Azagoth: A Demonica Novella (1001 Dark Nights)

by Larissa Ione

  Fallen angels were assholes. “I was given more of a choice than any lamb.”

  He snorted and started down a long, twisty hallway. “Keep telling yourself that.”

  She amended her last thought. Fallen angels were major assholes.

  They arrived at an arched doorway that seemed to be carved out of a solid piece of bone. A slab of thick wood studded with iron squeaked open at Zhubaal’s shove.

  Warm orange light spilled from the opening, illuminating a room that was chilly despite flames that stretched a full six feet in height inside the fireplace on the far wall. In front of the fire, there was a claw-footed oak desk scattered with papers, pens, and tiny jade animals.

  And standing next to the monstrosity was an impossibly beautiful dark-haired male with eyes the color of vibrant emeralds. His expression could have been carved from a solid block of ice, and the blade-sharp lines of his jaw and cheekbones only emphasized the hardness of his appearance. The fang tips glinting between his full lips were the icing on the oh-shit-what-did-I-get-into cake.

  “Hello.” His deep voice turned her marrow to pudding even as a wave of heat licked her skin. “I’m Azagoth.”

  Dear...God. He was both magnificent and frightening. “I’m Lilliana,” she said, somehow keeping her tone even, her words sure.

  He strode toward her, his black slacks defining long legs, his European-style leather shoes tapping against the ebony floor, his rich gray dress shirt rolled at the sleeves to reveal powerfully muscled forearms. Lilliana resided in Heaven, where all male angels were perfect specimens of masculinity, but something about Azagoth made every last one of them seem average. Hell, even Raphael, with his jewels and furs, couldn’t touch Azagoth’s simple elegance and raw sexuality.

  Or his deadliness.

  He halted a couple of feet away. “Why are you here?”

  She blinked, not understanding the question. Surely he understood the deal that had been struck between him and the archangels.

  “Ah...I’m here for you.”

  He looked at her as if she were completely daft. “I know. But why you?”

  “I don’t know why,” she answered honestly. This was a punishment, yes, but the archangels could have chosen anyone to toss up as a sacrifice, so why her specifically? She’d wondered, but in the end it didn’t matter, she supposed.

  Azagoth’s remarkable eyes narrowed. “Then why did you agree to mate me?”

  She wasn’t sure she was ready to tell him. She could think of little more humiliating or insulting than trying to explain that being here was the least distasteful of two horrific options. “First, why don’t you tell me why you wanted this?”

  If she’d thought his gaze was cold before, now it glazed over with ice. “Obviously, I desire a mate.”

  “But why?”

  He smiled, but it was as frostbitten as his eyes. “How old are you?” he asked, ignoring her question.

  “I’m coming up on my four hundred and thirty-sixth birthday.”

  He made a sound of disgust. “So pathetically young.” His gaze took a long, appraising tour of her body, and she bristled. “And you’re wearing white. Your idea? Or did the archangels send you to me looking like a virgin ready for the volcano?”

  He’d hit that nail on the head. “It wasn’t my idea.”

  “But are you a virgin?” he asked, and wow, he had balls, didn’t he. No, she wasn’t a virgin—at least, not in one sense of the word, but the hell if she was going to give him the satisfaction of an answer. When she remained silent, he cursed. “You are, aren’t you?”

  “You say it like you might ask if I’m a cockroach. The sneer was a nice touch.”

  “A virgin cockroach.” His mouth twitched in amusement. What a strange sense of humor. He returned to his desk and pulled a parcel out of a drawer. Lush gold silk surrounded the package, which was tied with a red satin bow. He handed it to her. “You will wear this.”

  She had no idea what was inside the package, but she’d had it with his attitude. “I have my own clothes, but thank you.”

  “Your shipment from Heaven is being delayed,” he said, and she had a sneaky suspicion he had something to do with that. “So no, you don’t have clothes. You will wear what I give you.”

  Okay, then. The question now wasn’t whether or not she needed the full thirty days to decide if she was staying. The question was how long it would be before she could get out of here. At this rate, she’d be out the door in an hour. Screw the chronoglass. Dissection was looking better and better.

  “Tell you what,” she snapped. “I’ll wear whatever is in this package if you start using the words ‘please’ and ‘thank you.’ And if you stop being a dick.”

  One dark eyebrow shot up. “The innocent little angel has teeth,” he mused. “I like it.”

  She clenched said teeth. “Good. Now maybe you can show me to my room?”

  “Our room,” he said with way too much relish. “From this day on, we share a bed. We share everything.”

  * * * *

  Azagoth wasn’t sure what to think of the striking angel who had shown up on his doorstep, but he was sure she wasn’t here of her own volition. He’d bet his pearly-white fangs that she’d been forced into mating him, and he’d bet the deal had been couched inside a “choice.”

  You can do what we “suggest,” or your life will be a living hell.

  The words, spoken to him by the archangel Gabriel, rang in his ears as if it were yesterday. Yeah, what the archangels called a “choice” was more like a prod with a lightning bolt in the direction they wanted you to go.

  As he waited for Lilliana’s reaction to his announcement, he gave her a good once-over. Okay, maybe a twice-over, because damn, she was fine.

  Unlike most of the angels who came to him, Lilliana was in no way petite or delicate. She looked like the type of female who could hold her own against him in physical combat, and then melt into a puddle of ecstasy when the battle was over and he was between her legs. He admired that in a female.

  Of course, there was a lot to admire about her.

  Long, sable lashes framed eyes the color of the purest amber, and sturdy, angular features defined her ageless face. This angel was tall, solidly built, with only the slightest of curves in all the right places and muscles that gave her an Amazonian warrior aura. Her chestnut hair flowed over slender but powerful shoulders, and he wondered if it was as silky as it looked.

  “The same bed, huh?”

  Her question was rhetorical, so he crossed his arms over his chest and waited for a genuine reaction from her. In reality, he’d had another room prepared for her, but he wanted to see how she handled him. He wasn’t easy to deal with, and any female who fell apart within minutes of meeting him wasn’t going to last.

  Despite what he’d said to Mariella yesterday, he wouldn’t force anyone to stay. He was a cold, heartless bastard, but even he didn’t want to spend eternity with someone who couldn’t hold their own against him. He could deal with hatred, but he couldn’t deal with fear.

  A crying, cowering female in his bed just didn’t do it for him. On the other hand, angry sex could be fucking hot as shit.

  So which way would Lilliana go? Fight or flight? Hate or fear? The stubborn glint in her eyes told him that meek acceptance wouldn’t be an option. Good. He didn’t want a doormat for a mate, either.

  She lifted her chin and looked down her nose at him in that infuriating way most angels did. As if he was so beneath them, what with his own realm, servants, and more influence than most archangels could claim.

  “I was hoping we’d have time to get to know each other,” she said crisply, “but I’ll deal. Touch me without my consent, however, and you’ll lose an arm.”

  So, fight over flight. And probably a touch of hate. He liked her spirit. She needed to work on her threats, however.

  “Never threaten someone with losing a limb when you can go gorier. Try this next time: Touch me without my consent and I’ll gut you with
my teeth and then strangle you with your own intestines.” He imagined her saying that, and his pants grew uncomfortably tight. “See how much better that sounds?”

  She glared. “If you’ll give me paper and a pen, I’ll take notes.”

  He was starting to like this chick.

  “I’m assuming the angels have sealed the portal behind you so you can’t leave unless I expel you?” At her clipped nod, he waved for her to follow him. “Come on. I’ll show you to our room.” He led her to the grand double doors at the rear of his office, and with a mere thought, they whispered open.

  Lilliana stood in the doorway, gaping at his bedroom-slash-playroom. “Oh. My. Gaudy,” she breathed. “Please tell me I can redecorate.”

  Zhubaal had warned him that females didn’t appreciate man-cave decor. Or torture-room decor. Turned out he was right. “Sure. But nothing nautical. Or American Southwest.”

  She didn’t miss a beat. “I was thinking more along the lines of screw-you minimalist. First thing that goes is the spanking bench.”

  Damn, he was liking her more and more. Too bad he’d have to break her little haloed heart.

  “No furniture goes until you’ve tried it first. But the rest...meh.” He gestured to the walls covered in rich tapestries, priceless artwork by famous human and demon painters, and giant mirrors framed in pure gold. “The color scheme was popular a thousand years ago. It’s time for an update, I suppose.”

  She sniffed haughtily, which was such an angel thing to do, and stalked inside. And wow, nice ass. Perfectly packaged in the satin dress, it was a little less full than he liked, but there was still plenty of padding in that heart-shaped bottom. He could picture her bent over the spanking bench as he gripped her hips and thrust against her, her skin flushed with ecstasy and pink from sensual lashes.

  “The bed can stay,” she announced.

  Of course it could. It was big enough to sleep six, which meant she could put a lot of space between them. She could try, anyway.

  “The bathroom is through the doorway to your right,” he said. “The hallway straight ahead leads to a kitchen, dining room, and TV room. I get pretty much every TV station in the world.”

  She frowned. “How?”

  “Same way Heaven gets it. Demon technicians can warp and tune any manmade signal into something usable down here.” He gestured to a huge oak cabinet. “The wardrobe on the left is yours. There are clothes already inside. I’ll leave you to it.”

  She turned to him, that ridiculous gown sweeping across the floor. “Where are you going?”

  “I have a job to do. Places to go, people to kill, and those demon souls don’t admit themselves into Sheoul-gra, you know.” He started toward the door. “Join me after you change, and I’ll show you around your new home.”

  “Wait.” She started after him, but as he swung back around to her, she checked up like she’d hit a wall, as if realizing that being alone would be better than being with him. “What about my powers?”

  “What about them?”

  “I have none.” She hugged herself, no doubt feeling naked and exposed without them. “How am I supposed to defend myself in this place?”

  “There’s nothing here that can harm you. Except me.” He glanced at his watch. He probably had time to usher in a few souls, show Lillian around, and check in with his griminions before his next appointment arrived. Looking up again, he caught her gaze. “But I can’t think of any reason I should harm you...can you?”

  She gave a forced smile. “Of course not.”

  “Good. Let’s keep it that way.” He headed toward the door again, pausing at the threshold to say softly, “I’m not a cruel person, Lilliana. But I’m not a forgiving one, either. Betray me and you’ll see exactly how unforgiving I can be. There are no second chances.”

  He left her alone, closing the door behind him.

  Chapter Four

  Lilliana waited until Azagoth shut the door to stick out her tongue at him.

  “Join me after you change,” she mimicked. “I’ll show you around your new home. Betray me and you’ll see exactly how unforgiving I can be.”

  Yeah, real mature. But the guy was infuriating. And obnoxious. And handsome. She couldn’t forget handsome. The image of him standing next to his desk lingered in her mind, the way he’d been so casual, and yet, there was a coiled intensity about him, as if he could snap her neck with one hand while chugging rum from the bottle on his desk with the other.

  Why in the hell did she find that sexy? She was an angel, for Heaven’s sake. She was supposed to be sweet and pure, and...that was a load of crap.

  Angels were, in truth, ruthless warriors who fought for the side of good, often with stunning brutality. They fought dirty and didn’t always follow the rules. Then there were the politics—many angels had their own agendas, and those agendas often didn’t mesh with what was best for either the Earthly realm or the Heavenly one.

  So, okay, she wasn’t sweet and pure, but she probably shouldn’t think Azagoth’s lethal aura was sexy.

  Tossing the package he’d given her onto the black satin bedspread, she looked around the room, and this time, she didn’t bother to hide her shock. When she and Azagoth had first entered, she’d schooled her expression into calm nonchalance, but inside she had been hyperventilating.

  She’d seen a lot in her centuries of life—demons and humans were extremely creative when it came to sex—but she’d never thought she’d be expected to participate in anything kinky. Heck, her ex, Hutriel, a high-ranking member of the angelic Eradicator Force who hunted the illegal offspring of angels and fallen angels, had despised the kind of messy sex humans and demons enjoyed so much. Angel intimacy, especially among the hardcore conservative old guard, was polite and clean, more of a merging of souls than bodies. Hutriel had definitely been old guard. He would have hated Azagoth’s lair.

  She wrinkled her nose at the huge wood and padded leather St. Andrew’s Cross in the corner. It was much nicer than the one some sex toy salesman tried to get her to “try” when she’d walked past his store while hunting a demon once. And Azagoth’s leather-wrapped restraints were a far cry from the sales guy’s metal handcuffs.

  Oh, but not to fear, Azagoth also had handcuffs hanging from a wooden rack next to the spanking bench. All sorts of restraints, whips, paddles, gags, and items she couldn’t identify kept those cuffs company, and she shivered.

  And yet...curiosity, and maybe a screw-you aimed in Hutriel’s direction, nudged her over to the rack, and she found herself running her fingers over the surprisingly supple leather strands on the floggers and testing the fabric of the blindfolds. What would it feel like to be blindfolded and bound, completely at the mercy of someone like Azagoth?

  Again she shivered, but this time, it was accompanied by desire curling in her gut and spiraling outward until even her skin flushed with pleasant tingles. Maybe she should be appalled by Azagoth’s collection and her reaction to it, but she’d always been adventurous and eager to try new things. With the right male, she’d give this stuff a go.

  But Azagoth wasn’t the right male. So far, he’d proved to be an arrogant prick, and in any case, as soon as she found his chronoglass, she was out of here.

  She moved over to the huge oak wardrobe and held her breath as she opened it. To her relief, there was nothing too weird hanging on the rack or sitting neatly on the shelves. But black wasn’t her color, and leather wasn’t her material. She was definitely a slacks and blouse kind of gal, so the midnight satin corset and metal-studded leather miniskirt got shoved to the back of the stack.

  She finally chose a pair of plain black leggings, a maroon long-sleeved, fitted crop top with a turtleneck collar, and knee-high boots with four sets of buckles down the shaft. She checked herself out in the mirror, was surprised that the outfit wasn’t completely horrible and actually flattered her athletic figure.

  She’d always compensated for her lack of feminine features and curves by wearing her hair loose and lon
g, and her clothes were always on the conservative, lacier side. But somehow, these form-fitting garments enhanced her femininity even more than the flowing, delicate gown she’d been forced to wear. Huh.

  Sinking down on the massive bed, she opened the package Azagoth had given her. Inside was a simple but elegant Tiffany key pendant on a delicate silver chain. It was beautiful, but why would he want her to wear it?

  She wasn’t going to. Already she realized she had very little power down here, and one thing Azagoth wasn’t going to take away was her ability to choose. Very carefully, she put away the chain and left the box on the mattress.

  The mattress she was going to have to share with Azagoth.

  Unbidden, an image of him naked and lying next to her as that deep voice whispered raw, naughty things, made her skin flush and her breasts tingle. Was that what the angels sent here for him to service felt like when they were standing in this room?

  The thought was enough to knock her halo back on straight. There would be no sex, because she was leaving.

  Taking a deep, bracing breath, she opened the door to Azagoth’s office. The wall directly across from her had opened up, revealing a green-glowing cross-sectioned tunnel. A parade of demons shuffled through from left to right, each one escorted by a three-foot tall griminion shrouded completely in black. As she entered the room, the parade stopped, and Azagoth swung around. His expression remained neutral, but she swore his eyes darkened as he raked her with his gaze.

  “Better,” he rumbled.

  “Flattery isn’t your strong suit, is it?”

  “And taking direction isn’t yours.”

  So he’d noticed the missing necklace. Tough shit. She ignored him and glanced over at the tunnel. “What’s going on?”

  “These are souls of dead demons and evil humans. My griminions are escorting them into the lower Sheoul-gra levels known as the Inner Sanctum.”

  “Where Hades lives?”