“You’re more of a thief than an assassin anyway. You prefer to pilfer.”
“I am a man of many talents.”
Ignoring them, Z strode toward the door. It was locked, but he would be able to break through the wooden panel easily. Stepping back to allow himself room, he paused when a hand came down on his shoulder.
“I got this.” Sylvester stepped by him and dropped to one knee. Within seconds, there was a click. “It was barely worth the effort.”
“Back in formation,” Azrael ordered, then took the lead. He opened the door, and they immediately heard shouts and screams beyond. The Dart used a small tube-like device to peer around the corner.
“There’s a mob there, centered on something. Maybe we should go a different way?” He held up the device again and cursed. “Never mind. It’s centered on your sister.”
Peony.
Z’s mind went blank, and suddenly he was through the door, his gloved hands striking out at the rioting Mortus demons. Don’t touch their skin. The litany helped calm him, but it took months, years, to finally locate the white-blonde hair of his healer.
There.
His blood surging through his veins, he slammed through the mob, leaving unconscious bodies in his wake. The weakness that had plagued him for months was gone, strength pulsing within him at the sight of his healer.
Peony was shaking, clumsily fighting off the Mortus who approached her.
Next to her, a tall male Mortus battled with lethal intent, felling demon after demon, all the while wearing an icy, detached smile. An older female demon on Peony’s other side struck out with a knife, most of her attackers seeming afraid to approach her.
A fist slammed into Z’s side, cracking a rib. Without pausing, he slammed the hilt of his knife into his assailant’s face, hearing the satisfying crunch of a broken nose.
Then he was in front of Peony.
He ripped away the Mortus who was attacking her, throwing him halfway across the room, then took position in front of her. No one was getting through him.
“Z?” Peony’s eyes were wide with shock. “What are you doing here? Your wings!”
A Mortus approached, wielding a sword, but Dru stepped smoothly in the way and sliced her claws across his arm. He dropped to the floor, screaming in agony.
Shouts rang through the crowd now, and weapons were slowly lowered. Dead bodies littered the carpet and tiles, blood and viscera smeared over every surface. Vacant eyes stared upward.
The team formed a loose circle around Peony and the two Mortus demons who’d fought alongside her. A bruised female was crouching on the floor between them, her hands over her head.
Z’s eyes raked over Peony, looking for injuries. She seemed well, although she was hunched slightly. He was happy to just see her.
It’s relief.
The male demon, meanwhile, was gazing flatly at Dru. “You’re back.”
Dru grimaced. “Just to get my sister.”
“That might be a problem.”
“Why?” Azrael demanded.
The demon crossed his arms over his chest. “Because she’s our new queen.”
Their what?
Chapter 31
Chaos.
Peony’s world had descended into chaos.
One minute they had been moving the dead body of the king, the next, a mob had descended on the harem’s communal area. She had fought for her life, but even then she’d kept her ungloved hand away from any bare Mortus skin.
She already felt dirty, sick.
The king had deserved to die, but she shouldn’t have been the one to mete out justice. No matter what her mother believed, Peony didn’t have the right to decide who lived and died. She had broken a vow she’d made to herself the day her skin had turned toxic.
She had killed.
Then, almost as quickly as the melee had begun, it was over, thanks to arrival of several newcomers. And her world, already skewed, had tilted.
Peony stared in shock at Z.
He was so...healthy.
Her fingers itched to stroke his magnificent wings, to feel those white feathers that looked soft as silk. He was still thin—his jawline was sharp enough to cut glass—but his green eyes blazed.
He was so handsome it hurt.
Belatedly, she focused on the others: Dru, a dark-haired man she didn’t know, Sylvester, and Metcalf. What were they doing with Z? How had Metcalf learned of the angel? Had Trick sent them to come and get her?
That thought died a quick death.
Trick wouldn’t renege on a deal. Her former boss was focused on profit and reputation. Saving her would never have entered his mind.
“She’s your queen?” Dru demanded.
Peony flinched.
Godric raised an eyebrow. “I was speaking clearly, wasn’t I?”
“Enough of this nonsense!” Lady Eramine snapped. She drew up to her full height and stared at the assembled Mortus. They had not accepted Godric’s claim that Peony was now their ruler.
Neither had Peony, for that matter.
Lady Eramine projected her voice across the room. “You have a new ruler. This abom—I mean, demon—killed the king. Through her right, she is now queen.”
One of the males in the crowd shouted, “We will not be ruled by a woman!”
A number of shouts echoed his sentiment.
“But you can be killed by one,” Dru called back, flashing her claws. That silenced the dissenters quickly.
“The coronation will take place now.” Lady Eramine shot a meaningful look at Godric.
Now?
Why not tomorrow? That way Peony could try to convince them that this was ridiculous. She could at least arrange for a DNA test to be done, so that she could prove she wasn’t related to Lady Eramine and Godric, and was therefore ineligible for the throne.
I do not want to be queen. I want to leave.
“But I may not be related to you—” Peony began.
Lady Eramine glared. “It’s too late now.”
Godric disappeared behind the sofa, to where the king’s body had been dragged before the demons rioted. He returned quickly, something silvery glinting in his hand. He handed the crown to Lady Eramine, who took hold of it by her fingertips, like it was diseased.
Peony took a step back, but a hand clamped down on her upper arm. She turned to Lady Eramine, who murmured, “You made your bed, lie in it. You want our women to be treated better? Ensure it.”
She bit the inside of her cheek. Had she known this would await her, she would have tried something slightly less fatal to resist the king.
“I don’t want to be queen,” she said quietly.
“Yes, but I don’t want to be king, so suck it up,” Godric murmured, close to her ear. Then, without warning, he shouted, “All hail the new queen!”
Lady Eramine shoved the crown on her head.
Peony’s back bowed as magic slammed through her. A scream built in her throat as tears swam at the back of her eyes, but she remained silent, her entire body locked in an agony so intense, black spots danced in her vision.
The rock beneath her feet grew warm, until she couldn’t sense where she ended, and the den began. With every rapid beat of her heart, power settled through her body, linking her to all the Mortus there present, and beyond, their life sparks scattered throughout Inferno.
Inferno, its lifeblood and power, had become part of her soul. And with it, she was attuned to every Mortus in existence—an oily presence under her skin that spoke of an inborn malevolence she knew she instinctively she lacked.
Then it was over.
Panting, Peony opened her eyes. Her sight, which had already been good, was now exceptional. She could see the finest details on the cloth worn by members of the harem, who stood poised on the edges of the room, as if ready for flight. She drew her attention back to her friends, to Z.
A faint glow surrounded him now, a silver aura she’d
never been able to see before. It made her blood pump faster, but not from discomfort this time. She quickly shoved the emotional response aside and scanned the others. Dru glowed a black-threaded-silver, while Sylvester was outlined in gray. Metcalf was pure black, and the stranger was silver like Z, although his aura had faint whisperings of ebony. He must be an angel, too, although he didn’t have wings.
She looked at her hands and saw a burning green glow, finely threaded with darkness. By comparison, the Mortus in the room were cloaked with black-threaded-green.
Black must be for demons.
Silver is for angels...
What does green mean?
She’d have to ask someone, but not now. Feeling the expectant stares on her, she drew herself up straight. “Go back to your rooms. Everyone. I will decide what to do about you and your disrespect tomorrow.”
Peony didn’t know where the bravado came from, but the Mortus must have seen something in her expression, because they cleared out of the room, quickly.
Then it was just her, Dru and the others, Lady Eramine, Godric and Milly.
“Milly, go back to the infirmary,” Lady Eramine snapped.
The injured demon slunk out of the room.
Then the duchess bristled at Dru. “You.”
Peony’s twin flashed a mocking smile. “Me!”
“You’re the reason all of this has happened.”
“I’d say it’s the king’s fault,” Dru snapped. “But I gather he’s dead.”
“Very,” Godric murmured drily.
“You need to come back with us,” Dru said, turning hard eyes on her
She looks like Lady Eramine.
It was then Peony realized a DNA test would be useless. The evidence of their relationship was there in front of her; Dru and Lady Eramine may not share a face, but their expressions and their eyes were the same.
Funny how she’s my twin, but she seems more like a full-blooded Mortus than me.
Plus, Peony now wore a crown that bound her to Hell. She didn’t think anything other than death would sever the connection.
Can I even leave here? Ever?
“She can’t go with you,” Godric said. “Aside from the fact she’s a blood-bound slave, she’s also our new queen.”
Trapped.
Panic seized her, until a field of emerald green came into view.
Z.
He placed his hands on her shoulders, and a deep sense of calm enveloped her.
Then she realized he was touching her.
A quick glance confirmed he was wearing gloves—he was safe—but she stepped back anyway, breaking the contact.
The warmth lingered.
I could become addicted to that. To the sense of belonging he evoked, even for a few seconds; to the feeling that everything was right in the world when, clearly, everything wasn’t.
Peripherally, she saw Metcalf creep closer to Dru. “Hey, Dru, your ring is glowing—”
Peony frowned. Dru had never worn jewelry before.
“It’s so shiny,” Metcalf said as he reached out to the stone.
Dru tried to snap her hand away, panic on her face, “No, don’t touch—”
Dru and the imp vanished.
The dark-haired stranger lunged toward the duo, cursed as he stumbled against thin air. “Fuck!”
Z spun back. “Azrael!”
“That damned imp just teleported them.”
“Where?” Peony demanded.
“To Metcalf’s chosen destination,” the stranger—Azrael?—said. “I am going to have to cut that damned ring off her finger.”
“That leaves the three of us, and a whole heap of dead Mortus,” Sylvester said, sounding bored. But something wicked glinted in his expression. “And considering I am doing this pro bono, I have to get back to my lovely master ASAP.”
He looked at her, serious. “Doc, are you really stuck here?”
Miserably, Peony nodded. Would she ever be able to see her mother again? Selene couldn’t travel to Hell, not for longer than a few minutes, at any rate.
“Then I’ll come visit,” Sylvester said. “Kisses!” He strode out of the room, carefully stepping around the bodies like they were furniture.
Kisses?
“Where are you going?” Azrael called.
“I’ve got my own way home,” Sylvester called over his shoulder. “You need anything, Doc, you know where to find me. Catchya!”
She saw the look on Z’s face—his beautiful green irises were hard as jade, and his jaw was clenched. “Are you with...him?” The angel’s voice was low and intense.
Peony gave an awkward shrug. “No, that’s just Sylvester. He likes to joke around.”
But something warm expanded in her belly—was Z jealous?
That’s ridiculous.
No, that’s hopeful thinking.
Chapter 32
The idea of Peony with that...male made Z’s blood heat and his pulse race.
But why did it matter?
He’s nothing more than a demon who will take advantage of her.
Yes, that was it.
When had his desire to bring her home—to simply return the favor of her assistance—changed to actually caring for her?
You don’t know her.
He knew she was strong, kind, and inherently good. The fact she was the new Mortus queen was worrying, but might was right in the three circles of Hell. It meant that she had killed the former king; not that she was actually like the Mortus in any way. He just hoped that the former monarch hadn’t hurt her before she’d been forced to slay him.
He would have deserved it.
Azrael sighed. “I will wait here until Dru and that idiot imp return.”
“You aren’t welcome,” the male Mortus snapped, his eyes crystalline.
“He stays,” Z growled.
No Mortus would dictate to them. And considering their former role in the Heavens, Z and Azrael should be killing this demon on sight.
The demon gave Z a scathing glare, eyes raking over his wings. “Your kind is definitely not welcome.”
Z spread them out, defiant. The stench of blood and death was thick in the room, but he ignored it.
Peony sighed. “They can come with me.”
“And where are you going?” the elder Mortus woman demanded.
“The infirmary, to check on Milly.”
“Leave that to me.” The demon spun on her heel, her posture ramrod straight. “The angels may stay for now.”
Peony drew herself up to her full height. “The angels may stay because I said they could. Is that clear?”
The females took the measure of each other for a few seconds before the older woman nodded, something like grudging respect on her face.
“I am going to leave you for now,” said the male Mortus. “I need to go and wash the blood off. But you—angel-boy—” he pointed at Azrael, “—we are going to have a chat when I return.”
When he’d gone, Z turned to Azrael. “Do you mind giving us some privacy?”
The Dart stared at him for a few moments, then nodded, a smile flashing across his face. “Sure. I might go and retrace our steps, in case Dru has returned.”
Azrael slid a strap off his shoulder and slung his backpack to his front. He withdrew an item wrapped in cloth, returned the pack to its original position and handed the object to Z, who took it without thinking. It was spherical and freezing cold to the touch—the iciness burned his hand even through the wrapping and his glove.
“Give this to her,” Azrael murmured. “Get her to look at it as soon as you can.”
“The Orb?”
The Dart nodded.
Z’s hand clenched around the magical object, and he ignored the icy pain in his palm. What was this minor discomfort after everything he had been through in the past few months?
Azrael silently left the hall, leaving Z to study the carnage. “This will need tidying up.
”
Peony bit her lip, her expression turning sad. “Such a waste of life.”
“But they are Mortus.” Z frowned.
“They were born demons, they can’t help it.” Peony almost sounded...defensive?
Then again, she was now queen of the race, at least until they worked out how she could abdicate. It only spoke of her warm nature that she should give these demons the benefit of the doubt.
“What happened?” Z asked, changing the topic. He doubted he’d ever be able to agree with her about the Mortus. After all, they weren’t her kind, despite her crown.
“I could ask you the same thing.” Her eyes roved over his wings. “You look much better than the last time I saw you.”
Heat flooded his cheeks.
“Oh! I didn’t mean that in a bad way...I’m happy you’re healed.” Now Peony’s golden skin looked flushed, like she was embarrassed.
That makes two of us.
“Here, your sister and Azrael say you need this.” Z thrust the Orb at her.
Peony stared at the object in his hand. “What is it? Why do I need it?”
“It’s called Odin’s Orb. It’s a magical object that can allow you to see anything you want.” At least, that was his understanding of it. It was demon magic—well, deposed-god magic—and that had never really been part of his lessons in Heaven. “Dru and Azrael—and me—need you to search for something.”
“Why me?” She reached out a tentative hand, hovering it over the Orb.
“It can only be wielded by a demon who is ‘pure of heart’.”
She laughed. “I’m certainly not ‘pure’.”
Truth. So far as she saw it
How could she not realize how unique she was?
“Trust me, Dru and I think you are the perfect—the only—person to use this object.”
“I think you may both have concussion.”
She didn’t believe him.
Could he have been wrong?
No. He knew her, knew bone-deep that her soul was pure, no matter that she had killed. Even the meekest animal would turn vicious when protecting its own. And Peony viewed her patients as hers. He’d seen the bruises on the girl they had sent back to the infirmary. She would have done anything to protect her.
Benevolent Passion Page 17
