The Devil's Lullaby (The Devil's Advocate Book 2)

by Michaela Haze

  The trees shifted as if uncomfortable with their Angelic presence. The Prison was used to mal-intent, and it appeared to be unable to stomach the presence of Divinity.

  “Who's wandered into your web?” Uriah mused out loud. “Why has the Guardian left his post?”

  Even when Lucifer had roamed the Prison, trapped and alone, the Guardian had always remained in the shadows, blocking the portal back to the Summerland.

  The further into the forest, then the thicker the scent of blood became. It was a curious mixture of smells. Hell Magic. Angelic Magic. The scent of a Devil's Silver wound was prevalent. Uriah recognised it. The burning fragrance of cauterised flesh. The snow crunched under their feet, but the Angels could not feel the cold. The pristine white snow was marred with imperfect brush strokes of crimson red.

  Her lips were parted. Her breath was too cold to fog in the air. Her eyelids were weighed down with frozen water droplets.

  Uriah recognised her immediately.

  It was the Queen of the First Circle. He had made a deal with her in exchange for a Lydian Coin so that he could save—

  She had been pregnant then.

  Everyone knew the Queen was dead. How had she come to be inside of the Ice Prison?

  Her stomach was flat but her chest was open with a fierce slash. Blood stained her thighs. Her hair was as pure as virgin snow, and the comparison was jarring as she laid in the red sludge of her own blood and ice.

  The sight of her mutilated body was not the most shocking thing about the scene.

  It was the presence of the Guardian of the Ice Prison. The enormous white snow dog laid by her side, protecting her. Daring the Angels to come closer with his fierce bared teeth against his black gums.

  Even Uriah feared the Guardian.

  Why had the beast decided to protect her?

  The Queen's body was not healing and Uriah was certain that it was a side effect of the Prison. Time moved differently and physics of the dimension were unpredictable at best.

  Uriah lowered himself to the ground. The tips of his golden wings swept against the bloodied ice and created two grooves in the snow. He kept his gaze on the glowing red eyes of the Guardian. As the Commander knelt, he placed the smooth amulet made of Devil's Silver onto the stained snow. He heard the crunch of the ground behind him as Alistair bent his knee and showed fealty to the sizeable white Hound as well.

  The Guardian’s red tipped ears flicked as his regal gaze surveyed both members of the First Choir. His expression held the kind of slow and smooth weight that came from eternity. Uriah had been told that his own appearance had the same disconcerting quality, and being confronted with it made him understand the gravitas of immortality.

  Uriah could only have compared it to being judged and found wanting.

  “What are you doing with the Queen of the First Circle?” Uriah asked, keeping his voice even and free from any malice.

  The white dog tilted his head but his gaze remained constant.

  “He's probably guarding his kill,” Alistair hissed, “We should get out of here.” He jabbed a finger over his shoulder to illustrate his point.

  The Guardian flickered his attention to the young Angel for just a second and disregarded him just as quickly.

  Uriah smoothed a throaty chuckle. “Yes. The young ones are rather foolish, are they not?” the Commander agreed with the dog.

  The woman's chest heaved and stuttered, struggling against an unseen weight. Her eyelids fluttered as if she was trapped in a dream. The Guardian's stance widened, his massive paws stretched as he planted himself firmly in front of the Queen of Hell's prone form.

  “She does not belong here?” Uriah guessed.

  “Who is that?” Alistair craned his neck to try and see around the Guardian’s bulky frame. Uriah felt the shift in the entire situation when the Youngling recognised her.

  Alistair's nostrils flared, and his entire body became as taut as a bow. “Is that who I think it is?”

  “Alistair, don’t.” Uriah held his hand up to stop the younger Angel, careful to not move too much.

  It was too late. Drawing his blade, the novice flung himself forward with all the grace of a barely stable fawn. Alistair raised the Angelic weapon over his head. Determined to hurt the Devil's Bride.

  Uriah closed his eyes and shook his head at the foolish Angel. He heard the wet and meaty sound of Alistair's throat as it was torn out. The sound of bones being crunched and eaten.

  “Would you allow me to take the woman back to the Summerland?” Uriah asked the Guardian as the Hound licked the blood of Uriah's fallen comrade from his paw.

  His answer was a slow nod as the blood of the young Angel dripped from his black lips.

  The gateway to the Ice Prison was a stone's throw from the Fae Domain on the outskirts of the Summerland. Unfortunately for the three of travellers, the Fae did not take too kindly to Hellions even if their troop barely skimmed the edge of the Fae lands.

  Tir na nÓg hovered on the edge of the Summerland, barely a wisp of presence to the dimension. Its existence was comparable to gossamer and unlike any of the other dimensions that Uriah had visited.

  The only time Uriah had ventured into the cavernous wound of the Hell Dimension; he had likened it to chaos and leather. Mainly because of the smell of flayed human skin, and the dank scent of ash that covered Purgatory like a blanket.

  The Angel carried the woman in his arms like a China doll.

  It was difficult to make out her features under her veil of old and congealed blood.

  She had suffered a wound to the stomach, as she had been cut from neck to nape. Her nostrils were rimmed with blood, which implied magic related trauma. Uriah had seen such wounds before.

  Dahlia Clark.

  It was hard to believe that the platinum-haired waif in his grip was the Queen Bitch of Hell. Uriah remembered her cold disdain, strong enough to rival his own, broken only by her desire to broker a deal for one of his feathers.

  That was what the Queen excelled at. Deals for the Devil.

  Uriah stood straight when he realised his part in her appearance in the Ice Prison. His feather had put her there.

  It was strange that someone would have time to prepare for their death, let alone be able to prevent it. Perhaps it was suicide?

  Her legs swung as they walked the path back to the Summerland. Uriah felt a prickle on the back of his neck that told him that their group was being watched.

  The eerie sound of wind chimes teased the air, and the Angel sighed in annoyance. He had deliberately stayed on the Northern Path to prevent the Fae guards from picking up on their presence.

  Ordinarily, the guards would not have bothered with him, but if they had sensed the Queen's Hell Magic then all bets were off.

  “Lonely mercenary. The road to the Lord is longer this way.” One of the guards grinned, appearing out of thin air like smoke from a chimney.

  “But more scenic,” Uriah grunted as he shifted the woman to his left side. The Commander gripped the pommel of his Angelic blade and eyed the guard with the coldest expression he could muster.

  “I can smell a Demon.” The Fae male grinned, each of his teeth was needle sharp.

  “You’d do best not to question one of the Lord's chosen, Hobgoblin.” Uriah felt the warmth of anger as his eyes to flashed a deeper gold.

  “So uptight.” The Fae clicked his tongue to the roof of his mouth. His eyes drifted past Uriah's jaw until it rested on the corpse-like body in his arms. Quickly dismissing the woman as carrion, the guard took a step back when he saw the guardian.

  “You broke the beast from his cage?” The Fae spat, brandishing his finger like a club, fear washed over his eyes until it poisoned his expression. “How dare you unleash the Archangel!”

  Uriah rolled his eyes. If the Fae spoke of The Beast, aka Lucifer, then the guard had clearly been watching their group since they had sprung from the portal at the border. It was a fair assumption based on their exit from the Ice Prison,
but incorrect.

  The guardian's lips pulled back to reveal his own impressive teeth and Uriah turned away, content to leave the death of the Fae to his imagination.

  “Get that beast away from me!” he screamed, as the Hound darted in front of Uriah, protecting them both. The Angel walked away without argument. The shrill screams of the Fae guard punched through the air and ricocheted off the empty landscape.

  Uriah looked down to the peaceful face of the woman in his arms and traced her rosebud lips. He knew her eyes to be the tarnished grey colour of Devil's silver.

  What had happened to her?

  No creature could survive the Ice Prison. Only the Angelic. The divine. The First Choir of the Lord's Chosen.

  As Uriah and the Guard crossed the border of the Summerland, the Queen of Hell did not stir.

  Part 1

  Chapter 1

  Drip. Drip. Drip.

  The sound of my blood as it leaked onto the stone floor echoed inside of my little prison.

  I had managed to pull myself up, with my back against the stone wall, as I clutched the wound that ran from my sternum to my pubis. The pain was not easily ignored as my nerve endings lit up, one by one, like Christmas lights.

  Healing was more difficult than I had expected. It was almost impossible to pull treachery from the air and to spin it into Magic. I had no idea where I was. The quality of the air was different, and the Sin and Lies were almost non-existent.

  Surely, the Ice Prison would have been… colder. Instead, the temperature was positively balmy.

  I put pressure on my wound and hissed a breath between my teeth. I was two halves of a fractured meat sack. My eyes flared silver as I inhaled any sort of Sin that I could get my hands on. Manipulation was a child of treachery and I grasped at the Magic with greedy fingers.

  I did not know how long I had been imprisoned, but it was enough to let my mind stew.

  Where is my child? I wondered with unfamiliar fear. My heart felt like it was made of broken glass, and it jabbed the inside of my ribs every time the image of my beautiful daughter’s face flitted into my mind. I shook my head to clear it. I could not dwell. I could only act.

  Step one: get out of the dingy cell.

  I cursed my hindered healing ability. The dagger that Meesha had used must have been enchanted. My body was returning to its natural state, but I still had a way to go. I had been human for longer than I should have been. It had taken a month or two for my Demonality to melt away the first time. How long would it take for my Hell Magic to return?

  The sound of heavy footfalls drew my attention to the darkness behind the bars of my cell. My head turned with whip-sharp motion, and my eyes narrowed. I licked my lips and inhaled their scent on the air. It was familiar but I could not quite place it. I had encountered the type of creature before, but to be unable to recall what it was. It unnerved me.

  I staggered and clutched the stone wall as a wave of pain cut through my stomach like a lightning.

  “The Commander brought this one in from the Ice Prison.” A deep voice rumbled from far away. The footsteps that had been steadily approaching paused.

  “Why would he break a Demon from the Prison?” Another voice replied.

  There was a slow pause and I imagined that Tweedle-Dee was shrugging. I stepped closer to the bars but I kept my fingers away from the iron.

  “Fucking Demons.” One of them snarled.

  I adjusted my ripped and bloody pyjama top. The outfit held too many memories and I would burn it when I had the chance. At that moment, however, it afforded my cleavage the exposure that I needed. I licked my lips and my tongue met the tang of copper that told me that my face was covered in blood. Perhaps seduction was not going to be the most successful plan, but it was the easiest.

  I placed my hand against the damp stone to hold myself up, but I forced my gaze straight to meet the eyes of my capturer. Bronze eyes with dirty mottled wings. Angels.

  My lips curled over my teeth and a snarl ripped through my throat. I grasped my wound and pushed the skin together. Heal, dammit.

  “Hello, filth.” The first one to speak was taller, boarder. His wings were held tightly against his back, bronze accents mixed in with grey feathers. Tweedle-Dee with his deeper voice and penchant for swearing.

  Tweedle-Dum was silent and watched me with a glimmer of fear in his eyes. He shifted from foot to foot. He would be fun to pull apart.

  “Hello, boys.” I wiggled my fingers, leaning against the wall of my cell. I forced my face into an impassive expression to hide the pain that I was in.

  Neither moved, but they watched me.

  “Were you expecting horns and a forked tail?” I purred.

  Tweedle-Dum scratched the back of his neck. “Maybe.”

  “Only on Thursdays.” I winked and shifted my attention to the warrior. “Can I have my phone call now?”

  “I have no idea what you are talking about.” The warrior growled. “Your presence in the Summerland is an abomination.”

  My laughter echoed through the dank prison. “I am not here of my own volition.”

  “You should not be here at all.” Tweedle-Dee’s voice was gruff.

  I fanned myself to try and diffuse my laughter. It was not working and the Angel was growing irater by the second. I could not help it. I had no context for the situation that I was in.

  “Where is this Summerland?” I asked.

  The warrior crooked his brow, “Don’t play the fool, Demon.”

  I waved my hand in a circular gesture to imply that he was boring me with his attitude. “I just want to crawl back into my little hole and back to my family. I don’t want to be here any more than you want me here.”

  The warrior gripped the handle of his sword and stepped towards the bars. His body was taut with tension.

  “I will ensure that you never harm another soul again.” The Angel enunciated every syllable as if I would have difficulty understanding.

  I breathed a sigh of relief as I felt the last of my wound stitch itself together. I straightened my body leaving my laidback stance behind. My fists clenched tightly enough that I felt the bite of my nails in my palms. A flash of anger pierced through the calm that I had summoned to deal with the two pion Angels.

  “You think that you can challenge me?” I asked slowly. I brought my hand to my face and surveyed the dried blood that coated my skin.

  “I know that I can.” The warrior was smug.

  I stretched out my fingers and allowed my magic to do as it wished. Ice hit the air and steam rose quickly. Intense cold was often just as dangerous as unbearable heat. I could burn his pretty face just as easily with my ice as I could with Hellfire.

  A cruel numbness washed over me. I was sick of their games. Playing the cocky Demon had gotten more information than I had hoped, but my patience was wearing thin.

  “Come closer to the bars, my winged friend. I will allow you to impart the first strike if you think that you can.” I whispered. My eyes whipped to his and I knew what he saw. The bright silver of Devil’s magic had taken over my irises. The Warrior froze as his smaller companion took a step back. I liked the faint scent of surprise and fear that tainted the air like a droplet of black ink on a pristine white page. I relished in it. I had been human for too long.

  But now I was back.

  I took a step towards the bars, extending my hand out. The nullifying properties of the iron attempted to swallow the steam rising from my fingertips but the metal was in too short supply to take what I was throwing out.

  Without a word, only a sullen gulp of uncertainty, the angel turned on his heel and walked away from my cell.

  I could not help the laugh that bubbled out of my throat.

  “Goodbye, fair warrior.” I cackled. “I won’t tell the others that you ran!”

  I counted the stones in my cell until I grew bored. My skin was covered with a thick layer of blood and the stink of human sweat from childbirth.

  I examined my skin a
nd found that my pores had disappeared. No tear ducts. A sense of rightness had settled over my body, as if everything was finally slotting into place.

  I made plans in my mind. I imagined tearing the face from the guard that had challenged me. I daydreamed of ripping off his arm and then knocking him around the head with it. I thought about wiping the smug expression off his face. That was, if he would ever deign to revisit me after his display of fear.

  I let out a peal of laughter that I could not hold back. It was comforting to feel the blanket of immortality over my shoulders again. I was positively giddy.

  “I'm glad you are enjoying yourself, Dahlia Clark.” A deep voice rumbled. My giggles tapered off as I turned to my visitor.

  I recognised him, but it took a second to place the Angel's face. He had snuck up on me and I could not deny that a small part of me was impressed by that.

  “Uriah.” I nodded, my gaze shamelessly raked over the Enochian runes that littered his chest like a white network of pretty scars. His chest was bare, toned and bronze. The holster of his sword hung low on his hips. He wore jeans, which was a stark difference to the guard’s uniform that the arseholes before had sported.

  “You remembered.” His head cocked to the side. His expression was intensely serious and I couldn’t sense his emotions.

  “I always remember my first Angel feather.” I eyed his golden plumage with a wink.

  “You’ve been threatening my guards,” Uriah said.

  “I would say that they started it, but that would be positively juvenile.” I grasped the bars and leant forward. The iron numbed my fingers and threatened to sap my magic but I would be damned if I was going to show one of the Lord's Chosen that I was weak.

  “What happened to your child?” the angel’s eyes narrowed.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Your mate?”

  “You mean Luc?” I asked. “I don’t know.”

  Uriah did not look like he believed me as he pushed his hands inside of his pockets and sighed.