Hell On Wheels

by Rhyll Biest

  Lilith, he had the strength of a scurtbeast. The rumours had to be true, then, that he could actually punch his way through armour, flesh and bone to rip out a beating heart.

  As she gasped for breath he took her chin between thumb and index finger, his expression dark. He brushed his lips over hers, just the lightest dream of a touch, a mere whisper of skin. ‘Open wide, sweetheart.’

  With a sound of alarm, she averted her face but he used his grip on her jaw to turn her face back to his. He stared down at her, the eternal darkness of Hell swirling around them in the courtyard, his intention unmistakable.

  Overpowered like some stupid, fragile bird. It was her last thought before his mouth descended on hers. It wasn’t really a kiss, more of a wrestling match, and she twisted and fought even as he shoved dark, earthy elemental energy down her throat until she choked. To her horror, it then rammed its way down her throat and spread, warm and golden in her belly, her legs and the parts in between, like he’d licked and rubbed her there. And, by Satan’s sulfur-scented silk panties, it felt good. He was good.

  She loathed him all the more for it.

  When he drew away it was with a smug smile. ‘Ready to go?’

  Before she could answer he patted her cheek. ‘Come along, princess, arse-kissing and arse-kicking awaits us.’ He strode ahead, leaving her to trail behind him, intoxicated, guilty and outraged all at once.

  Valeda peeled off her ruined wedding dress to change into the tunic and leggings a gruff she-demon had handed her. The new outfit was far more practical for escape, which was even more imperative now that she’d seen the captain’s odd transmutation—the thing lurking inside him waiting to attack—and felt the way her body responded to his.

  Neither was okay, but she focused on the former rather than the latter. The raw ochre of his eyes, and his dismay—the way his tall, hard-packed frame had stiffened and shuddered—suggested some kind of transformation curse, but she couldn’t be sure.

  He’d told her she could ask him for help, but how could she trust him when he was cursed, busy turning into something else?

  No, as always, she could rely on only herself.

  After she’d pulled on her new boots, sturdy brown things designed for hard landings, a surly she-demon called Megorn escorted her to the armory. As they passed through the fortress, Valeda observed eating quarters, a kitchen and bedrooms. But something was missing.

  ‘No bathrooms?’ She raised her eyebrows.

  Megorn turned her nose up. ‘We don’t piss indoors like your lot do.’

  The entire realm had no bathrooms? Where did they bathe and take care of other business in privacy?

  About to ask, she paused. Perhaps even if the collar stopped her from using her powers, she could still build some juice. Only one way to find out. ‘Did you know that in ancient Egypt, the women stood to urinate and it was the men who sat or squatted, while in ancient China both men and women stood.’ Zap! Zap! Pure energy from Megorn’s learning danced, cold and pure, along her nerves.

  Megorn grimaced and looked away.

  Grim satisfaction curled Valeda’s lips as she entered a room filled with swords, armour and assorted weapons with a long granite table standing in the centre. The captain was standing to inspect a map spread out over the table.

  Megorn cleared her throat. ‘Captain.’

  How unnecessary to announce their presence, surely Megorn was aware her captain could hear a fart from the next city? But perhaps the throat clearing was a courtesy.

  The captain glanced up from the map and was about to speak—to make some insipid compliment about how she looked in her tunic, Valeda would bet—but she got in first. ‘Captain, did you know that perhaps as recent as two hundred years ago, European women urinated standing up because long dresses acted as a little, private pee-tent?’ Zap! Oh yeah, an audience of two meant a double dose of teaching juice, right on.

  The captain raised dark brows. ‘I didn’t know that, thank you for telling me, my beloved.’

  ‘You are strange and your preoccupation with urination is unpleasant,’ Megorn muttered.

  The captain’s brows drew together into a forbidding line and Megorn swallowed. ‘I mean, yes, that is fascinating, princess. Thank you, but I must go.’

  She tried to edge away but Valeda grabbed her by the arm. ‘They didn’t even have to remove their underpants to wizz because they didn’t wear any.’ Zap!

  Pulling back, Megorn edged towards the door, dragging Valeda in her wake.

  ‘And today, men and women from many Muslim countries sit or squat to pee because they think standing up to urinate is animalistic, something only dogs and livestock do.’ Zap!

  Lilith, that felt so good.

  Megorn swore, yanked her arm free and hurried away, throwing one fearful look over her shoulder.

  Valeda smoothed her tunic. What a humourless heifer. What was her rush? It wasn’t like all the kittens out there requiring decapitation would suddenly just disappear.

  Still ravenously hungry after going so long without a regular hit of juice from teaching, she turned to Adriel to pour more facts over him. ‘In fact, did you know that some women in ancient Rome drank turpentine to make their urine smell like roses?’ Zap! She nearly swooned with the sudden hit.

  His nose wrinkled. ‘Why were they in the habit of sniffing each other’s piss?’

  The question gave her pause. ‘Well, they had communal toilets that fed into simple, flowing water sewage systems, so I imagine there was some level of acquaintanceship with certain smells.’ Zap, zap. Ha-ha, he fell right into that one and she had so many other wee facts tucked away. ‘And did you know that each year a large number of men fall overboard and drown as a consequence of urinating from a boat?’ Zap!

  He narrowed his eyes at her. ‘Why are you bombarding me with all this urine talk? You don’t find it sexy, do you? Is that a Ninth Realm thing?’

  ‘What? No! Ew.’

  ‘Thank Lilith.’ He stilled and studied her more closely, her skin in particular. ‘Are you … are you using me to power up?’ He grabbed her by the front of her tunic and pulled her closer, running a finger over her cheek and studying the sparkle coating his fingertip. ‘I don’t believe it, you’re high on teaching pee facts.’

  She stared at the shimmer coating his finger before meeting his eyes. ‘Yeah, I’m high all right; what are you going to do about it?’ She drew on her power, felt its strength. She wrestled with the gorgon fat coating the collar and felt close to overcoming its blocking force.

  A palm slapped over her bare forearm and gripped with inexorable force.

  She struggled as something—no, not something, Adriel—drew deep on her, sucking the power from her. How was that possible? She’d never heard of such a thing before. As she floundered, trapped, his slate-grey eyes bored into her and everything around her slowed and receded, the room stretching and flattening. The table dripped and ran across the floor like something from a Salvador Dali painting. Her bones threatened to melt from the inside. He was stealing the demonic essence from her, scooping it out to leave her hollow, drained of what mattered most. He was killing her. What an awful, terrible power.

  ‘Stop,’ she whispered through bloodless lips. ‘Stop it.’

  ‘I usually reserve my speed drains for battle but everything with you is a battle, isn’t it?’

  It hurts so much …

  Her knees buckled at the river of pain dragging her down into a pit filled with serrated teeth. He caught her with an arm around her waist as she fell. She wanted to turn away so he couldn’t see her pain but her body no longer obeyed her. ‘Am I … dying?’

  He cut off the drain and used the same hand that had emptied her to stroke her cheek. ‘No, it just hurts. I’m sorry.’

  She wrinkled her nose. Sorry? There was no sorry in Hell.

  ‘The pain will wear off soon, I promise.’ He folded her inside his arms and carefully tucked her limbs in before lifting her to carry her outside, angling her chin
upward to keep her from choking. ‘I want to help you, but why do you have to fight that so hard?’ He frowned down at her.

  Help her? If this was help she didn’t want it. The external world became a dream, his harsh face included, as frozen air bit at the bare skin of her arms and throat. She plummeted into nothingness.

  ***

  Adriel studied the face of the unconscious Valeda. In repose she looked much younger and more vulnerable, something she would never tolerate while awake. He wasn’t quite sure what to do with her. He couldn’t leave her imprisoned in the fortress, not after seeing her chained, bruised and bleeding in Shax’s court. And having seen her weep blood, he wanted to help her break the curse, help her find healing.

  Yet he couldn’t trust her, either. The second he’d given her more power she’d tried to escape again.

  Desire had made him reckless, made him forget that she could be both treacherous and deadly. She didn’t flaunt her deadliness like her sisters, but it was there. Every demon with elemental powers carried death in their blood, and she could freeze him so solidly that he’d die standing. Not a glorious death. And if she escaped, the military alliance between their realms would crumble.

  All would be lost.

  He had to gain her trust and secure her loyalty. No small task. Still, perhaps some cosy companionship in his tent would help with that. Yes, all that togetherness might allow him to find a way to breach her defensive walls, to tunnel under the icy shield she kept raised at all times lest someone mistook her for a living, breathing she-demon.

  Although, he was under no illusions. He would need to keep a close eye on both her and himself. He needed to prevent any further escape attempts from her, and also watch himself lest the inner beast—as stirred by her Arctic scent and cool tone as he was—tried to claw its way out while she was around.

  Chapter 6

  Valeda blinked. Where was she?

  She was being carried in strong arms, but wind rushed against the side of her face not pressed to a warm chest, the bitter cold stinging her cheek. Her body swayed with the dread mare’s steady walk.

  Adriel glanced down at her. ‘Pleasant dreams?’

  Her hand twitched with the urge to slap his handsome face. How dare he drain her like a barrel of ale and then laugh at her? ‘I had this terrible nightmare about being married to a turnip-loving peasant and when I woke up it was real.’ The words emerged weak and scratchy. This further embarrassed her, as did his laugh.

  Her head throbbed and her whole body felt wrong. A complete absence of elemental power could do that. Curse him and his ruthlessly effective speed drain. He was a pestilent buttock itch on Hell’s backside. And hers.

  She weighed up her situation and the best means of escape. Perhaps it was time to involve her sisters. This was not her preference but she would try anything, anything, to escape. Even if she had to take her own husband hostage. Actually, that was not a bad idea. She eyed his lean jaw with its shadow of stubble so close to her own face and savoured the thought of him trussed at her feet.

  Resting against him, it was impossible to ignore the way he smelled like earth, pine and overconfidence. She longed to fell him. What would it take to bring him low?

  The strong arms around her tightened as the dread mare drew to a halt. The captain set her on her feet before dismounting and she eyed the surrounding camp, the endless rows of brown tents and demons huddled around fires. A long rope tethered the dread mares dozing on their feet. The captain nodded at three she-demons seated nearby. ‘Stay with them.’

  She turned her back on him. Gladly. Her belly rumbled as she saw that the she-demons were roasting food. The delicious aroma of meat wafted to her, making her mouth water. She recognised Missy, her flower girl, and gave the she-demon a nod that was returned without enthusiasm.

  Ungrateful cow. Not everyone gets to be flower girl at a royal wedding.

  Head hurting, Valeda sat on one of the empty boulders and identified what the she-demons were roasting on their sticks. Laccolith rats. Her hunger died.

  Just perfect.

  Another urgent reason to escape.

  ***

  Adriel found Hakan feeding the hellhounds. There was Tane and Rongo, big as ponies, grey, yellow-eyed, scaly faced, pelts thick enough to stop swords; and Mara and Kore, smaller but faster, sleek red bodies coiled like springs. Then there was Hinks and Whelt, his barkless little tanks with brown, bullet-shaped heads, both muscular enough to bring down an adult demon, their jaws unshakeable.

  All six tails wagged as he approached but their faces remained buried in the horror bird carcass.

  ‘Where’s Moloss?’

  Expression surly, Hakan pointed. Moloss, black and tiny, lay chewing on a scurtbeast horn twice his size. A burrowing-hound, Moloss excelled at hunting things below ground, whatever their size.

  Adriel grinned at the dauntless hound. ‘Did he catch that by himself?’

  Hakan ignored the question to raise his tankard of ale. ‘Is she secured in the fortress?’

  She. As if his brother didn’t even want to use her name. ‘No.’

  Hakan’s brows lowered. ‘Where then?’

  ‘She’s here.’

  Hakan made a sour face. ‘I should have known. You look as happy as a scurtbeast with three balls.’

  ‘If you say so.’

  ‘I thought we agreed to leave her in the fortress where she couldn’t escape or cause trouble.’ Hakan drank deeply.

  ‘I have a better plan.’

  ‘More like a better plan to get laid,’ Hakan muttered before wiping ale from his lips.

  Adriel let the gibe slide. ‘Can I get one of those?’ He nodded at the ale.

  Hakan gestured at a demon who produced another tankard.

  He drank deeply. Sighed. ‘What happened while I was gone?’

  ‘King Fuckaroo has been concentrating his legions at the northernmost valley and along the river. And we lost a scout. They dropped his body over the Dread Lake twelve hours ago. I pulled the king’s remaining scouts. The time for spying is over.’

  Adriel hung his head and blew out a long breath. ‘Who?’

  ‘Senis.’

  ‘Fuck.’

  ‘Indeed.’

  As they stood in silent contemplation, a soldier approached coated in red dust, hair stiff with sweat from a long ride. He eyed the hellhounds warily as they gnawed on their bones. Adriel’s ears caught the high-speed tap dance of his heart and he gave the soldier a nod. ‘Speak.’

  ‘One of the dead pools by the border has evaporated. There’s nothing left of it.’

  Evaporated? He glanced at Hakan who looked at him wordlessly. How the fuck did an entire dead pool disappear? He focused on the soldier. ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Scry.’

  ‘Thank you, Scry. Take yourself to the canteen and get some food.’

  The soldier nodded and backed away.

  Hakan kicked the ground. ‘Vanishing dead pools, what the fuck is that?’

  ‘I’d say it means Paimon has a powerful friend.’

  ‘An archdemon?’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘I fucking hate archdemons.’

  ‘Tell me about it.’ Haughty, almost immortal creatures, archdemons followed no rules or logic but their own. Most were considered quite mad, and yet to gain their favour was to win a powerful ally. Adriel wanted nothing to do with them.

  Hakan gripped the pommel of his sword. ‘I trust your instincts, brother, but I’m worried. Worried that your pretty bride will run away and cause the alliance to fall through. Because if that happens, Paimon will fill the skies with the screams of our legions.’

  ‘She won’t escape; I’ll have one of the hellhounds guard her at all times.’ He rested his tankard beside him on a chest of weapons.

  Hakan frowned. ‘She’s strong—she froze us both in place—so how will you keep her from doing the same to your hounds?’

  ‘She’s wearing an iron collar coated in gorgon fat, which keeps he
r from accessing her power. The fat is melded with the iron and can’t be washed off.’ He reached for his tankard but Hakan nudged it out of grasp with a telekinetic shove. ‘Hey.’

  ‘Oh, did you want that?’ Hakan raised his brows, feigning innocence, and moved the tankard back to where it had been with another mental shove. ‘All right then. But why bring her here? To make her fight?’

  ‘No, to gain her trust so we can learn her brother’s weaknesses.’

  Hakan raised a dark brow. ‘Something the queen hasn’t already told us?’

  ‘Did the queen strike you as a loving and doting mother filled with rich insight about her offspring?’

  Hakan snorted. ‘No. Has the princess revealed anything useful yet?’

  ‘No, not yet, but she will.’ Once he found a way to question her that didn’t make her eyes bleed.

  Hakan squinted at a figure approaching. ‘Look out, the ice queen cometh.’

  But Adriel had already caught the scent of snow on the wind. He sat up straighter, body taut with anticipation.

  ‘You’ve got it bad.’ Hakan shook his head.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Nothing, absolutely nothing.’ Hakan stood and made tracks, tipping Adriel’s tankard over with a mental shove as he disappeared behind a row of tents.

  ‘Prick,’ Adriel muttered under his breath.

  Valeda spotted him and headed his way, slowing as she neared the hellhounds and they dropped their bones to unleash a fury of baying. She stopped in her tracks, eyeing them. ‘Will they attack?’

  ‘No, no they won’t. And neither will I.’ He stared at the pack and pointed a finger at the ground. ‘Sit.’

  ***

  Valeda hesitated. He wasn’t talking to her and yet she had the insane urge to sit. It was too silly for words.

  As she watched, all six hellhound backsides hit the dirt. Still, she questioned the wisdom of moving, and justifiably so, for as she took a cautious step a small black body hurtled over to bail her up.

  What the …? All teeth and hair, the rabbit-sized hellhound snarled at her.

  ‘Moloss! Down.’

  The captain’s roar made her flinch but the little black body lowered in an obedient crouch. She let out her breath and blinked at the ochre eyes glaring up at her. ‘What sort of hellhound is that?’