by Larissa Ione
“Oh, I have plans for Moloc,” Revenant drawled. “I’m more concerned about you.”
“Isn’t that sweet.”
Revenant smirked. “Not that kind of concerned.”
Of course not. Why would he give a shit about Azagoth’s family? “You’d better get concerned,” Azagoth growled. “Or the entire underworld is going to read your inaction as cowardice.”
Revenant bared his fangs, his eyes went nightmare, and before Azagoth could even blink, the guy was in his face. “Call me a coward again.”
“Step off, asshole,” Azagoth warned. “This is my fucking realm, and you have no power here.”
A flash of light nearly blinded him as Revenant lit up like a supernova, proving just how wrong Azagoth was.
“I can melt you if I want to, soul boy.”
An invisible force knocked Azagoth into a mausoleum, triggering his temper and his inner demon. He unfurled into his beast, his horns and great wings reaching skyward.
“How dare you.” His voice, warped by his fury and his form, made the very ground shift under their feet. “How dare you attack me inside my realm.”
Revenant hissed and shook off Reaver’s restraining hand. “You attacked my realm by sending souls to do your bidding in violation of the treaty. What’s your next move? Freeing Satan?”
“Never,” he snarled, his shock at the very idea bringing his fury down a notch.
Revenant’s wings spread wide, the bony claws at the tips clenching as if they wanted to shred Azagoth like pulled pork. “Are you sure?”
Was he sure? Satan had blackmailed Azagoth for eons, threatening his realm and his children if Azagoth refused to reincarnate the souls Satan wanted. He’d slaughtered griminions. He’d demanded loyalty Azagoth refused to give, and always it was one of Azagoth’s children who paid.
So fuck Revenant and the hell stallion he rode in on. “Do not question my hatred for Satan,” Azagoth roared.
Blood boiling, he attacked. He could have used any of a thousand weapons at his disposal, but what he wanted was to feel flesh rending between his teeth and blood streaming between his claws.
Revenant hit him head on. The shockwave of the impact blew structures apart for as far as Azagoth could see in the brief glimpse he got before Revenant’s fist pounded his face and broke every bone in his head.
The pain as his skull knitted itself back together only pissed him off more, and he clamped down on Rev’s throat in a bite that crushed the angel’s windpipe and spine. Blood poured down Azagoth’s throat, hot and powerful, and then Reaver wrenched them apart, blasting them both a hundred yards in opposite directions.
“Enough!”
Suddenly, Azagoth found himself hanging in the air at the end of Reaver’s fingers. Revenant was at Reaver’s other hand, clutching his mangled throat. Good. Fucker. Inside the Inner Sanctum, he wasn’t healing as quickly as he should have.
Reaver dropped his brother to the ground. “Are we done?”
“He started it,” Revenant rasped.
Shaking his head in exasperation, Reaver turned to Azagoth and dropped him next. “How can we know you won’t conspire with someone to release Satan?”
Baring his teeth, he put everything he had into what he was about to say. He felt this to the depths of his soul and in the blood that ran in his veins.
“I. Will. Die. First.”
Silence stretched as the stench of char swirled around them. Then, finally, Reaver nodded. “Okay. Give Lilliana my best. And congratulations on becoming a father again.”
“Ditto,” Revenant rasped. “Asshole.”
Azagoth inclined his head and watched the brothers leave before surveying the damage to the Inner Sanctum. As he’d noted earlier, everything all around had been flattened and scorched. A few souls might have been disintegrated, but he didn’t care. What he cared about was the fact that a small section of the barrier between the Inner Sanctum and Sheoul had weakened. Just a single, tiny, hairline crack in the veil that no one else but Hades would be able to see.
Smiling, he brushed himself off and whistled a jaunty tune as he headed toward the portal back to Sheoul-gra. But when he stepped into his office, he checked up hard.
Lilliana was sitting there in his chair, her expression drawn, one hand clutching a sweating glass of ice tea.
“What is it?” He rushed to her. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know,” she said softly. “You tell me.”
“Nothing is going on.”
She looked at him like he was a dumbass. “I’m not a fool. You’re covered in blood, your horns are out, and something rocked Sheoul-gra hard enough to topple statues and break dishes just minutes after Reaver and Revenant arrived. So don’t bullshit me.” She came to her feet, and when he reached to help her, she swatted his hand away. “You released souls to kill Bael, and they found out, didn’t they?”
Azagoth had always kept his work and his home life separate. He’d never wanted Lilliana to be exposed to the ugly part of his job...or the ugly part of himself. He didn’t want her to see how the soul sausage was made, when it came down to it.
“I don’t want you to worry, Lilli. You’ve got enough to deal with as it is.”
“Don’t,” she warned. “Don’t shut me out. Never again. You swore.”
He wanted to deny that he was shutting her out. And if he was, he wanted to assure her that he was doing it for her own good. But shutting her out was part of what had led to her leaving him in the first place. He’d held her hostage emotionally, not giving her that bit of him that she craved. And then when he had expressed emotion, it was anger. Always anger.
He’d promised he’d do better. It was time to fulfill that promise.
“You’re right.” He inhaled softly. “Bael’s dead, and the Wonder Twins know about it. But they’re the least of my concerns. Moloc’s still alive, and he’s more powerful than ever. He’s going to come after me with everything he’s got.”
“That’s why you’ve put a rush on bringing in the last of your human-realm children, isn’t it? To get them out of the way.”
He nodded. “And it’s why you always have a guard. Moloc will stop at nothing to get what he wants from me.”
Earlier, Lilliana had mentioned that the hellhound she’d befriended on Ares’s island might be joining them, and the mutt was welcome. He wasn’t fond of the beasts, but they were fiercely loyal, and no one would fuck with Lilliana with one at her side.
“Why does Moloc need you so badly?” Lilliana asked.
He reached for his favorite bottle of rum. “Because I have the key to Satan’s prison.”
“The key?” She lost color in her face and sank back into the chair. “Satan is in Sheoul-gra?”
“Yes and no.” He abandoned the bottle and moved to her. He needed her more than the alcohol anyway. “When Revenant and Reaver trapped Satan, they created an inter-dimensional prison using the same basic frequency as the Inner Sanctum. Satan’s cell is both inside Sheoul-gra and not inside it. I, alone, can access it.” Leaning against the desk, he rethought that. “Well, Reaver and Revenant can too, but only if they can find it.”
Lilliana looked down at her belly. “I don’t like this, Azagoth.”
Which was why he hadn’t wanted to tell her about any of it. He’d wanted all the stress, all the ugliness, on his shoulders. Not hers. But no matter what, he’d protect her, and he’d keep her safe, no matter what it took.
“I don’t either, Lilli,” he said, dipping his head to give her a kiss that was more than affection. It was a promise. “But I won’t let anything happen to you or our child.”
Stepping back, he pulled a gold-tipped white feather from the sleeve of his right arm, and a silver-tipped black feather from the left and laid them on the desktop. Neither Reaver nor Revenant had noticed when he’d lifted them from their wings.
Lilliana reached for them, her slender fingers skimming over the delicate glitter. “What are these? I mean, obviously they’re f
eathers, but what for?”
“Insurance,” he said grimly. “They’re insurance.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Cipher held Lyre’s hand as they stood near the portal that would get them into Sheoul-gra. Well, it would if they had permission. Apparently Azagoth had recently sealed it after the death of one of his children.
“Can you see it?” Lyre asked, referring to the spell that kept the entrance closed.
“Yup.”
“Having second thoughts?”
“What, about breaking a spell that the Grim Reaper put in place to protect his realm?” He snorted. “Nah.”
She squeezed his hand reassuringly, well aware that he was having second thoughts. Third thoughts. Fourth thoughts.
There were a whole lot of thoughts going through his head right now.
“We don’t have to do this,” she said. “We could disappear somewhere. Live away from everyone else.” She shrugged one battered shoulder, still bruised and bloodied from the battle. Her major wounds had healed already, the fractured bones and lacerations, but without wings his damage was taking far longer. “I heard Pestilence lived in a cave for centuries. So, you know, there’s that.”
He knew she was kidding about the cave—probably—but no matter what, life as a fugitive from Azagoth’s wrath and his friends’ scorn wouldn’t work for him. He’d always been an act first, ask forgiveness later type of guy, but he did always ask forgiveness.
“I can’t run, Lyre.” Both literally and figuratively. He was pretty sure his right femur was shattered.
“I know,” she sighed. “It’s just...I saw enough of you being tortured. I don’t want you to go through that again, and I’m guessing that if anyone is an expert at causing pain, Azagoth would be it.”
“And you would be right.” He brushed a lock of hair back behind her ear, needing an excuse to touch her where Bael had put his filthy mouth. “Lyre?”
“Hmm?”
“What did Bael say to you? You know, right before you did your vapor thing?”
Lyre gave a casual shrug, but he’d seen the look of terror on her face when Bael was bent over her, his teeth grazing her ear.
“Apparently, virgin fallen angels are hard to find,” she said. “He and Moloc decided to use me for some kind of mating ceremony to make themselves whole.” She shook her head. “I have no idea what that means. Anyway, when Bael sensed that I was no longer ‘pure,’ he got a little cranky.”
“I wish the bastard wasn’t dead,” he growled. “I want to kill him again.”
“Well, there’s always Moloc and Flail,” she said as she channeled a wave of healing power into him. She’d been sending pulses through him every couple of minutes as her power recharged. He wished he could do the same for her, but there wasn’t any guarantee that he’d develop that skill. He couldn’t wait for his new wings to find out.
“I’m sure Azagoth will handle Moloc.” Flail, however, was his.
The mention of Azagoth’s name put a shadow of worry in Lyre’s eyes, and he wished he could reassure her, but he wasn’t a hundred percent on the likelihood of surviving the rest of the day.
“So who are we going to talk to first?” she asked. “Azagoth? Your friend Hawkyn?”
“I don’t know. Whoever we see first, I guess. I have to apologize to everyone. I’m responsible for the death of a child who was the sibling of every Memitim in Sheoul-gra. I owe them all an explanation.”
“Okay.” She went up on her toes and kissed him, her warm lips giving him the courage to get this done.
Except “getting it done” took longer than expected. The battle with Bael had drained him of power, leaving him with a single drop that was barely enough to interrupt the spell protecting Sheoul-gra’s entrance. He was so weakened, in fact, that he couldn’t completely bring it down. He could only pause it.
“We have five seconds,” he said. “Let’s go.”
They materialized on the landing pad, and almost immediately, Zhubaal arrived, his expression a storm cloud. Cipher stepped in front of Lyre, putting himself in the path of Azagoth’s chief enforcer. No one got to manhandle Lyre but Cipher.
He was about to make that clear when he heard Hawkyn call out his name.
“Cipher!” Hawk charged past Zhubaal and tackled him in a massive bear hug. “You’re alive! Fuck me, I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.” He stepped back and looked him up and down. “Are you evil? Tell me you’re not evil. I don’t want to have to put you down.”
Cipher laughed. “I’m surprisingly myself.”
Z watched from the periphery, his hand at his sword hilt, his gaze watchful but non-threatening. He was ready to take Cipher out, but he was trusting Hawkyn to handle the situation.
Cool. Cipher had always liked Zhubaal. The fallen angel had a good head on his shoulders and he was a total dick. What wasn’t to like?
Journey, Maddox, Emerico, and Jasmine, a few of Hawkyn’s siblings, sprinted toward them, all smiles. Word was spreading fast. It wouldn’t be long before Azagoth either sent for him or showed up.
Cipher wasn’t sure which would be worse.
Hawkyn shifted his gaze to Lyre. “Ciph’s last message said he had inside help to escape Bael’s territory. You must be Lyre. I’m Hawkyn.”
“It’s good to finally meet you,” she said. “Cipher has a lot of faith in your friendship.”
“Yeah?” Hawkyn looked like he was about to say something that would be completely humiliating to Cipher—because what else were friends for—but the group of loudmouthed Memitim led by Journey stormed the landing pad.
They tackled him the way Hawkyn had, all smiles and “welcome back” and “tell us everything.”
And for the first time in months, Cipher truly relaxed.
He was home.
He glanced around, frowning as he realized that shit was a mess. Statues were toppled, pillars smashed, and even a couple of trees were down. Memitim were working to clean up, although several had stopped what they were doing to watch the Cipher Show.
“What happened?”
Maddox jerked his thumb toward Azagoth’s mansion. “Pops got into it with Reaver and Revenant.”
“Why?”
Jasmine shook her dark head. “Dunno.”
“Where is he?” He was almost afraid to ask, and Lyre gave his hand a comforting squeeze.
“Last time I saw him he was with Lilliana,” Rico said.
Well, that was interesting. And potentially good news for Azagoth’s mood. “I thought Lilliana left him.”
“Dude, she’s back,” Journey said. “Like, last week. And get this, she’s pregnant!”
Cipher stared in disbelief. “No. Seriously?”
Hawkyn nodded. “She just showed up one day, nine months pregnant.”
Holy shit. “How did your father take it?”
“I’ve never seen him happier.” Hawkyn gestured toward all the destroyed shit. “I mean, you know, as happy as he gets.”
“I have a theory.” Maddox took an enormous gulp of the soda in his hand. “What if the baby’s not his?”
All heads swiveled toward Mad.
“What?” That came from everyone.
“Think about it, yo. She was gone nine months. She’s nine months pregnant. She could have boned some dude after she left, like she was getting back at him or something, and bam! Preggo. She had to come back so he’d think it was his. You watch. This baby will be ‘late.’” He added a wink to the last bit.
Journey scowled at his brother. “You’re such a jackass.”
“And how.” Hawkyn opened his mouth to say something else, but abruptly, the ground shifted and the air went still and cold.
Oh, fuck.
“Uh-oh,” Maddox said in a quiet, singsong voice. “Daddy’s here.”
Cipher shot Hawkyn a look, and Hawk dipped his head in understanding. Knowing his friend would keep Lyre safe, Cipher moved toward Azagoth, a cold knot of anticipation tightening in his chest.
At least he’s in his fallen angel suit.
It was a small comfort that Azagoth was striding down the path in black slacks and a matching shirt instead of wearing scales and horns, but Cipher would take what he could get. Especially because, even from twenty paces away, he could see flames dancing in Azagoth’s unyielding emerald eyes.
The Grim Reaper was extra grim today.
Adrenaline shot through Cipher as he prepared for whatever Azagoth was going to do to him. In Sheoul-gra, most angelic and demonic abilities were muted or useless, and even if they had been allowed and Cipher was at full strength, he couldn’t stand up against the Grim Reaper’s awesome power.
Azagoth’s boots cracked the pavers as he stopped a mere three feet away, well inside Cipher’s comfort zone. Of course, Cipher’s comfort zone with Azagoth was three miles, not three feet.
Swallowing dryly, Cipher bowed. “My lord—”
“Not. A. Word.” Azagoth’s voice sounded like it had been filtered through the walls of a coffin. “You’re still breathing for one reason. And that reason is Hawkyn.”
Of that, Cipher had no doubt. He inclined his head in a respectful nod and looked back, meeting Hawkyn’s gaze.
Thank you.
Again Hawkyn gave a solemn nod of acknowledgement before a flash of humor crossed his face and he mouthed, You owe me.
A thousand times over, buddy.
“Tell me why you gave the names of my children to my enemy,” Azagoth continued, his expression as cold as his eyes were hot. “Now you may speak. And be careful. Hawkyn only holds so much sway with me.”
Cipher took a deep, bracing breath, and when he spoke, it was with determination, sincerity, and a need to show Azagoth that he wasn’t the devil-may-care playboy he used to be, but he was as loyal as he ever was.
“My lord, I’m sorry about your daughter. I’m so sorry.” He raised his voice, needing everyone to hear this. “I gave the names of Azagoth’s children to Bael in exchange for a chance to escape. I thought I was tricking him. I thought all of those children had already been brought to Sheoul-gra. I didn’t know any were still out in the human realm.” He met the gaze of every single Memitim before turning back to Azagoth, who stared in silent judgment. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, even though it wasn’t enough. There weren’t enough apologies in the universe for this. “I’d take it back if I could.”
