Hellishly Ever After (Infernal Covenant Book 1)

by Nadine Mutas

  Mammon and Azmodea exchanged a glance.

  “Do you think it’ll be like…?” he asked quietly.

  She shrugged. “Possibly. It’s similar enough to be a precedent.”

  “What is?” I leaned forward.

  Azmodea hesitated. “There’s...one other case of a human bonded to a demon and living in Hell.”

  “It’s not a marriage, though,” Mammon chimed in.

  “No, it kind of predates that entire concept.” She grimaced. “A weird human custom, if you ask me. Based on the idea of ensuring patrilineal bloodlines…”

  “Well, it’s not like humans can sniff out kinship.” Mammon scratched his chin.

  She raised an elegant auburn brow. “They wouldn’t have to if they went by matrilineality.”

  “Not to interrupt this fascinating discussion of anthropology,” I said, holding up a finger, “but about that other human living in Hell…”

  “Oh, yeah.” Azmodea snapped her fingers. “She’s been here since the beginning, hasn’t aged a day, so in her case, the bond altered her mortality. Chances are you’re changed as well, but only time will tell, I guess.”

  “Right.” I blew out a breath. “So I’m possibly looking at an eternity of...this.” Leaning back, I glanced around the room. “However much my unwitting trickery delights you, I inadvertently screwed myself over too.”

  “Now, now.” Azmodea patted my hand. “I’ll talk to him, darling. He’ll come around, eventually.”

  And how much time would pass until then? What would be left of my sanity?

  Mammon regarded me with a thoughtful expression while Azmodea went on to ask me about my life, answering my questions about Hell and demons. I soaked up the information, basked in their company, not knowing when I’d see them next.

  When they got up to leave, I refrained from begging. Barely.

  Azmodea kissed me on my cheeks again and sailed out the door in a swirl of fiery hair and glittering fabric, but Mammon lingered behind.

  “You know,” he said, leaning against the door jamb, “there is a way out of these rooms besides this door here. My mother prefers the diplomatic tactic of trying to talk to Azazel—” he rolled his eyes “—but I’m a fan of sneakier methods, so I’m inclined to tell you.”

  My heart skipped a beat. “Please,” was all I could whisper.

  Mammon made a pained sound. “Begging me unprompted.” He gave me a longing look, then banged his head against the door jamb. “Honest to Lucifer, your sweetness is wasted on Azazel. Pity you’re bound to him. I’d whisk you away and spoil you rotten, sweetheart, but alas, I’m afraid he’d hack off my hands if I dared touch you.” Studying said body parts, he grimaced. “They’re a bitch to regrow.”

  I raised both eyebrows, struck mute.

  “Anyway…” Mammon shrugged, his easy smile back in place. “Tell me I’m pretty and I shall point you to the hidden passageway. All our rooms in Hell have one—we’re a paranoid bunch, you know.”

  “You’re the prettiest man I ever did see,” I said before he even finished his sentence.

  He gave me an arch look. “I said compliment me, not lie to me. I’d wager your statement would be true if you hadn’t yet met my irritating uncle.”

  Well, damn. Was I that easy to read?

  I bit my lip. “I’d walk into a streetlight while craning my neck to get a better look at you?”

  He preened. “That’s more like it. All right, so the secret passageway is never in the same place and has to be summoned. You’ll need this.” With a flick of his hand, he produced a notepad and pen out of thin air and began drawing on it. “That’s the sigil Azazel uses for his rooms, and your chances are good it’ll be the same for yours.”

  He handed me the notepad.

  “How do I…?”

  “We use our powers to draw them, but in your case…” He considered me for a moment. “Blood should do it.”

  I might have uttered a sound of dismay.

  “There’s power in blood.” He shrugged. “I’m not sure if you also received some of Azazel’s powers when you bonded, but when in doubt, go for blood.”

  “That just might become my new life motto.”

  He chuckled. “I’d really love to be there when you take him on. Give him hell, girl.”

  Oh, would I ever.

  “Thank you so, so much,” I said, clutching the notepad to my chest. “I shall tell you how pretty you are every single time I see you.”

  “I’m counting on it.” And with a wink, he was gone, the door locking behind him.

  I stared at the sign on the notepad as if it held my salvation. If not that, it definitely was the key to my freedom. Azazel could secure the door more tightly than the national treasury, but with this sigil and the secret passageway I could come and go as I pleased, and he’d be none the wiser.

  Oh, to imagine the look on his face when he found me strolling down his halls. For the first time since being dumped here, I felt light with elation—and filled with purpose.

  Chapter 7

  I started with practicing to draw the sigil on the notepad. Before I spilled my own blood for this, I needed to make sure I could write the symbol perfectly.

  Once satisfied I could reproduce it without issue, I laid down the pen, found a free area of wall that could reasonably accommodate a door—and realized I still needed something to cut myself with.

  My razor. I retrieved it from the bathroom, along with a towel to wad up excess blood, and went back to my spot in front of the wall. Heart pounding, hands clammy, I stared at the blade in my fingers, hovering over my lower arm.

  No way was I cutting myself in the palm. While it was the spot of choice in pretty much all movies and books requiring a pact or an offering of blood for a spell or some such, I’d once read the plea of a fiction-loving doctor who argued that the palm was one of the worst places to make a cut—it was full of nerves, much more so than the lower arm, for example. Same was true for a fingertip. And it would be a pain in the ass to heal, what with how often you flexed your hand and used it for grasping something.

  So, lower arm it was.

  I just had to make sure I didn’t cut any of the veins. I needed a certain amount of blood for the sigil, but not a stream.

  My breath was uncomfortably loud in the silence of the room. Hand shaking, I still stared, unable to move, to take that step. I’d never hurt myself on purpose before. It was a lot harder to deliberately slice my own flesh than I’d thought.

  I could scratch you.

  I froze at the voice in my head. Slowly, I turned to look up at the ceiling, and wouldn’t you know it, the hellcat sat lurking half-concealed in the shadows right above me. The firelight reflected in its luminous eyes, and its tail swished languidly in the air.

  “Um, no.” I cleared my throat. “No, thanks.”

  I’d be careful. Just a scratch. Its wings flared a little. And I’d lick it clean right after.

  “Yeah, no. That’s what I’m worried about.” I gave it some major side-eye.

  Its claws scraped over the rafters as it shifted its weight, and I had the impression it was faintly amused.

  Great, just great. I’d probably have to incinerate the bloody towel afterwards just to make sure my live-in fire extinguisher monster didn’t snack on it and develop a taste for my blood.

  Okay. Deep breath in. Deep breath out. Steady hand...and cut.

  Before I could waver again, I sliced the razor over the outside of my lower arm. The pain was sharp, but abated quickly, then settled into a more dull throbbing. I’d cut myself while shaving before, and it mostly just hurt when water hit the wound or the skin pulled tight when I moved. Hopefully this wouldn’t be that much different.

  Blood welled at the cut, and I touched my finger to it.

  Showtime.

  Thankfully, the stone wall was smooth enough to draw on, and I wrote the sigil as best I could in continuous strokes, touching my finger again to the gash in my arm when I needed more blood.
Upon finishing the last stroke, the sigil lit up briefly, reminiscent of the glow of the symbols I’d seen Azazel draw for the hellgate and outside on the balcony.

  Silently, an outline manifested in front of my eyes. A second later, the wall sported a real passageway. No door to close on this one, just an open arch into darkness. A slight breeze blew through it, brushing with a chill over my skin. Definitely not an illusion.

  Alrighty. I licked over the gash on my arm to crudely disinfect it, then pressed the towel to it.

  My saliva has healing properties.

  “Still nope.” I cast a wary glance upward. “Nice try, though.”

  Suit yourself.

  I raised a brow and turned to the doorway. Better to walk right through it, before it vanished. Who knew how long it would last? And how would I get back?

  “Um.” I faced the hellcat again. “Will this spell work the other way around too? Can I get back here when I draw the symbol out there?”

  The lines are all connected. A web of sorts. Here and there, and back again and to a place you haven’t been. Be careful that you seek the right one.

  “Wha—” I shook my head. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  Yes, and no.

  “Can’t you just give me a straight answer?”

  I’m a cat.

  “Ugh. Fine. Thanks anyway.”

  You can leave the towel. I’ll...take care of it.

  I raised both brows and hurried into the dark archway. “Byyyyyye.”

  The air held a welcome chill, much more in line with what one would expect from a stone building than the pressing heat in my rooms. Goosebumps beaded on my skin as I cautiously stepped forward. The light spilling in from the room behind me was just enough to illuminate the path in front of me. That was, until it vanished.

  Darkness fully enveloped me, like a complete blackout blanket thrown over my head. Trying not to panic, I wrapped the towel around my arm and fastened it as well as possible, then reached out with both hands in search of the walls. My fingertips connected with cool stone, and I inched forward, using the wall to guide me.

  I stopped short when I hit a dead end.

  Crap. There was no door here. And only darkness behind me. I’d figured this would be a tunnel, with another archway at the end, waiting for me to walk through. I had the sinking feeling that if I turned around and retraced my steps, I wouldn’t find the original doorway again—only a blank stone wall, like here.

  Was I trapped?

  Panic welled inside me. I shoved it down mercilessly. Freaking out wouldn’t help me.

  Think, Zoe, think.

  Maybe I needed to draw the sigil again? I could still squeeze out enough blood from the cut in my arm, I was sure, but...it was pitch black. I couldn’t see my own hand in front of my eyes, let alone the wall or anything I drew on it.

  Well, should have thought of that before I stepped into a dark archway, shouldn’t I? I groaned at my thoughtlessness. Next time I’d bring a torch, or a candle, anything to light my way.

  If there was a next time.

  Okay. Berating myself wouldn’t get me anywhere. I could only try to draw that sigil and hope I got all the strokes right, even without seeing them.

  I unwrapped the towel from my arm, squeezed the gash—ouch—and tipped my finger in the warm liquid I could only feel, not see.

  My heart thundered in my head, and I sweated so much I didn’t even feel the chill anymore.

  There, the last stroke. I hoped.

  The glow that had been faint before in my room now blinded me. I closed my hurting eyes, ready to weep with relief. It worked. It actually worked.

  When I opened my eyes again, I squinted at the light, which was insanely bright compared to the utter darkness of a minute ago. It took me a few seconds of my eyes adjusting, but then I made out the hallway behind the archway.

  Yes!

  I rushed out before that doorway decided to trap me again.

  Licking over the gash once more and then rebandaging the wound with the towel, I glanced around. Freedom. The possibilities made me dizzy.

  Or maybe that was the blood loss.

  Right. So, which way to go, which way to go…? I had to be careful not to run into any of the small demons, or else my little excursion would be cut short. I should have brought a handheld mirror to peek around corners or something like that.

  Mental note: Plan your next sneak escape better.

  I’d just been so excited to finally have a way out that I hadn’t taken the time to prepare well. Live and learn.

  I decided to go left. Interestingly, I couldn’t see the door to my room to my right, even though it should be there, given the layout of the room and the place where I’d summoned the passageway.

  Then again, the tunnel had been a lot longer than the depth of the stone wall. When the door to my room had been open, I’d seen how deep the wall was...an arm’s length, at most. The passageway had stretched on for several yards—I’d walked for at least two minutes.

  Weird magic.

  Shaking my head, I snuck down the hallway then stopped. I should mark this spot. If I didn’t get caught, I needed to be able to come back here and summon the passageway again to get back to my rooms. If the hellcat’s rambling held any kind of truth, the exact place where I summoned that door might play an important role. As well as intention, maybe?

  This was worse than trying to assemble Swedish furniture with a picture-only manual that didn’t make sense and a kit that was missing key parts.

  In fact, it was a good idea to mark my progress through the hallways in general, like leaving a trail of breadcrumbs to lead me back to this spot. From what I had seen in my first escape attempt, the hallway didn’t change much in appearance, and if I didn’t leave any hints, I’d get lost.

  I remembered how long Azazel had walked when he’d carried me to my rooms...this house was huge, with intricate turns and a maze-like structure to the hallways. And worse than the idea of getting caught—with my luck, I’d run smack dab into Azazel himself—was the possibility of having to actually seek out either him or his demon underlings to lead me back if I couldn’t find my own way. Which was terrifyingly likely if I didn’t mark the places I passed.

  Only problem was—I didn’t have a tool to mark the wall or floor in any way. If I had a knife or something similar, I could scratch the stone in a certain pattern. But of course, my demon douche of a husband hadn’t supplied me with a weapon. To be fair, I would have contemplated using it against him.

  I stared at the wall and uttered a sound of frustration. There was only one thing in my arsenal to use as a way marker, and I hurt just thinking about it.

  Nothing for it...there really was no other choice.

  With a sigh, I unwrapped the towel from my arm again and pinched the wound. It was still unscabbed anyway.

  I dabbed my finger in the blood and then touched the wall. A little should do. Drawing a sign wasn’t necessary, I just needed something to recognize if I came by here again. To be sure I’d remember that this was the spot to summon the passageway, I gave the wall two dots. Any future hallways to mark would get only one.

  And thus I began my journey through Azazel’s medieval mansion.

  The hallways truly never changed much. Rough-hewn stone, lit by torches, the space large enough for two male demons with their wings out passing each other without touching, and a ceiling so high that it was lost in murky darkness.

  Here and there I came by doors, but they were closed and I didn’t dare try to open them. What if someone was on the other side, and by peeking inside I’d reveal my presence? I knew better than to push my luck. The risk of running into Azazel or someone else who knew I shouldn’t be out here was already high enough. I didn’t need to increase it by poking at doors.

  I walked for what seemed like an hour. Without my phone or another clock it was hard to track time, but it got more and more difficult to keep the gash on my arm open to extract more blood. I’d gotten so us
ed to the never-changing appearance of the hallways that I stopped dead in my tracks when I came upon a wholly different sight.

  The open doorway I’d just walked through led into a much larger hall. Instead of walls all around, this time there were windows on one side. If you could call them windows.

  Huge pillars made up the entire left side of the hall, the space between them allowing a view of the outside. There seemed to be panes of glass between them too, but not just that...a pattern of bars stretched between the pillars, like a giant grid of what looked like wrought iron. Like a prison, to keep someone in. Or...the fortification of a castle, to keep someone out.

  In a daze, I moved closer to the windows. I hadn’t seen the outside since Azazel flew me here, and even then I’d only caught glimpses.

  It was still dark outside. Or yet again? Maybe this was the permanent state of Hell, no change from day to night, just relentless, ever-same twilight. It would be a sort of torture in itself, I mused. I knew that locking someone in a room with the lights always on was used by some secret agencies as a way of breaking people. We’re not made to endure monotony like that.

  The sky lit up in red and orange hues, streaks of purple lightning flashing for a few seconds before the gloom returned. Somewhere in the distance sparks erupted as if from a volcano. When the next lightning broke up the darkness, I spotted flying shapes, moving fast across the sky. Even though they were thousands of feet away, I could tell they were bigger than regular birds.

  I shivered, yet I couldn’t wrench my eyes away from the view. The bleakest sort of landscape, an apocalyptic tableau come to life. My mind still struggled to understand this was real, wasn’t a scene from a movie. I saw it, and yet I didn’t get it. Not truly. It would probably take me wandering through that dismal scenery, touching it, smelling it, feeling it on my skin to fully understand—and I had no desire to be out there.

  A commotion to my left jolted me out of my trance. The sounds of someone approaching from the direction I’d come. Shit. I needed to keep moving.

  Heart in my throat, I rushed to the other side of the hall, skidded around the corner of the open archway there, into the next hallway. Behind me, deep growls and the rapid clicks of claws on stone.