by Vivi Andrews
“Like you’ll never trust me again.” Jay thought he saw a shadow shift out of the corner of his eye. A soft skittering sound rustled through the darkness. Minions. “And I’ve run out of time to convince you to.”
***
He moved quickly—almost faster than she could see—and in a blink his hand was on the gun, shoving the barrel away. She tried to jerk it up and out of his grasp, but her arm tangled in the chain linking his wrists as he locked one arm around her waist. He spun her in his arms so her back was pressed to his front and both of his hands covered hers on the gun, pointing the muzzle toward the ground. Sasha writhed in his hold, struggling against his superior strength. She locked her grip on the gun in case he tried to pry it from her fingers and snapped her head back sharply, but Jay got his chin out of the way in time.
“Sasha.” Her boot heel slammed down on his bare instep and he grunted. “Sasha. Dammit, I’m not going to hurt you, but we don’t have time for this. Look at the shadows, the way they move. Do you see them?”
She went still in his arms, her eyes scanning the shadows. “Them?”
“Minions. Lesser demons, vicious and mindless, easily controlled.”
And then she saw them, oddly shaped silhouettes scuttling just out of the light, visible only when they moved—their black eyes blinking in the darkness.
“Damn parasites. My mother will have sent them here to stop us.”
“Why?” Someone declare that demoness Mother of the Year. “Why are you chained?”
“My mother recently married, but I refused her summons to come home and do tricks for her new husband. She doesn’t take rejection well.”
Sasha groaned. “Tell me you aren’t actually Satan’s stepson.”
“He prefers to be called Lucifer. And really he isn’t that bad.”
Of course he isn’t. “I’m sure the Prince of Darkness has lots of finer qualities,” Sasha said. “But why do the angels care about you? Why would they want me to bring a demon out of Hell by dawn Christmas morning?”
Jay went unnaturally still behind her. “Is that what they want?” His voice sounded odd. Choked.
“What does that mean? Jay?” She tried to twist in his grip, needing to see his face. “You can let me go. I’m not going to shoot you right now.” Though she still didn’t know if she could trust him. Or if a lying, son-of-a-demon boyfriend was even worth rescuing from the bowels of Hell.
His hold loosened, but he didn’t release her entirely until she tucked the Desert Eagle back into its holster. Not that she could blame him. Holding a gun on her significant other wasn’t exactly good relationship etiquette.
She turned to face him as he bent to apply the poker to his ankle cuffs like a crowbar. “Is it some kind of angel code? The dawn thing?”
Jay looked up, but didn’t quite meet her eyes. “Dawn Christmas morning…could mean a lot of things.”
Sasha’s jaw locked. “Jay. When I’m pissed off and armed is not the time to be keeping things from me.”
His lips twitched. Who was this guy who grinned when she threatened him? He certainly wasn’t the Jay she knew. And why did she like him this way? He was a demon. She was supposed to revile his very existence. Instead she felt a delicious little thrill that she was finally seeing behind the veil to the other Jay.
“It could mean redemption,” he said. “Christmas morning is a traditional celebration of cleansing and spiritual rebirth.”
“But?” There was more to it than that and they both knew it. He didn’t sound like he really believed the angels wanted to redeem him and from what Sasha had seen of the angels in the last few hours, she didn’t blame him.
He grunted, biceps bulging impressively as he applied leverage to the poker. The first manacle broke open and he smiled, the same fierce baring of teeth she had never seen on his face before tonight.
“Jay?”
“Redemption isn’t offered lightly,” he admitted, going to work on the second shackle. “It’s more likely…”
The ringtone version of “Jingle Bells” blared cheerily from her pocket. Sasha grabbed her cell phone, staring at it like it was possessed. Four bars. She had better cell reception in Hell than in most of Malibu.
She checked the caller ID. Joan Crawford, herself. “It’s my mother. She’s probably still freaked you aren’t coming for Christmas. Maybe I should tell her you’re a demon.”
“Half demon,” he corrected.
“Devilspawn.”
“Can’t argue with that one.”
Voicemail caught the call and the phone went silent. Only to instantly start ringing again.
“She’s just going to keep calling until I answer it.” The woman might look like a goddess, but she had the persistence of a terrier. “I’ll turn it off.”
“Take it.”
Sasha gaped at him. “I’m not going to take a call from my mother in Hell.”
“She’ll worry all night if you ignore it. Tell her you can’t talk now and you’ll call her back.”
An evil demon considering her mother’s feelings—there was something off about that. Especially since she hadn’t considered them for a second. She was a worse daughter than a demon. It was a humbling thought. She hit Send.
“Hey, Mom. I can’t really talk right now.”
“Oh, sweetie, I’m so glad I caught you and if you can’t talk that’s perfectly okay. You just listen.”
“That wasn’t what I meant—”
The second shackle broke with a grinding metal crack.
“I need to apologize for pushing you about Jay. Your father says I was acting like his mother about this and God forbid anyone have grounds to compare me to that woman. I take back all of my bullying. It has never been in the spirit of Christmas in this household to emotionally blackmail your children and I’m so sorry if it has been causing strain on your relationship. I never meant to pressure—”
The first wrist shackle popped open with a muted clink and the minions scuttled closer, something black and scaled teasing into the radius of light cast by the candles.
“Mom, this really isn’t a good time.”
“Is he there now?” her mother stage-whispered into the phone. “Can I speak with him? I really ought to apologize to both of you.” Her voice had risen about two octaves on the last sentence, which she always thought made her sound more trustworthy, but only made it obvious she was trying to get away with something.
“I’m not putting him on the phone with you so you can try to badger him into coming again, Mother.”
“I won’t!” her mother protested, all innocence. “Just let me apologize directly. It means so much more coming personally, don’t you think?”
The minions rustling in the shadows grew louder. “We’re in the middle of a fight, Mom.” Or we’re about to be.
“Oh, I knew it! It’s all my fault. I’m so sorry, baby. Just don’t go to bed angry. And use your womanly wiles. Men will forgive anything if you wile them enough.”
Sasha cringed. She did not want to know what her mother thought wile was a euphemism for.
“Do you need some motherly advice? On the wiles?”
“No! Mother, I do not want tips on using my wiles from you. Thank you.”
Jay’s lips twitched. Sasha wished she still had the poker so she could thump him with it.
“If you’re sure, sweetie…”
“I’m extremely sure.”
The last manacle didn’t crack open like the others had, but Jay managed to warp the metal enough to squeeze his hand out, leaving a chunk of his skin behind. As if that was their cue, the minions went into a frenzy, scuttling forward and darting into the light only to retreat again, snarling and hissing.
“Gotta go, Mom.” Hell’s attacking. “Merry Christmas.”
She hit End before she heard her mother’s reply and pocketed the cell phone. She handed Jay her Walther semi-automatic and an extra clip. He grinned, chambering a round like a pro. “Your wiles are great, by the way.”
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“Shut up, you.” With a Desert Eagle in her left hand and a throwing knife in her right, she was as ready for Hell’s fury as she would ever be.
A minion came into range and Jay fired first, earning a squeal and a hasty retreat, but others were circling closer, coming at them from all sides. “Back to back.” Before she could turn her back on him, Jay caught her arm with his free hand and pulled her in for a fast, hard kiss.
He released her, firing a round over her shoulder and gaining another high-pitched shriek before putting his back to her. She spun and put her shoulder blades against his, her lips still tingling.
“What was that? For luck?”
His hand brushed her thigh below the holster. “Your mouth has been distracting me since you walked in. Can’t afford any distractions right now.”
Sasha pursed her lips, trying not to smile, but she could feel the corners curling upward. Smooth bastard. Who the hell was this guy?
Then minions rushed them and she stopped smiling.
Chapter Eight
When the Hordes of Hell Attack
Sasha flung the knife at the first black-shelled insect thing that scuttled into the light. The blade bounced off with a metallic plink and clattered to the ground. “Shit.” She squeezed the trigger. The bug erupted into a violet fireball. “Holy mother,” Sasha swore, staggering away from the blast. The Desert Eagle had virtually no kick, but the minion exploded like she’d tagged it with a rocket launcher.
“Angel fire,” Jay explained, his voice as steady as the metronome repetition of the Walther’s report.
Demonic screams made her ears ache, but before their fallen comrade had even stopped burning more minions were crawling over the ashy remains to get to her. Sasha fired twice in quick succession and two more explosions of violet fire lit the shadows—shadows that were roiling with black figures.
I don’t have that many bullets.
“Jay, we need an exit.” She fired two more times. Two more incinerated demons, two fewer rounds in the clip. “Now.”
“Get to a wall.” His voice was perfectly calm, like they were discussing which movie to see on a regular Friday night. “We’ll make an exit.”
Sasha wasn’t sure she liked that plan—blasting your way out tended to have the nasty side effect of bringing the building down on top of you. She began inching toward the nearest wall anyway, trusting he knew his way around Hell.
They’d only made it a few feet when Jay staggered against her, swearing.
“Are you hit?”
“No, but I think they’ve figured out the regular bullets won’t kill them.”
Oh, that is definitely not good. That limited their effective ammo to the freakish angel-rounds.
Sasha ducked beneath Jay’s arm and pivoted in front of him, firing three quick bursts at compass points to send the minions scurrying back. “My right hip. Take the other Desert Eagle.”
Jay loosed the other gun from the holster and took aim, but the trigger just clicked repeatedly.
She could have sworn she’d checked the clip. “Empty?” Goddamn angel gave me an empty gun.
“It won’t let me fire it. I don’t have the right blood. Here.” Jay shoved the Desert Eagle at her and slid the katana from her spine-sheath.
The sword gleamed, reflecting the bursts of angel fire. Jay bent over it, whispering guttural words over the metal. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him nick his finger on the blade. His blood bubbled up for a moment, then the blade flashed and absorbed the dark red demon’s blood, drinking it down. Catching her eye, Jay grinned ferally and swung the katana in a sweeping arc, slicing through three demons in a single strike. They fell and didn’t move again.
“Much better,” he growled, taking a professional stance and slashing into the writhing horde.
Sasha got out of his way and edged toward the wall again, picking her targets carefully and going for twofers whenever possible to conserve ammo. But all too soon, the first Desert Eagle clicked empty. She holstered it and braced both hands around her remaining weapon—which fired three more shots and then clicked dreadfully hollow. “I’m out.”
“What? How’s that possible?”
“Guns only fire the number of rounds they can hold, Jay. That’s how these things work.”
“It’s an angelic gun.”
“It still needs bullets,” Sasha snapped, retreating quickly and losing all the ground she’d gained toward the wall when the demons surged forward.
Jay cursed. “Give it to me.” Still wielding the katana one-handed, he extended a hand to her for the gun.
Sasha slapped it into his palm, taking her attention off the demonic minions for a fraction too long. They charged forward, knocking her legs out from under her.
“Sasha!” Jay shouted and she saw another dozen rush him as she disappeared beneath a black tide.
The first thing any stunt performer learns is how to fall without hurting herself—but that lesson’s effectiveness depended on the hordes of Hell not following her onto the ground and trying to slash her open with their claws.
She rolled to the ground, half a dozen demons swarming over her.
Her years of martial arts training would have been put to very good use—except martial arts were built around human physiology. These demonic creatures weren’t humanoid in their movements or their reactions. Minions apparently came in all different shapes and sizes, but they all moved like insects. Sasha had no idea where to punch or kick insects to disable them. Squashing had always been her preferred method of debilitation.
Karma’s a bitch.
Sasha shielded her face with her arms and tucked her knees to her chest as the demons slashed at her. Thick black claws dug parallel gashes in her forearms. She screamed as the skin and flesh ripped, blood splattering out.
A sizzling sound and black smoke rose up where her blood touched the minions, burning them like acid. They screamed and snarled, retreating from her in a wave.
Great, my superpower is bleeding on people. ’Cuz that’s not inconvenient.
Jay was at her side in an instant, pulling her to her feet and slapping the grip of the Desert Eagle against her palm. “It’s reloaded. How bad?”
“I’m fine. It’s nothing. Where did you get the ammo?”
“Magic.” He kept one arm around her as he swung the katana in a poetic arc. With the blood dripping from her forearm keeping the minions back on one side and Jay’s sword on the other, they made it to the stone wall. He nudged the hand holding the reloaded Desert Eagle. “Fire at the wall.”
And bring the room down around our ears. Check.
Sasha hesitated a moment before squeezing the trigger. Fifteen minutes ago she’d wondered if she could ever trust another word out of Jay’s mouth and now she was about to fire into a stone wall in Hell on nothing more than his say so. Sending a blast of angel fire into the wall was somehow so much easier than breaching the walls around her heart.
The wall burst inward with a whoosh, the edges peeling back like a warp drive engaging. Jay hauled her through the opening before she had a chance to question the wisdom of jumping into a black hole in Hell. With a squeal and a clatter of claws, the minions scrambled after them. Jay decapitated—or at least chopped off large, headlike appendages from—the ones stupid or determined enough to follow them through.
She raised the Desert Eagle to fire into the opening, but Jay shook his head sharply. “Let it heal.”
She blinked, realizing what he meant. The hole in the wall—or wound, apparently—knit behind them, sealing off the last snarls of the minions.
Sasha rested the Desert Eagle against her thigh, cradling her other arm to keep the blood from dripping down onto her hand and slicking her grip. Her breathing sounded unnaturally loud in the sudden hush of the new chamber. She was panting like she’d run ten miles, but Jay was icy calm, coolly controlled.
His bare chest was filthy and covered with blood, but the strength on display there was enough to make her mouth
water. The face she’d always thought of as mild and inoffensive was cut in harsh, intense lines of concentration. He exuded strength and control—which was sexy as all hell.
Gotta love a man who can go through Hell looking that good.
Sasha threw up a mental stop sign. She did not have to love that man—or rather, that demon. He’d lied to her for months. Sure, she’d never been as turned on by him as she was right now, but how could she trust him?
Now that she could breathe again, she wasn’t even sure she wanted to get him out of Hell.
To get her eyes off his abs, Sasha surveyed this new quarter of the Underworld.
The room they’d stumbled into resembled a Turkish palace more than anything else. Fabrics with geometric patterns in a symphony of vibrant colors draped the walls and columns around the room. Curving stairs led down to a pool at the center of the room, beneath a domed ceiling tiled with a breathtaking mosaic. There were no light fixtures, but sunlight seemed to seep through the walls, making the room as bright as a desert at midday. The overall effect was beautiful, lush and decadent. More paradise than purgatory.
“Wow.”
Jay grunted and strode to the nearest hanging. He tore a strip from the cloth a little more viciously than was strictly necessary, and returned to her side, briefly examining the cuts in her arm before binding it tightly in the turquoise fabric.
“What is this place?”
“No place we want to stay,” he said sharply.
“I’m still deciding if I want to go anywhere with you,” she warned him, flexing her arm to test the mobility of the bandage. It was perfect—tight enough to be firm, but loose enough to allow movement. This new Jay obviously had triage experience. Wasn’t he just full of surprises tonight?
“You can decide to hate me when we’re out of this room.”
“This seems like a perfectly good place to decide whether or not I want to hate you.”
He grimaced. “Looks can be deceiving. Especially here. Let’s go.”
Sasha was tempted to slip her hand out of his grasp when he tried to pull her toward a fabric-covered arch at the opposite end of the room, but she wasn’t feeling quite that stupid. Liar or not, Jay knew Hell and while she might not trust him to be honest with her, he’d proven he could protect her. Until they were topside, protection was valued at a premium.
