by Lara Adrian
There was something going on…
And after years of trying to pretend that she wasn’t caught in the middle, this Incubus was forcing her to accept she was being deliberately blind.
She couldn’t ignore the truth any longer.
Squaring her shoulders, she conjured a long whip that she gripped in one hand. It was no more real than her façade of a red-skinned monster, but she could make her victim feel as if the leather was slicing through their flesh.
That’s all that mattered.
There was barely a sound as the Nephilim entered the chamber, her lean body dressed in black linen with a halo of curls around her too-pretty face.
The female’s gaze widened as she caught sight of Muriel’s gruesome illusion, a hint of fear flashing through her eyes as she came to an abrupt halt. Then, clearly annoyed that she’d revealed her unease, she made a visible attempt to regain command of her composure.
“Where is the Incubus?” she demanded, pasting an arrogant sneer onto her face.
Muriel gave a crack of her whip, smiling as the intruder flinched.
“How dare you enter this realm uninvited?”
The young female gripped the dagger in her hand, as if she thought Muriel would be intimidated by the obsidian blade. Of course, the demon couldn’t know she was an angel.
The Warden was supposed to be randomly chosen.
“I’m here to retrieve an intruder.”
“I deal with trespassers in the Oubliette.” Her claws scraped on the stone floor as she stepped forward. “I don’t need your assistance.”
The Nephilim forced herself to hold her ground. “This has nothing to do with you, female,” she growled. “Step aside.”
Muriel spread her illusion of leathery wings. “Are you truly that stupid? No one tells me what to do in this place.” She flicked a dismissive gaze over the Blade. “Especially not a mere servant.”
The intruder stiffened in outrage. “I’m not a servant. I’m a Blade and protector of the Sovereign.”
She gave a sharp laugh. “Should I be impressed?”
“I have safe passage.”
Muriel bared her pointed teeth, not having to pretend to be pissed at her claim.
“I was ordered to allow the Sovereign access to the lower chambers,” she snarled. “Not to grant access to every Nephilim who decides to stroll through my territory.”
“Ask the Sovereign—” The belligerent expression was wiped away as Muriel gave a flick of her whip, slicing a deep wound down the front of the Blade’s torso. The female stumbled backward in pain. “Arrgg.”
“I don’t think so,” Muriel informed her. “I recently lost one of my prisoners. You will do nicely as a replacement.”
The female pressed a hand to her bloody chest. “The Sovereign—”
She gave another flick of the whip, snapping it a mere breath from the tip of her nose.
“Has no authority here.”
The Blade took another stumbling step backward. “But he has connections with people who do.”
“What connections?”
She licked her lips. “They’re powerful.”
“And you think they’ll protect you?”
“Of course.” Lick, lick, lick.
“No you don’t.” Muriel studied the sweat beginning to bead the female’s forehead. “You might be an arrogant fool, but you can’t be completely stupid. You know that once they discover you’ve been captured they’ll leave you here to rot.”
The Blade’s face drained to a pasty shade of ecru. Not an attractive shade on anyone.
“No,” she breathed, her brief attempt at courage shattering at Muriel’s harsh reminder she was no more than expendable fodder. “Please.”
“Please what?” Muriel ground home her advantage.
The Blade pressed back against the wall, blood still dripping from her wound.
“Let me go.”
Muriel deliberately stepped close enough to touch her whip against the female’s throat.
“Not so brave now you realize you might actually die for your cause?”
The Nephilim gave a squeak of terror. Nothing like the threat of death to gain unwavering attention.
“What do you want from me?”
Muriel pretended to give the question serious thought. “Blood. Pain. Eventual death,” she at last responded.
“My family has money.”
She could hear the sound of the Nephilim’s pounding heart.
“And what use would I have for money?”
“There must be something I can barter.”
She smiled. Now they were getting somewhere.
“There is.” She assured the Blade. “The truth.”
“The truth about what?”
Muriel resisted the urge to glance over her shoulder. She didn’t have to look at the door she’d concealed with illusions to feel the hot, disturbing gaze of her prisoner.
Her awareness of the male was an acute, relentless pulse deep inside.
A knowledge that unnerved her on a primal level.
With a grim effort, she forced herself to concentrate on the female regarding her with a wary gaze.
“Tell me about the Incubus you’re chasing,” she commanded.
A remembered anger tightened the Blade’s thin face. “He attacked me and entered the gateway. He’s a traitor to the Sovereign.”
“A traitor?”
“Yes.” The female curled her hands into tight fists. “Allow me to return him to our world and I can promise he’ll be punished.”
Hmm. It seemed the Incubus had told the truth about his relationship with the Blade.
Not that she was ready to trust him.
Right now, she’d be a fool to trust anyone.
“And the Sovereign?”
The demon frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“Why does he come to the Oubliette?”
The Nephilim sucked in a breath at the unexpected question, her expression resembling a cornered rat.
“I…I don’t know.”
The whip was a blur of movement as it sliced through the bitch’s cheek.
“Wrong answer,” she warned, her voice soft.
“Wait.” The female lifted a hand to try and stem the newest flow of blood. It was a shallow cut, but the Nephilim couldn’t disguise her terror. It wasn’t going to take any talent to convince her to talk. It was almost a shame. Muriel was very good at her job. “He has prisoners he can’t allow to be discovered.”
Muriel frowned. Prisoners?
It was, of course, the obvious explanation, but somehow it still managed to catch her off guard.
“Why would he need to hide prisoners?” she demanded. “Isn’t he the leader of the Incubi? He surely has his own dungeons to contain his enemies?”
“Because they—”
The words came to a shockingly abrupt end at the explosive sound of a gunshot echoing through the cavern.
Muriel flinched, and then cursed, as the silver bullet skimmed directly over the arch of her wing and slammed into the Nephilim’s forehead, killing her mid-sentence.
Grimacing as the dead Blade slid to the floor with a sickening thud, she slowly turned to confront the shadowed form that filled the entrance to the cavern.
A chill inched down her spine as she studied the figure heavily shrouded in thick, woolen robes, his face hidden in the darkness of his hood.
“Forgive me,” a mocking male voice drawled. “But I fear my servant was about to be indiscrete.”
She spread her wings, forcing her imaginary lips into a smile that displayed her pointed teeth.
“The Sovereign, I presume?”
The gun in his hand swiveled to point directly at her heart.
“You were warned to stay out of my business.”
“Don’t threaten me,” Muriel snapped, even as she wrinkled her nose at the peculiar odor that tainted the air.
It wasn’t the rich, addictive aroma she associated with most Incubi.
>
This was sour…like an overripe fruit.
Was the Sovereign sick? Or perhaps it was the stench of madness.
“You think I fear you?” he drawled.
She gave a flick of her whip, more of a taunt than a threat.
The Incubus might have been given the freedom to enter the Oubliette, but she remained the Warden. To harm her would be a direct violation of the fragile peace between Incubi and angels.
“Everyone fears me.”
The gun remained aimed directly at her heart. “Where’s the Incubus my Blade was tracking?”
She shrugged, ignoring the growing frustration she could sense from the trapped Incubus. Instead, she added another layer of illusion to mute his sharp demand to be released from his cell.
The idiot was going to get himself killed.
“The Oubliette is vast,” she murmured. “He could be anywhere.”
There was an echoing blast and then the agonizing sensation of a bullet tearing through her upper chest.
Pain combined with shock to send her reeling backwards, the silver bullet that was now lodged in her shoulder blade pumping its toxin through her bloodstream.
Oh…crap.
Her lips went numb as her knees gave way and she collapsed onto the hard ground.
“I’m afraid I don’t have time for games,” the male informed her in cold tones, moving forward to stand over her. “Where is the Incubus?”
She blinked, her gaze fuzzy.
“You will die for this,” she rasped.
“I don’t think so,” he said, a genuine lack of concern in his flat voice as he once again pulled the trigger. A second vicious pain ripped through her as the bullet sliced through her body to lodge in the ground beneath her. “My new partners made it clear you were expendable if you tried to poke your very ugly snout into my business.”
The excruciating pain was forgotten as Muriel sucked in a harsh breath.
“You lie,” she growled, even as doubt seeped through her, as venomous and agonizing as the silver that continued to poison her.
She’d already suspected that the Conclave was deliberately ignoring her petition to be returned to her family. And that they were using the Sovereign for their own nefarious purpose.
But would they truly allow an angel to be murdered by a demon?
Her mind rejected the mere thought, but her heart whispered that she’d been betrayed.
“Give me the Incubus,” the Sovereign snapped, his face still hidden in the shadow of his hood.
“I…” She lost track of her words as an urgent voice screamed through her mind, using enough compulsion to force her to listen.
“Angel, release me.”
Her prisoner.
Her Incubus.
Yes…hers.
With the last of her strength, Muriel dropped the illusion and released the lock that held the Incubus trapped in his cell.
Then she waited to die.
CHAPTER FOUR
Jian was slamming his body against the cell door when it abruptly popped open.
Goddammit.
He’d never felt such a helpless desperation as he’d watched his beautiful angel crumple to the floor, a scarlet stain spreading across her chest and dripping onto the pure white of her wings.
The mere thought he would be forced to watch her die had horrified him in a deep, unfamiliar place.
As if he’d known that he would be irreparably damaged if he lost this female.
Now, as the door swung open, he stumbled to regain his balance and charged toward the heavily robed figure standing over the collapsed angel.
He didn’t need to see the male’s face to know who he was.
The Sovereign.
The soon-to-be-dead Master of the House of Marakel.
Without hesitation, Jian was sprinting across the cavern, slashing the obsidian dagger through the male’s back.
He didn’t give a shit that the Incubus was his leader. Or that he was choosing an angel over a fellow demon. He would happily destroy anyone or anything that threatened his female.
The Sovereign grunted in pain, instinctively darting to the side to avoid another strike. At the same time he twisted and fired the gun over his shoulder. Jian was forced to duck as the bullet whizzed past his face, giving the bastard an opening to run toward the entrance.
Jian cursed, telling himself to follow the retreating male.
The obsidian blade had wounded the male, but it hadn’t been a killing blow. If he didn’t halt the Sovereign now he would return to the fortress and surround himself with his guards.
Jian might never have another opportunity to force him to talk.
But even as logic was urging him into action, he was dropping to his knees besides the delicate angel, his heart twisting with fear.
Oh hell. He gently brushed the tangled golden curls from her cheek as he studied the blood that continued to seep from her wounds. At least one bullet still had to be inside her, blocking her ability to heal the damage.
“Stay with me, angel,” he murmured softly, cupping her cheek in his palm as she released a rattling sigh.
“He shot me.”
He deliberately kept his expression unreadable, disguising the fury that thundered through him.
Eventually the Sovereign would pay for his sins. For now, all that mattered was ensuring this angel wasn’t permanently harmed.
“I’m going to take care of you,” he assured her.
Her body spasmed, her beautiful face tight with pain.
“Silver…”
“I know.”
With exquisite caution, he wiggled his arms beneath her slender form, cradling her against his chest as he rose to his feet.
She felt warm and fragile against him, the soft wings drooping so low he had to take care not to step on them.
He briefly considered returning to his world so he could take them both to the protection of his home. No one would dare to try and harm her there. But the knowledge that he couldn’t be confident that the Sovereign wouldn’t be waiting for him at the entrance had him instead turning toward the far side of the cavern.
He couldn’t risk being attacked when his angel was so weak.
Besides, he didn’t have any idea if forcing her to leave the Oubliette would harm her. She was the current Mistress, which might mean she was bound to this hellhole.
Leaving the cavern, he carried the barely conscious female through a tunnel, using his talents to see through the elaborate illusions. Still, it took a tense quarter of an hour of darting from cave to cave as he struggled to avoid the servants, as well as the prisoners who screamed in constant agony, to at last find the narrow stairs carved into stone.
With slow, carefully measured motions, he climbed to the top, discovering a hidden cavern that was lit by torchlight.
This had to belong to his beautiful angel.
Not only was it disguised behind thick layers of illusion, but it had been furnished in an effort to ease the stark bleakness.
A handwoven carpet was spread over the stone floor, with a massive bed set in the center. The walls were covered by colorful tapestries. And in one corner there was a small dresser with a stool arranged front of the oval mirror.
His lips twitched.
So his angel had a streak of vanity beneath her illusion of a hideous monster.
The knowledge was oddly charming.
“Can you lock us in?” he demanded, kicking the door shut with his foot.
She gave a slow nod. “Yes.” There was the faint sound of a click as she mentally triggered the lock, her pained gaze never wavering from his face. “How did you find my rooms? I have them hidden.”
“The prison is built on illusions,” he reminded her, moving directly toward the bed. “I could sense the tunnels you tried to disguise.”
“Oh. I forgot.” A shaky breath hissed between her lips. “It hasn’t been my finest day.”
Bending forward, he placed her in the center of the mattress, his
chest so tight he could barely breathe as he smoothed her wings and brushed her hair from her ashen face.
Lying against the bright blue blanket she looked like a broken doll, her ivory and silver beauty marred by the garish red blood that had spread across her upper body.
With a silent pledge to make the Sovereign suffer for every second this female was in pain, he reached down to grasp the neckline of the linen shift. Then, with one careful tug, he had it split in half.
Heat sizzled in the air as he pulled off the ruined garment. His only concern was healing the angel as quickly as possible, but he was an Incubus, not a saint.
The sight of her naked body was enough to make his mouth water and his body harden with instant arousal.
Besides, his ability to heal her came from the direct source of his magic.
Skin to skin.
Pleasure to pleasure.
With a swift efficiency, Jian stripped off his clothing and cautiously stretched out beside her, his heart skipping a beat as he felt the downy softness of feathers pressed against his bare skin.
Who knew that wings would be so deliciously erotic?
“I assure you it’s about to get a whole lot better,” he whispered, rolling onto his side to meet her wary gaze. “Give me your name.”
She licked her dry lips, the scent of orchids thick in the air.
“Why?”
His fingers brushed her cheek, his concern deepening at the growing chill of her skin.
He had to get the bullet out.
“It deepens our connection, so I can heal you,” he said.
There was a split second hesitation before her name floated from her lips, as soft as a promise.
“Muriel.”
It was…perfect.
“Beautiful, Muriel,” he breathed, his fingers tracing the lush curve of her mouth. “My name is Jian, Master of the House of Xanthe.”
“Master…” A faint smile curled her lips beneath his fingers. “Of course you would be. You’re too arrogant to be anything less.”
The thread of recognition that hummed between them became a tangible bond. Not from the mere sharing of her name, but the sizzling sexual awareness and intimate teasing that made him feel as if they were long-term lovers, not virtual strangers.
Perhaps they’d been mates in a former life, he inanely thought, surprised by how…right…she felt lying next to him.
