“He has to go back,” she said.
“This is ridiculous,” muttered Cain. “You can’t keep breaking the rules like this. First the Spartan, now this—”
“Nonsense!” Salazar’s voice intruded. “I don’t know where we get all this crap about ‘rules’. We live in Purgatory. Souls seek salvation. Our goal is to make sure they find it. If his salvation lies in the arms of this woman…the one he has chosen to sacrifice Heaven for, then who are we to stop him?”
“Besides,” Calliope chipped in, “who says he’s sacrificing Heaven? He’s simply choosing to live a better life with her. If he does that, he’ll get to Heaven anyway.” Her smile was so radiant it lit the room. For a moment, even gloomy Cain seemed less dark. Azazel, in his gleaming suit, lit up like a glitter ball. Which troubled Lilith, but she said nothing.
“I agree with the others,” said Marcia, looking up at her husband. Cato’s face softened as their eyes met. He nodded. “You know I can never disagree with you, my love,” he chuckled slightly. “But it’s a good decision.” He turned to the others. “Does anyone else have an objection? Arawn?” He turned to the giant of a man who was gazing in Calliope’s direction. Arawn nodded.
“It’s a righteous judgment,” he said in a voice that was deep enough to move mountains. Cato looked at Azazel, who shrugged.
“Fine with me,” the glitter ball snapped. “One more, one less, all the same.” Lilith noticed that Salazar’s eyes had darkened as they roved over him. He felt it too. Something didn’t add up. Azazel and Imentet had always been joined at the hip. Axel had said he’d been approached by a man and a woman. Imentet was certainly not acting alone, and Lilith’s instincts kept homing in on this man. But right now, they had no proof. Cato’s voice dragged her back to the matter at hand.
“It is decided then. He will return.” He turned to face her and Salazar. “I assume you’ll be making the necessary arrangements?” Lilith would have blushed if she’d been merely mortal. Cato knew that she’d handled such matters before. Their Spartan had returned to the world with a new identity and enough resources to begin a new life. Axel would too. She nodded.
Cato snapped his fingers, and Axel was gone.
◆◆◆
Axel gasped as a flood of light washed around him. For a second, he couldn’t figure out where he was. It was as if he’d been sucked through space, disintegrated, and then dropped in a heap on the floor. A tornado of pain was replaced by the strangest sensation of…touch. His arms were around Desirée, and she was staring up at him strangely. He imagined he could feel every pore in her skin where his hands skimmed up her arms.
“Are you ok?” she asked? “You went quiet for a moment.”
He frowned slightly. ‘A moment?’ he wondered. His meeting with the Council had dragged on for what seemed like hours. He brushed his fingers against her cheek, aware of the silken texture of her skin. Somehow, it was more tangible than he’d ever noticed before.
He was touching her. Not the essence of her, but really touching her. He bent his head, brushed his lips over hers. She sighed as her mouth parted beneath his, and he wallowed in the sweetness of her taste. A sensation stirred within him that seemed out of place after all that had happened, but he couldn’t help himself. It was raw and primal.
Lust.
Part of him wanted to stop himself, but she’d curled her fingers around his neck and was pulling him closer. Her breathing becoming ragged as she pressed against him, and he felt his heat rise. For a moment, she broke the kiss, tilting her face to meet his gaze, her cheeks flushed with passion.
“You have…the most beautiful eyes,” Desirée whispered. And they lost themselves in each other.
The End
◆◆◆
Developing a taste for demon lovers? Turn the page for a hint at what’s next in the Soul Searchers Series…
Only Her…
Alaric’s story
Alaric frowned as he crested the hill. The plume of black smoke swirling in the blue sky caused his eyes to narrow. They narrowed further as he took in the carrion birds that swooped and circled within the dark cloud.
“What has happened here?” he reined his horse to a halt and addressed the soldier who approached them at a trot. The man’s mount was smeared with dirt and soot that mingled with the sweat on its heaving flanks.
“It is as you ordered, my lord,” the man replied. He, too, was coated in sweat and dirt. “The village has been destroyed; all who lived there, gone along with it.” He dipped his head.
Alaric felt his gut wrench. “What?” he demanded. “I ordered no such thing. Where did these orders come from?”
“From your own guard, my lord,” the soldier’s voice quavered. “We received instructions this very morning, sealed by your hand!” Alaric shook his head, not wanting to believe what he was hearing.
“Where is this guard now,” he barked out, running his eyes over the troops that accompanied him. Nobody was out of line, nobody had left their post.
“He departed, lord. Said he had to return to his ranks.” The solder shrank back. His horse seemed to pick up on his fear and shifted, moving skittishly.
Alaric cursed and spurred his horse forward, breaking into a steady canter towards the small settlement. The feeling in his gut was becoming increasingly unpleasant. It hit like a boot to the stomach as he saw the first bodies on the outskirts of the village. Face-down in the dirt, arms outstretched, it was clear they had been running for their lives. He brought his horse to a walk as he rode down the main road through the tiny town. Little more than a dusty path, it was barely big enough for two chariots to pass.
Smoke was still billowing from charred buildings, the stench heavy and acrid in the air. More bodies were scattered in doorways and alleys. The soldiers had been brutally efficient in their attack. Now they were rifling through the rubble, collecting items of value and possible weapons.
Looting.
Alaric bit back a wave of rage. He glanced up sharply as a man crossed his path, dragging the carcass of a goat to a waiting wagon.
“We feast tonight, my lord,” the soldier called out cheerfully, negotiating around the body of an elderly man. Behind him, a flock of goats lay slaughtered in a small camp.
He kept riding, eyes trailing over the scene of destruction. A woman lay on her back beside the road, her eyes staring sightlessly into the blue, smoke-smudged sky. A small child was crumpled beside her. Alaric gagged, swallowed back the bile that flooded his mouth. He turned his head and shuddered, not caring what his men might think.
“God forgive us,” he muttered.
Alongside him, his own guard rode silently. Seasoned warriors, they were accustomed to facing men in war, used to killing in battle. This was different.
This was a massacre.
A massacre of innocents…in his name. By his orders.
Alaric rubbed his face with his hand, feeling the soot collecting on his skin, coating him in the filth of this moment. It was a feeling that would stay with him for the rest of his life. And though he did not know it now, it was a feeling that would stay with him beyond the grave.
His mind raced as he tried to make sense of it all. Tried to work out who might have sent the orders. There was clearly a plot of some sort, with him at the center. But surrounded by the devastation, it was difficult for him to think beyond the horror he was seeing.
“My lord!” a call rang out.
Beneath him, his horse moved restlessly, snorted, and shook its head with a dull jangle of metal against leather. He turned in the direction of the voice. It was the captain of the troop, a battle-hardened man whose scarred features hid his youth.
“Ildefons,” Alaric bit out, reaching up to remove his heavy helmet and revealing sweat-streaked hair. “What is the meaning of this?”
“We carried out your orders, lord,” the man repeated the answer of the previous soldier. “We were instructed by your guard to destroy the village and everyone in it. The orders were—”
His words were cut short by a commotion nearby. A group of soldiers had gathered in a circle. In the middle, an old woman stood, brandishing a pitchfork. She hissed and spat like a cornered cat as they tried to get close enough to deliver a fatal blow. A small figure clung to her skirt, filthy arms wrapped around the woman’s thigh.
“Mark my words, you may take my life, but I won’t be going alone!” the woman’s voice was strong and clear despite the stoop of her shoulders. Alaric rode forward to the edge of the group, raising one hand to halt the attack.
“Leave her!” he commanded, and his men stood down, edging away to allow him closer to the woman. His horse tossed its head and snorted, its flaxen mane tumbling over its russet coat. “You are safe, mother, no harm will come to you now.”
The old woman stared up at him, venom in her eyes. She hadn’t yet lowered the pitchfork, and the sharp tines wavered as her arm trembled beneath its weight. He looked down at the child beside her, could see now that it was a small girl. Huge hazel eyes locked onto his from a face that was delicate beneath the grime. Although the woman was openly murderous, it was those hazel eyes that unsettled him the most.
“You!” the woman cried, her voice hoarse with emotion. “You have done this.” She swept an arm around to encompass the destruction. “All gone…all dead…because of you!” Alaric said nothing. He would get to the bottom of this, but he had no answers for her now.
With the motion of the woman’s arm, the child had glanced off to the side where a man and woman lay, bloodied, in the street. He could guess that the woman had gone down first, and the man had gathered her into his arms before a blade had slashed his throat. They lay now, lovers united in death. He suspected it was very likely they were the parents of the child who stood clinging to her frail, fearless guardian.
The woman spoke again, eyes narrowed on his face. “I curse you,” she hissed at him. “I curse you beyond death, beyond the realm of Hell. You will spend Eternity seeking forgiveness for what has been done here today.” She spat on the floor and kicked the dust at her feet.
Alaric’s men shifted uncomfortably. Brave as they were, and driven by Christian beliefs, superstition still ran in their veins. A soldier beside him backed up a step. Alaric remained implacable. The strong lines of his face gave no hint of the emotions that roiled within him.
“You will never know happiness,” the woman continued. “There will be no peace within you – until you are loved by my line again.” She looked down at the girl before piercing him with those burning eyes. “And we are the last. The very last…” Her voice broke. As if her tirade had taken the last of her strength, the pitchfork trembled in her grasp. She dropped it to the floor, her shoulders heaving as she began to sob, then sank to the ground. As Alaric’s men advanced a step, the child threw her arms around the woman and glared at him, as if daring anyone to come closer. Ildefons looked over at Alaric, who gave an abrupt shake of his head.
“Leave them,” he said, his voice gravelly. In moments, his men had dispersed, nobody questioning his order. The girl and the woman remained in the street, the child soothing her as she continued to sob. When the men left the village much later, they were still there.
◆◆◆
“This one’s mine,” Jezebel said emphatically.
“He’s not dead yet,” Lilith replied, watching the scene unfolding in the small settlement.
“It’s only a matter of time,” said Jezebel, her eyes tracking the movements of the tall warrior who seemed so moved by the words of the old woman. While he hadn’t betrayed any feelings outwardly, she could sense the turmoil within him. “They all die eventually.”
“True,” admitted Lilith. “And he certainly seems your type.” Alaric had left his helmet off, and the sun had dried his hair, yet sweat still gleamed on his massive shoulders and arms. Ice-blue eyes swept over the men who had fallen into formation as they left the village. He was an imposing figure, tall and battle-hardened.
“My ‘type’ is irrelevant,” Jezebel snapped, unusually sharp towards Lilith, who looked at her in surprise. Jezebel shrugged. “He’s special,” she added.
“Well, he’s certainly got a long path ahead of him if you think he’s ever going to escape that particular curse,” Lilith responded. “Finding love from that bloodline looks like a long shot.”
After the soldiers abandoned the carnage they’d caused, the old woman and her young companion finally rose from their place in the street. The woman shuffled to the couple who had fallen in the raid. Reaching them, she knelt beside them and stroked her fingers over the cold, pale cheek of the woman. Her hand rested on the dead man’s shoulder. Her body shook as she continued to sob. Beneath her breath, she muttered a string of words. A tuneless song. A quiet incantation.
Throughout the entire event, the child had not uttered a sound.
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Books In This Series
Soul Searchers
On a celestial island between Heaven and Hell is the Mountain of Purgatory – a towering structure of multiple layers, each corresponding to one of the seven deadly sins – Wrath, Envy, Pride, Sloth, Lust, Gluttony and Greed. Here reside the souls of those men and women whose crimes on Earth should have damned them to an eternity of hellfire, had they not shown some shred of remorse – a glimmer of hope that they could be saved.
Recognized by humankind only in their dreams, they have gone by many names – incubus, succubus, phantasm, hobgoblin…demon lover. Through history, they’ve been acknowledged with fear for their ability to seduce even the most pious spirits, to drive them into frenzies of desire. But there is more to their story. Some have existed in this realm for thousands of years, slowly learning what is necessary for repentance; others find their answers more quickly, but each has a unique journey to reach the final goal: the ability to give and receive pure love.
Saving Her
Her broken heart. His broken soul. Can she heal his spirit and save him from damnation?
Purgatory. In a dimension between Heaven and Hell, exist the souls of those who must atone for their sins, or face an eternity in the Underworld.
When Rebecca loses her first true love in a car accident, she has no idea that her heartbreak will attract one of these souls, an ancient incubus who brings unspeakable pleasure to her dreams.
Once a Spartan ruler, Xander has spent thousands of years in Purgatory, trying to earn absolution for the crimes he committed as a mortal. Learning to love purely will save him from Hell…but the only way he can interact with humans is as their demon lover.
Until he finds Rebecca. Compelled to comfort her tormented spirit, he realizes that she can sense him outside their dream world. What starts as an erotic dream becomes something infinitely more real as he begins to occupy her living world.
But does he belong there? Or is it his role to make a greater sacrifice for their love? Perhaps that can be his only hope of redemption.
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