was unfamiliar. Sure, he was an angel like my father, but with that luminous glow, I couldn’t see his face. Now, I’ve had time to think about it, I’m not so sure. In fact, I’m positive he wasn’t.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Remember how the walls in this place are made of obsidian? And how John’s people believe obsidian grounds spiritual energy in the physical plane?”
“Yes, of course.”
“When Leonidas couldn’t dematerialize out of here, he began to believe these chambers were built as a paranormal prison.”
“Makes sense.”
“What if this place was created to keep magical creatures’ captive? What if, when Earth’s protective barrier was raised, a bunch of otherworldly criminals were stranded here?”
“Then they should’ve died when the wards went up.”
“If obsidian separates them from the earthly plane, then the spell couldn’t reach them to kill them. If they were stuck here, maybe the remains in those cells aren’t the result of illegal sorcerer experiments, but oddly shaped creatures from Faery. They would’ve starved to death when the fae left this realm. Unless,” I pause, purse my lips. “Unless the animal killing creature also sucked the life force out of them? It’s certainly hungry enough.”
“Murderous motherfuckers,” Stafford scowls. “I’m glad they’re all dead.”
“They may not have all been bad. Faery has a stringent hierarchy. For all we know, they went against the rigid caste system and were punished for it.”
“Wait a minute, you’re saying that freak-ass angel isn’t your father? It's some unearthly prisoner, trapped from when the wards went up—what, hundreds of years ago?”
“My father was on Earth two-hundred years ago, so the protective spell must have happened around then, but yes. That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
“Why isn’t it dead?”
“In his way, through demon dreams, my inner friend’s been trying to tell us what’s going on. Think about it. The entity’s always hungry, he lives on life force, and he’s stuck in a cell underground. Through enchantment, he’s called all those rows upon rows of people to him. Why? Because he needs to feed.”
“He just fed on our friends—werewolves, vampires, two blood-bonded, Toby, and a Jugulo.”
“Yes, but he’s still starving. If I focus, I feel his relentless hunger. I know where he is. I can find him.”
The wolf sits down, lolls out his tongue. “Let me get this straight. Essentially, this starving prisoner is locked away down here? Most likely not far from all the adults,” the wolf growls, “and children he’s been feeding on for centuries?”
“You got it.”
Finding that lifeless child messed with our heads. Still, my mate thinks faster than a striking snake. I quirk an eyebrow, pleased the Beast Lord sees what I see.
His yellow-wolf eyes glow with anticipation and barely suppressed excitement. He shoots me a wolfish grin. “So, the cocksucker’s hungry, energy-starved, and stuck in a jail cell. A sitting duck, so to speak.”
“That’s right.”
“I’ve seen what that ring of yours can do.” Stafford bares his fangs. “Let’s go kill him.”
I shoot my wolf companion a broad, bright grin. “Isn’t it wonderful how great minds think alike?”
Chapter 54.
Remaining in beast form to save power, Stafford needs to heal. Rapid shifts from human to wolf, then back again, drain vast amounts of energy.
My mate is mentally, magically, and physically exhausted. Between the severity of his injury, along with the stress of our situation, and the losses we’ve suffered, I know how he feels. There’s no time for rest—we need to go kick some angel ass.
I quickly pack Stafford’s clothes into his back pack, tuck his sword into my belt.
Innocuous as I appear, I’m nothing to sneeze at. I have a high-voltage taser in one hand, two silver knives within hand’s reach. I also have an inner demon, my inner wolf, and a powerful sentient ring. I try to work within the virtues—karma is a bitch, but I can be bad-ass. That asshole angel doesn’t want to mess with me.
We tiptoe past the rows of cells with their dead occupants. Ghost-like, we slip by the resting place of our friends, and countless others. Passing them, we discover additional six by eight-foot size cells on the other side of the chamber of death. Unsurprisingly, they contain more unlucky creatures who didn’t survive.
And then, we find one living prisoner.
This creature’s cell is nothing special, virtually identical to the others. Within it stands what was once a good-looking man, perhaps sixty-years-old. Stringy, blond hair. Strong jaw. POW skin and bone body, thin, tight facial features. His huge green eyes are set deep in his face. Maybe six-feet tall, he looks sick as a poisoned dog. Trapped in this cavern, perhaps he is being poisoned.
This unfortunate, harmless looking man is the scary-as-fuck, life-sucking evil angel? Could it be him?
“Will you help me?” he asks in a gravelly, yet strangely musical voice. His accent is unfamiliar.
“Perhaps.” Standing cautiously back from the bars of his prison cell, I absently run my hand up and down my mate’s fur. “My name is Janice St. John. Who are you?”
“I am called Haram.”
“Nice to meet you, Haram. How long have you been here?”
“Forget that,” Stafford sends impatiently. “What crime got him locked up? Better yet, find out if this is the motherfucking bastard who’s been kidnapping, killing, and feeding on people.”
I stretch my psychic senses, searching for glamour. The angel form remains hidden, but he can’t disguise his hunger. He also has a telltale aura of red-energy.
