Demon Marked

by Meljean Brook

  Ash staggered, fell to her knees in the hot red sand. The world tilted wildly. God. Her stomach heaved, and she heard Nicholas fighting the same dizzying effects of the teleportation. She drew in a deep breath, almost retched again. The stink. Rotten, burning flesh.

  No more breathing. Not here. Just listening, making certain . . .

  They were alone for the moment. No heartbeats nearby. Only his.

  Nicholas’s arm slid around her. Though still not steady, he lifted her, waited until she planted her feet. “Are you okay?”

  No. But there was no other choice to nod. “Next time, we’ll know better than to try fighting a crazy teleporter who can see the future. Are you hurt?”

  “She never even touched me, except to bring us here. And—” He broke off. “Ash, look.”

  She heard the bleakness in his voice, and didn’t want to turn. In the direction she faced, there was only an endless stretch of red sand, a bruised crimson sky. But she couldn’t pretend. Bracing herself, she turned.

  Oh, God. Terror caught her throat, her heart in an icy, clawed grip. They stood at the edge of the frozen field. A few steps away, red sand bled into open mouths and eyes, a frozen carpet of faces locked in ice. So many locked together, with no space between. So many. She couldn’t see the borders on the sides, only Lucifer’s tower rising in the center like an enormous black spear. How long had she stared at that, screaming, screaming? Forever. And they were all there now, screaming, and she knew that there was no other sound, only silence, and just the tortured, endless screaming of the millions trapped—

  Her knees collapsed. Nicholas caught her, drew her against him, and she muffled her scream against his chest, trying to hold it in, don’t let anyone know we’re here, but it had to come out before it ripped her apart inside.

  She cried, hot tears. For herself, for Rachel, for all of them. All the same.

  “I didn’t know.” His throat sounded as rough and broken as hers. “I didn’t know there were so many.”

  Ash wiped her face, made herself look again. So many. “All like Rachel, just because of a choice. Maybe not even a bad choice, or an evil one.”

  “Yes.” Khavi’s voice came from behind them. “It’s not like the Pit, where the judged go to be punished. And the majority of those in the field are demons—Madelyn is there, somewhere—and some humans who probably deserve it. But most of the humans, most of the halflings . . . They made the wrong agreement with a demon, and it doesn’t matter at all how good their intentions might have been.”

  Ash shook her head. Through the ache in her throat, she still managed, “I’m not going back in there.”

  Khavi pursed her lips, looked at Nicholas. “I made the call to Taylor using your voice. It was important. You should have done it.”

  “Does your doing it change anything?”

  “No.” Giving her hellhound a pat on its enormous head, she looked out over the field and said, “There’s Michael, by the way.”

  Khavi pointed. Unable to help herself, Ash looked. When she didn’t see anything, she looked farther out . . . farther. Just visible on the icy horizon, a crowd of demons stood.

  “Michael’s the entertainment,” Khavi said, and a rough note entered the smooth harmony of her voice. “Michael, and those from the Pit who are tortured with him. You cannot see, so I will help you see.”

  Ash cried out as a sharp crack opened in her psychic shields, saw Nicholas’s suddenly white face. The image pressed against the backs of her eyes, every detail in clear focus: Michael’s shattered face with his eyes open, seeing, aware—and the human, stretched between two poles, stretched more than a human could, the razor wire, the hellhound’s thrusting haunches and bloodied jaws—

  “Stop!” Her tears burned, and Nicholas pulled her back against his chest. She felt his own shuddering horror. “And you want me to be there? How can you do this? How can you say this?”

  “That is not what I want now. I just wanted you to see. You have a different role—” Khavi stopped suddenly, her head cocked. “I know this moment.”

  She ducked.

  Taylor appeared in front of her, fist jabbing the air over Khavi’s head. Faster than Ash could see, Khavi was up again. Her arm swung, a backhand that caught Taylor full on the side of the head. A resounding crack—Taylor vanished.

  She reappeared directly in front of Ash and Nicholas, blood spilling from her mouth. She reached for them.

  Khavi teleported between, smashed her foot into Taylor’s chest, knocked Nicholas’s arm aside. Ash leapt at her—leapt into nothing. Unprepared for Khavi’s disappearance, she sprawled on the sand. A growl froze her in place. Khavi’s hellhound. A clear warning not to attack again. Ash looked for Nicholas.

  God. He’d been knocked back into the frozen field. Already making his way out, his bare feet on those icy faces, and not even the flat determination in his expression could hide the pain of those screams that echoed in his mind, that awful silence.

  He crossed over onto the sand, ran to her. Ignoring the hellhound, he crouched beside her, half shielding her body with his. “Just keep out of their way, or we’ll be smashed. We’ll try to get to Taylor if we can—and hope that someone else is coming, too.”

  A shriek pierced the air. Khavi’s. Ash looked around the hellhound as an impact shook the ground. Taylor lay on her side, her head bleeding, her eyes dazed, but quickly regaining focus. Only ten feet away. At the same time Ash reached for him, Nicholas grabbed her hand, began to rise. They just had to—

  Black wings extended, Khavi landed beside Taylor, stroked a lock of bloodied red hair from the woman’s forehead. “Michael,” she said softly. “You have to make her go now. Lucifer’s coming. And if he finds her . . .”

  “Michael, no!” Rage filled Taylor’s voice. Her eyes opened wide, filled with black. She began to shake. “No! You fucking liar! You promised you’d never force—”

  She vanished.

  Forced away by Michael. And now Ash could feel Lucifer approaching, too, like a dark pressure on the edge of her mind, a stain scudding across the sky.

  In horror, she turned to Nicholas. “Taylor will tell someone else. They’ll come.”

  Holding her tight, he nodded. Kissed her once, hard. Looked into her eyes. “Do everything you can to survive. Promise me, now.”

  “I will. Promise me, too.”

  He kissed her hard again, and she took that as his vow.

  Lucifer came alone, which told Nicholas everything he needed to know about their chances of escaping without help. It could have been that the demon was just too arrogant to bring backup against a Guardian like Khavi, but Nicholas didn’t think so. Given that Khavi’s elephant-sized hellhound began to shudder in silent terror as Lucifer approached through the frozen field, he thought that arrogance might be well deserved.

  At his side, Ash shook, too. Waiting with him behind Khavi and her hellhound, Ash stood tall, her eyes dry, and her fingers all but crushing Nicholas’s hand. The dark figure, she’d called Lucifer. Though big, much bigger than any other demon Nicholas had seen, Lucifer’s scales weren’t any darker than the crimson of Ash’s scales. His eyes glowed the same red, his wings the same leathery span. The same obsidian horns wrapped back from his forehead. But he was darker, as if even the light avoided him, and instead of Ash’s beauty, Lucifer’s appearance only suggested that a great, horrible power lay beneath his scales.

  More darkness seethed in the power pressing against Nicholas’s psyche. This demon could crush his mind with barely a thought, he realized. Not just tear apart his body, but tear apart the rest of him, too.

  And Nicholas should have been terrified. He knew that. The fear lurked within him, he could feel it—but he didn’t feel it. Just as he’d always done when something stood in his way, he’d discarded it. This time, he’d frozen his fear into a hard, immobile chunk, and tossed it into the back of his mind.

  He couldn’t let anything get in the way of his protecting Ash, helping her. He’d withstand anyt
hing that Lucifer had to throw at him—starting with fear.

  The demon landed on cloven hooves and knees that jointed backward. Not the same as Ash, then. Even fully changed, her body maintained a human shape. His gaze swept over them. Ash’s trembling increased. In front of them, Khavi’s hellhound whimpered with three heads.

  Lucifer focused on Khavi, spoke. Nicholas didn’t know the language. When he glanced at Ash, she gave a tiny shake of her head. She didn’t know, either.

  “I want Michael out of the field,” Khavi replied in English. She reached out to her hellhound’s shoulder, soothed the trembling beast. “The halfling refuses to exchange places with him, so I’ve brought her to you with the intention of making a bargain.”

  Lucifer’s laugh chilled Nicholas to the bone, started the pounding of his heart. Not fear, but survival instinct warning him of the danger, urging him to flee.

  Lucifer spoke again.

  Khavi shook her head. “She isn’t worthless to you. She has your Gate on her face—which I understand you needed because Michael won a wager that forced you to close your other Gates. You needed her because of Michael; now I need her because of Michael. Her worth to us is equal.”

  Ash’s tremors ceased. Though her eyes didn’t glow, the look she gave Khavi was nothing short of murder. Furious, Nicholas saw. Suddenly so angry that it had smothered her terror.

  Because she hated being the puppet, he realized. Just as she’d hated the Rules that prevented her from acting of her own will, she would hate anyone who jerked her around like a marionette on strings . . . and that was what Khavi did now.

  Lucifer didn’t seem to mind Khavi’s use of a demon, however. After a long, considering look at her, Lucifer gave a short reply.

  Khavi responded, “The bargain I propose is simple: If you release Michael from the field by sacrificing one of your demons, when it is done and Michael has been released from Hell—completely away from this realm—then before one day passes, I will sacrifice this halfling on Earth and open the portal for you. It is a sacrifice for a sacrifice, and we each receive something of value to us.”

  No. Rage pushed Nicholas forward. Before he’d gone a step, Ash stopped him with a hard squeeze of his hand. Her lips moved.

  Opportunity.

  Waiting for an opportunity. She was right. Though almost impossible not to race forward, to tear both Khavi and Lucifer apart with his hands, it would be suicide. Surviving was more important than acting on his anger right now.

  He hardened his rage, fought to toss it away. Fear, anger. He would not be controlled by either. Not when it risked their lives.

  “Yes, with Michael’s release, you also lose something of value to you,” Khavi said to Lucifer. “So it is not completely equal. To balance that loss, I would also offer this novice Guardian. You lose one Guardian to torture, and gain possession of another.”

  Him, Nicholas realized, and then it was his turn to clamp his hand around Ash’s wrist, to prevent her from reacting.

  “No, he is nothing like Michael,” Khavi agreed. “But it will be an exchange of the oldest Guardian for the newest one. There is something elegant about it, is there not? His transformation offered hope and strength to the Guardian corps, belief that our future could be strong. I am giving you the opportunity to destroy that; even Michael’s return will not heal that injury.”

  Lucifer’s powerful gaze swept over Nicholas. He spoke.

  “His Gift has not yet manifested,” Khavi responded. “And I cannot see what I do not already know. His Gift might be useful to you. I cannot say.”

  Lucifer regarded her silently for a long moment. When he spoke, she shifted uneasily.

  “I’m willing to give you a day to consider it,” she said. “But I won’t leave them here with you without a bargain.”

  He spoke again, and Khavi snorted a laugh.

  “You don’t have any goodwill.”

  His gaze moved to her hellhound.

  Khavi went still. “I won’t leave Lyta.”

  Lucifer’s smile said it all. Either she would choose to leave Ash and Nicholas, or the hellhound—but there would be no bargain if she didn’t choose one to stay.

  “Let me take Ashmodei,” Khavi said. “She’s the more valuable to both of us. I’ll leave the Guardian here.”

  Yes, Nicholas thought.

  Lucifer turned away.

  Khavi called out, “Both of them, then! But only four hours to consider my offer. And you’ll return them to me, unharmed, if you do not intend to accept our bargain.”

  Nicholas didn’t know what Lucifer said, but the triumph in the demon’s face told him well enough: He’d agreed.

  Her hand on the hellhound’s shoulder, Khavi didn’t even turn to look at them. She vanished.

  The details didn’t matter. Bargain or not, they were dead.

  Unless they got the fuck out of here.

  Nicholas focused on that thought as they raced across the frozen field, surrounded by a troop of armed demons. Lucifer had finally called for them—not as backup, but as herders. No one but Lucifer could fly across the frozen field; their wings wouldn’t even form. Nor would Lucifer carry them. So running it was, his feet burning from the cold. Ash’s might have been, too. She’d vanished her boots after her heel had struck one of those frozen eyes, but her heated skin might save her some of the pain.

  He didn’t think that mattered, either. In the frozen field, surrounded by silence and screams, Ash probably wasn’t thinking of her feet. But just as she had when Madelyn ordered her to kill him, Ash had concealed her emotions. Terror and anger had to be hidden behind her blank features. She wasn’t going to let the demons know it.

  The black tower rose ahead of them, spearing into the red sky. With a base the width of a small city, Nicholas couldn’t see around it. They passed out of the silent, frozen field into a cacophony of flapping wings and demon tongues, the growls of hellhounds. Jeers and laughter followed them to the entrance.

  Unharmed, so far. Lucifer didn’t have to keep them that way—his agreement with Khavi at the end hadn’t been a bargain. So Lucifer must be saving the pain up for something bigger than whatever a random demon threw at them.

  They passed into the tower—obviously not through the main entrance. A small arch opened to a dark stair, and they were urged up, up, around and around. Nicholas counted steps until they stopped. Eight thousand four hundred and fifty-six. Thank God he didn’t tire anymore.

  Pushed out into an unlit stone corridor, they were assaulted by screaming, sobbing. Not the screams of the frozen field, echoing only in his head, but of terror and pain.

  “Torture rooms,” Ash said. “How fun.”

  Nicholas had to laugh. A demon’s head turned sharply. Never heard a laugh in this place before? Well, he was sure it would be hysterical, sobbing laughter pretty soon.

  Lucifer waited at the end of the corridor, a smaller demon at his side. No, not as his side. Just behind him. Clearly subordinate.

  The second demon smiled and gestured to a stone door. “The honeymoon suite.”

  The what?

  Ash closed her eyes. “I’m going to wake up tomorrow and find this is all an absurd trick played by Khavi.”

  “You won’t wake up tomorrow,” the demon said. “Go in.”

  The small chamber had been constructed of the same black stone as the rest of the tower. But not even black stone, he saw—it was marble, corrupted and pitted, as if after thousands of years of smoke and fire. Not the medieval torture chamber he imagined. Instead of cutting instruments, Iron Maidens, thumbscrews, there were simply two pairs of manacles, hanging from the ceiling by chains, ten feet apart.

  A spear at his back urged him forward. But not a spear for Ash, he saw. The armored demons used their hands.

  Why the difference? Kinder to a halfling? Something else?

  They lifted her. A demon flapped his wings, tightened the manacles—thick steel or something similar. Not much different than the collar Nicholas had used arou
nd her neck that first night, he’d wager anything it was too strong for a demon to break. The demons holding her up let go. She fell, hung—her feet suspended above the floor.

  God. “You all right?”

  “Fine.”

  No. No they weren’t. But they couldn’t fight yet. They had to wait. An opportunity had to come.

  They lifted him next—and no, it wasn’t bad. This couldn’t strain a Guardian’s muscles, or a halfling’s. Then they turned him around, positioning him to face her, and he knew:

  It would be worse than anything he’d imagined.

  “The honeymoon suite,” the demon said again, and a short, curving knife appeared in his hand. The others filed out of the chamber, leaving only Lucifer and his subordinate. “Now and again, we’re fortunate enough to receive humans in the Pit who are a matched pair—who truly love each other. For those souls, the torture in the Pit is never as rewarding as it should be. They are able to put the pain away, to take their minds elsewhere. Except, of course, when the person they use to escape the pain is hanging right in front of them. The only sweeter sound than the scream of a human whose gut is being ripped open is the sound of his scream when we rip his loved one open.”

  His gaze on Ash, Lucifer spoke.

  The demon bowed and scraped before looking to Ash. “He cannot stand the sight of you. Change to your demon form.”

  She almost obeyed. Nicholas saw it, the almost immediate acceptance. But Lucifer wasn’t her master; Madelyn had been.

  “I don’t know how,” she said.

  Not even a refusal. A lie. A clever lie. Because if they escaped this room, her demon form might allow them—her—to escape a little more easily than a human could.

  And it was a test. Would Lucifer know?

  If he did, what would he do?

  “Halflings,” the demon said, and looked at Lucifer. He nodded.

  Realizing he had to try, Nicholas said, “Will you consider a bargain that lets her go?”