by Larissa Ione
Ah damn. Slake had never been one to get choked up, but the emotion and vulnerability in Rake’s voice touched him.
And reminded him that he was a bastard who was about to crush Raze’s world.
“I think,” Slake said softly, “that before we go there, we need to talk about Fayle.”
“Fayle?” Raze went instantly guarded, his eyes narrowing. “What about her?” he ground out. “She’s gone. And if Eidolon is right, I don’t need a female as long as I’m with you.”
The thought of providing Raze with everything he needed made Slake shiver with desire. To be the one who kept him healthy and whole . . . he wanted that. Wanted it bad.
But that was just a fantasy. Even if they could get past Slake’s involvement in her leaving, there was the fact that his soul was, even now, shriveling like jerky. If he survived what was known in some demonic circles as The Darkening, he could come out of it a different person. Every last drop of decency could be wrung from him. Raze deserved better than that.
Clenching his fists so hard his knuckles cracked, he wondered why he was stalling. Dragging this out wouldn’t change anything, and he’d always jumped into things headfirst.
Just spit it out.
“Fayle took off because of me,” he blurted.
Raze snorted. “Trust me, it wasn’t you. She left because—” He went as still as the gargoyle statue staring at them from the bookcase on the far wall. “Wait. She said to ask you why she was leaving.” An icy wariness glazed Raze’s green eyes, and Slake felt his heart sink to his feet. He hated that he’d put it there, that he’d just crushed Rake’s hope for some kind of future. “She said someone was after her.” He leaned back in the chair, just a subtle shift of his body, but Slake sensed an emotional withdrawal, as if Raze had thrown up a wall and was waiting for Slake to attempt a breach. “What do you know about that? What have you been keeping from me?”
“I haven’t been completely honest with you.” He locked gazes with Raze, determined to not take the easy way out of this. He’d face what he’d done head-on. “Fayle was right. Someone was after her.”
“Tell me it wasn’t you,” Raze ground out. “Tell me.”
He wanted to tell him that. Gods, he would give anything to tell him that. “I can’t,” Slake whispered. “Because it was me all along.”
Raze could not have heard that right. No way. But as he sat across from Slake, wildly searching his expression for signs that he was screwing with him, the terrible truth hit him like a sucker punch.
It lurked right there in Slake’s seductively dark eyes.
He sucked in a harsh breath and stared at Slake in disbelief. First Fayle, and now . . . this. Suddenly, it felt as if his world was crumbling. It hurt. Gods, it felt like his chest was cracking wide open and his heart had been struck by one of Slake’s sinispheres.
“Tell me what the fuck you’re talking about,” he growled. “Right. Now.”
Slake shoved to his feet and strode to the window, where he gazed out at the roof of the deli next door. “We didn’t meet by accident,” he said, and Raze felt a painful twisting in his gut. “I came to Thirst to find Fayle.”
The twisting grew more fierce. “Why?”
Slake’s shoulders rose and fell with each breath, and maybe it was Raze’s imagination, but his breathing seemed labored. Pained. Good. “Remember when I said my job was to acquire things?”
Anger rose up, swift and hot. “So you’re saying that when you came out to the alley that first night, and when you came to me at the hospital the next day . . . all of that was to get to Fayle? You seduced me to get to her?” When Slake said nothing, Raze snarled, “Look at me, damn you!”
“No.” Slake wheeled around. “I mean, yes, but—”
“But what?” Rage turned his blood to steam as he burst to his feet. “You figured you’d get your prize and get laid at the same time?”
Memories pelted him, of all the times Fayle had begged him to move, but he’d ignored her. She’d finally felt the need to take drastic measures to get away, and all because of Slake. Oh, sure, she’d also lied to him about whatever this crazy bond was that she’d saddled him with, but right now, he didn’t care about that. It was too much to think about, too much betrayal for one day. Plus, she wasn’t here. Slake was, and he was going to take the full brunt of Raze’s anger.
“You son of a bitch. She’s gone because of you. I thought she’d betrayed me, but all along, it was you.”
The next few seconds were a blur of fury and the sound of Raze’s fist meeting Slake’s jaw. Slake staggered backward, slamming into the Kermit-green post Fayle had painted. Actually, she’d painted them all, and wouldn’t it be fitting for Slake to get his face introduced to every one of them.
Raze took another swing, but Slake dodged it and settled into a defensive stance in front of the TV.
“Raze, listen to me.” He held up his hands in a nonthreatening gesture, as if that would placate Raze, but fuck that. The only thing that would placate Raze right now would be if the bastard bled more. “Yeah, I was a shit. But Fayle was lying to you too.”
“Really.” Raze moved closer, eager to get going on the more-bleeding thing.
“Yeah, really.” Slake touched his mouth, came away with blood, which gave Raze a huge jolt of satisfaction. It was a start. “She’s a succubus—”
“I know that,” he ground out.
“But did you know her species is parasitic?” Slake backed up, but Raze matched him, step for step. “They attach themselves to a host to draw energy from them. I think she attached herself to you.”
The red pole was next. Raze moved closer. “I know that already. And right now I don’t give a shit. I thought you wanted me. I thought we had . . . something. I freaked out, thinking I’d hurt you the other night, when all along you were planning to take Fayle. Why? To where? Were you going to kill her?”
As angry as Raze was at Fayle, he didn’t want her dead. She’d violated him in a way that was unforgivable, but he also understood that for a lot of demons, going against their nature was nearly impossible. Instincts were powerful things, and the more inherently evil the demon, the less likely it was that they could ignore their basest urges.
“Kill her?” Slake bared his teeth in a vicious smile. “I’d love to wring her neck for leaving you chained up like that. But no, I was instructed to bring her in alive and unharmed.”
“And you were going to do it by seducing me and kidnapping her. Nice.” He lunged, fisting Slake’s jacket, and threw him against a pole. The red one. Blue was next. “Why?” He slammed him against the pole again, and Slake grunted. His dark eyes clouded over with pain, but Raze was too far gone with anger to question why a little roughing up would hurt Slake so much. “Tell me!”
Raze shook Slake hard, relishing the echo of Slake’s body hitting metal, relishing the way sweat broke out on his skin. Raze had never been one to enjoy someone else’s pain, but for the first time, it was as if the demon in him was truly emerging. As if he’d let go of the humanity his parents had instilled in him and was going full monster. Shame niggled at the back of his mind, but he ruthlessly shoved it away.
“Tell me why,” he rasped in a voice so thick with anger and hate and hell that he barely recognized it as his own.
“Because,” Slake said, his eyes going flat, as if a spark had been snuffed, “if I didn’t do it, I’d lose my soul.”
Through Raze’s fog of fury he struggled to grasp what Slake had just said. “Your soul. You mean, figuratively?”
“Literally,” he croaked.
“Explain.” He tightened his grip on Slake’s jacket, ready to put him through the window if this was yet another lie.
“I signed a contract when I started at Dire & Dyre.” Slake swallowed, his throat muscles working hard. Raze had watched them work when Slake took his erection in his mouth, and Raze swore he’d never seen anything so erotic in his life. And now . . . now they were in a damned nightmare. “I had to compl
ete a hundred assignments, and if I failed a single one, my soul would become property of the law firm.” He took a deep, rattling breath, and Raze got a real bad feeling about what he was going to say next. “Fayle was my hundredth assignment.”
Raze sucked air between clenched teeth and wondered if this situation could get any worse. “So you’re saying you still need to haul her in.”
“No. It’s over.” Slake sagged against the pole as if the last drop of energy had drained out of him. “I failed. As of an hour ago, my soul forfeited to the firm. So do what you want with me, Raze. It doesn’t matter much anyway.”
Oh . . . oh, gods. Slake’s soul no longer belonged to him? Raze knew how it worked, that the soul continued to reside in the host’s body until their death, when it would be compelled to go immediately to its new owner. The new owner could absorb it, devour it, torture it, sell it . . . there were about a million things a person could do with a soul, and not one of them was pleasant.
Hands trembling, Raze released Slake and stepped back, his mind as shaken as his hands. “Holy hell,” he breathed. “I don’t . . . I don’t know what to say.”
“I’m sorry.” Slake didn’t move, simply remained against the post, his shoulders slumped, his gaze downcast. “I should have come clean. I needed her, but then I got to know you, and . . . fuck. I tried to get out of it, Raze. I called my boss, asked for a new assignment. I didn’t want to hurt you.” He looked up, anger encroaching on the sorrow in his eyes. “But I still want to find her and make her pay for what she did to you.”
For a long moment, Raze stood there, stunned by everything that had just happened, but nothing was more amazing than this big, strong male who cared enough about Raze to want to hunt down someone who had hurt him. Not since his parents were alive had Raze felt as if anyone would go to the mat for him.
Slake reached for him, and Raze closed his eyes, letting Slake’s warm palm cup his cheek. “Please,” Slake whispered. “Forgive me. I’m sorry.”
He was sorry. For trying to save his soul. Raze reached up and covered Slake’s hand with his. “I wish you’d said something earlier.”
“I—” Slake broke off with a pained cry.
“Slake?” Raze grabbed for him, but Slake hit the floor like he’d been poleaxed. “Slake!”
Slake writhed on the floor, his face pale, his body twisting with the force of his agony. “Hurts,” he gasped.
Raze kneeled on the floor and engaged his healing power. “What hurts? Slake, talk to me.”
He gripped Slake’s wrist and let his ability sift through Slake’s body, but he couldn’t find anything wrong. Well, anything beyond the damage Raze himself had caused. He repaired the lacerations and contusions, but he might as well have slapped a bandage on a decapitation because Slake didn’t stop thrashing, and his skin went even whiter.
“My . . . soul.” Slake spoke between panting breaths. “Dyre is . . . torturing me.”
“He can do that?”
“He’s a Soul Reaper.” He moaned, clenching his teeth as another apparent wave of pain took him. “Very powerful.”
Raze had never heard of anyone being able to affect a soul while it still resided in its host, but then, he wasn’t exactly the most underworldly demon.
“What can I do?” Raze was desperate to help, but damn it, he didn’t see how he could. Helplessness wracked him, and all he could do was sit there and watch the male he had fallen for writhe in misery.
“Nothing,” Slake rasped. “Fuck.”
Refusing to believe that, Raze gathered Slake in his arms and held him, bracing Slake’s violent spasms against his own body. Slake’s skin went from icy to hot, from damp to dry, and the sounds he made . . . holy hell, it was heartbreaking. It seemed to go on forever, but finally, Slake quieted and the storm passed. Gently, Raze eased Slake to the floor and fetched a soda from the fridge, thinking that right now, a little sugar would do him good.
By the time he got back to the living room, Slake had pulled himself onto the couch and was looking about a million times better, although his eyes were still bloodshot and he was far too pale for Raze’s comfort.
“Here.” Raze handed him the Coke, but Slake just held it on his lap, looking down at it as if it were the most precious thing he’d ever seen.
When he raised his gaze, the grief in his eyes tore Raze apart. “I’d better go. This is only going to get worse.”
“How much worse?” When Slake didn’t answer, Raze repeated the question.
“It could kill me,” Slake said quietly.
Raze’s heart skipped a beat. Two. Terror held the organ it its icy grip, and it wasn’t until he summoned every drop of heated fury he had that his heart restarted and he could speak again.
“Bullshit,” he snapped, and then he felt like a piece of shit for practically yelling at a guy who had already been knocked around. By life. By his boss. By Raze. “I’m sorry, Slake. But I won’t let you go through this alone. And I sure as hell won’t let you die.”
Slake gave him a sad smile. “I don’t think it’s up to you.”
Oh, no. This really was bullshit. Raze might not be able to heal him with his power, but he wasn’t completely helpless. Not with his connections. He had resources at his disposal that the guy couldn’t even begin to comprehend.
He shoved to his feet and held out his hand to Slake. “Come on. We’re going to the hospital.”
Slake shook his head. “You can’t fix this with medicine. Let’s face it. Unless you happen to be good friends with my boss, or better yet, Satan, I’m fucked.”
No, Slake wasn’t fucked. But if Raze could pull this off, he could also arrange a very thorough fucking.
Later. Right now . . . they had a soul to save.
“Okay, so . . . why are we at Underworld General Clinic?” Slake walked alongside Raze as they traversed the winding clinic halls that had been hidden within London’s Tube network. He’d never been here before, but he figured it was as good a place as any to be if he had another attack of soul-agony.
Dyre was such an asshole.
“We’re here because I called in a favor,” Raze said, sounding unreasonably chipper for someone who was walking alongside a doomed guy.
Instantly suspicious, Slake narrowed his eyes at Raze as they turned a corner. “What kind of favor?”
Raze greeted a scrubs-clad horned demon who walked past them on hooved feet before turning to Slake. “Blaspheme, one of the doctors who run the clinic, is mated to the King of Hell. He might be able to do something about your soul problem.”
Slake laughed, but this situation was so not funny. “Okay, sure. I’ll bite. Satan’s mate is a doctor.”
“Satan’s gone.” Raze slowed as they approached the open door to an exam room. “A Shadow Angel named Revenant kicked his ass and then took over Sheoul.”
Slake stopped in the middle of the hall and gave him a flat stare. Raze was serious. At least, he believed what he was saying. Maybe the coma had knocked something loose in his head.
“You’re trying to tell me that Satan is not only real, but he’s dead.” Slake tried not to sound too much like a disbelieving dick, but come on. “And you know this . . . how?”
“Long story, but the short of it is that Satan is real.” Raze gestured for Slake to enter the room. He was still wearing the clothes Slake had taken to the hospital for him, and he had to admit that the Sem filled out the jeans even better than he’d imagined. “But he isn’t dead. He’s imprisoned for a thousand years.” He entered the room behind Slake, as at home here as he was at the apartment. “That’s why there’s so much turmoil in Sheoul. Very few people know the truth. Hell, a large percentage of the demonic population are just like you. They think Satan himself is a myth, just like humans with God.”
Actually, Slake hadn’t believed in Satan or God for most of his life, either. It wasn’t until he met a fallen angel that his beliefs had been tested. If fallen angels existed, then so did angels, which meant there must be a
Heaven. And if there was a Heaven, maybe there was a god who created it. But still . . . the idea of Satan had been hard to swallow.
“Okay, let’s say you’re right. Satan got the boot and this guy . . . Relevant? Reverent?”
Raze laughed and closed the door behind them. “Revenant.”
“Revenant.” Slake folded his arms over his chest and played along even though he was half-tempted to call Eidolon to make sure Raze wasn’t feeling some aftereffects of his three days in the hospital. “Okay, so Revenant runs Sheoul. You really think that a guy who is powerful enough to defeat Satan is going to peel his evil ass off his brimstone throne to come to a freaking medical clinic to help out some stranger? And even if he did, there’s the whole, ‘making a deal with the devil’ thing to consider.”
Raze’s cocky smile made Slake go a little weak inside. Gods, he wanted to kiss him, right here, right now, but he still wasn’t entirely sure where they stood in this relationship.
“I’ve heard his throne is made of bones,” Raze said lightly, as if they weren’t talking about Hell’s fucking overlord, “not brimstone. And what choice do you have? Your soul is already forfeit to a bastard who will do who-knows-what with it.”
“True, but Dyre runs a law firm. Granted, it’s the most powerful in the world, but this Shadow Angel you claim to know runs Sheoul.”
“You still sound skeptical.”
“You think? Next you’re going to tell me that the Grim Reaper, Santa Claus, and the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse are real.”
“Well,” Raze began, still all cocky and shit, “as far as I know, Santa is bullshit, but the Grim Reaper is real. He goes by the name Azagoth. And the Horsemen stop by the hospital every once in a while. They’re pretty cool. But they can be serious assholes if they don’t like you. Never get on their bad sides.”
Slake rolled his eyes. Raze was totally fucking with him. “Look, I know you want to help, but I don’t know that this is—”
