Hell's Phoenix

by Gracen Miller

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  Hell’s Phoenix

  Copyright © 2012 by Gracen Miller

  ISBN: 978-1-61333-219-1

  Cover art by LFD Designs

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work, in whole or in part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Decadent Publishing Company, LLC

  Look for us online at:

  www.decadentpublishing.com

  Also by Gracen Miller

  Pandora’s Box

  Fairy Casanova

  A 1Night Stand Story

  Hell’s Phoenix

  Book Two of the Road to Hell Series

  By

  Gracen Miller

  ~DEDICATION~

  To all my Hellhounds for keeping this adventure exciting and for making this the best damn road trip ever!

  Elena Gray and Kelly Macpherson…thanks for coming up with the coolest Hellhound names ever—FiFi and Devlin! You gals rock!

  Mindy “Fangedmom” Janicke…thanks for coming up with a rockin’ succubus breed—Lynx! You’re a great friend and a wonderful Facebook pal!

  Kathryn Grimes and Mindy “Fangedmom” Janicke…thanks for coming up with one of my Nix Birmingham slogans…“Nix’s Nectar…sweet home brewed for one helluva buzz!”

  Tawnya Peltonen…thanks for coming up with my first Nix Birmingham slogan…“Nix Birmingham, stealing hearts one dead demon at a time!”

  Prologue

  One Week in Hell

  Nix’s soul quivered beneath the fabric of his skin, stinging needle-like sensations that wouldn’t abate. The rendition of misery coming from everywhere blistered his ears with anguish. Crescendos came in the form of screams, followed by tapering moans. Grief as stark as the breath he inhaled shunted against his body.

  Micah. Demon of many names…King of Hell, Beliel, fallen angel, and Madison’s husband were among his titles.

  Micah struck the cat-o’-nines whip against his leather-clad thigh with a taunting tap, tap, tap. Gut convulsing, Nix fought the compulsion to entreat mercy for the soul the King would soon crush. Mercy wouldn’t be granted. Begging would bring humiliation and a lesson in futility for the damned.

  The suffering of others had become Nix’s punishment for his reckless acceptance of a demonic covenant. A week in Hell. An eternity of affliction beat at his empathy. He yearned for death. Regret was his constant companion. He couldn’t even achieve solace knowing Mads was safe and alive because she was dead. Dead at the hands of her best friend, Zennyo Ryuo—Zen.

  Micah’s victim jerked and the rusty chains creaked as the whip curled against the soul’s corporeal body. Raw flesh oozed blood and a stench of disease and rot as the condemned swayed slightly.

  Physical torture might not be his lot, but the mental torment of others grew tiresome. As a Sherlock, he’d dedicated his life to protecting the innocent. In Hell, he could offer no comfort to any of the damned. The injustice of a loving father abandoning his children to such pain irritated his once-solid faith.

  Other souls, out of sight, wailed as if they could hear his desperation and agreed, while confirming the unremitting anguish Hell inflicted.

  Did anyone not break?

  He wanted to honor Mads’s memory by remaining the just man she’d befriended, but the effort grew burdensome. The recollection of his humanity became as wispy as steam from Hell’s lava pit.

  Mads….

  Thinking of her spawned the mini-television Micah had set off in his head, a screen that played out her death in minute detail. The King’s first-account experience of Zen annihilating the woman they loved. Micah’s violent and emotional reaction to her demise corroborated how deeply the fallen angel had loved her. A sadistic, stalkerish kind of love to be sure, but a devotion Nix had once mistaken as control.

  The reel of her death was like the repeated jabbing of a spear to his heart, a painful reminder that refusing Micah’s wants brought nothing shy of useless tribulation. They had a covenant that must be paid. An agreement he could use to his advantage if he would only accept his eternal lot in Hell.

  The whip snapped him out of his reverie. The sound was the worst part, knowing it would soon rip the flesh from bones—

  The soul jerked against the restraints, and Nix screamed for the punished until his throat ached. It should’ve been raw and bleeding. Micah glanced over his shoulder at Nix and smirked as he lashed the flogger again. The tails struck the hip of the King’s victim and helixed around to snip across the lower abdomen, not more than an inch shy of striking the male’s crotch. The whip recoiled and the jagged edges of the tails carved away flesh. Blood oozed down the thigh of the condemned.

  Breaking the soul was Hell’s ultimate gig, spawning new demons the sole purpose. Nix didn’t know how close this particular martyr was to breaking, but his sanity hung in the balance, in grave danger of giving in to the weakness of his broken mind. One more scream could drag him under for all eternity. Unsure if he cared about that outcome, Nix tensed for the next strike, but none came.

  Suspended between an internal struggle to maintain a weak grasp on his former humanity or to embrace demonic freedom, he heard the echo of cries from other tortured souls, reminding him he couldn’t escape Hell’s not-so-tender guardianship. Knowing others suffered worse than he did lent a strange sense of serenity. Silence would have sent him over the edge long ago.

  Another crack rent the air and Nix gritted his molars. The whip bit the air beside his head rather than the victim’s, indicating the demon’s playful mood. Abdomen muscles cramping, Nix wished the fallen angel would turn the torture on him. Physical pain would be a welcome change from his mental anguish.

  “I say oh-la-la, lover boy, I have nothing but time to play….” Micah crooned the made-up song in a dark, sensual voice.

  Micah flicked his wrist and gouged out more of his victim’s flesh. Nix jerked at the resonance, cursed his hatred of Micah and screamed his love for Mads as the damned jerked and cried along with him. Hard to believe Micah once was an angel as his silent orgy of successive whip strikes peeled away the epidermis of his prey like that of an apple skin, the soft, chewy insides soon to be exposed.

  Biting back a fit of laughter over the analogy, Nix predicted insanity lingered on the fringe of reality. Lunacy would be a relief, a small, triumphant means of escape.

  No wonder new demons were spawned each day. The soul couldn’t endure the constant grief.

  Micah shifted to stand in front of Nix, his feet braced slightly apart, the cat-o’-nines dangling from his fingers at his side, blood dripping from the tails and leaving wet puddles on the skin-stitched floor. The King wore the appearance of Madison’s husband. Madison. Mads. Five years ago, Nix had given her the nickname because she’d fought like a madwoman against Micah.

  “Your suffering is of your own making, Phoenix.” Micah dragged the crop across Nix’s cheek and he cringed at the warm blood tingling against his skin. “I encourage you to seek reve
nge with me, as my equal for our woman’s loss.”

  “Zen will kill us both if we try.” Nix welcomed death, would embrace it if he could figure out a way to bring about his suicide.

  “Wrong, Sherlock.” A swift twist and Micah threw his weight into the snap of the whip, scraping out another chunk of flesh. “The immortal son of a bitch couldn’t kill me as easily as he thought he could.” He chucked Nix beneath the chin with the flogger. “He cannot kill you. Father’s mandate.”

  Nix knocked the crop aside with the back of his hand. “He has no clue I’m a heavenly relation.”

  “The moment he sees you, he won’t be able to dismiss your identity.” He sniffed as if something stunk. “Since I indoctrinated you with your messianic magic, you reek of divine purity. It cannot be dismissed, even though I would rip it out of you if I could.”

  They stared at one another, Nix uncertain if he should place any faith in the archangel that embraced being a demon.

  “If you’ve forgotten how much Madison suffered at Zennyo Ryuo’s hands, I could remind you.” He tapped his fingers against Nix’s forehead.

  “No.” Nix ground his teeth together. He couldn’t watch her die. Not again. Not ever again. Zen had been her friend, someone she trusted. How could he have betrayed her so callously? Recalling the way she accepted her demise…why had she submit to her death?

  Nix shook his head to clear away the haunting questions. He imagined the warmth of sunshine on his skin and squeals of laughter from Mads’s and the King’s son, Amos, to clear the recollection of Mads’s screams from his mind. Her painful death only made him angrier, and that stole his logic. “If I agree to your plan of revenge, will I be required to torture souls?”

  Angel eyes smoldered the color of brimstone flames for a brief moment, before dying back out to blue. “No. But I would encourage it. Your genetic inheritance will grow immensely from their pain, and we’ll be able to go after Zennyo Ryuo within half a year.” Micah dropped the crop at Nix’s feet. “I’ll teach you how to focus and use your powers just like I did when you granted life to Gage and Zoe.”

  The mention of his cousin and his cousin’s girlfriend wedged a hard knot in his gut, a reminder of those for whom he’d forfeited his life. He would not regret his predicament when they lived because of his decision.

  “It’s your choice how far you want to fall, Phoenix, because I only need your lineage to unlock a very special door.”

  Already damned to an eternity of torment, what made him hold onto his humanity? Those who came to Hell were just as damned. So why continue to resist the inevitable? Why not let the darkness turn his soul black? What did he have to lose?

  Nothing.

  The love of his life was dead, his lineage forfeited to the whims of a fallen angel, and he resided in Hell. His situation couldn’t grow worse. But he could man up and avenge Mads’s death. He should do it with gusto, doing whatever it took, shying away from nothing.

  “You know I love her?” A warning glare came from Beliel—Micah—for that bit of honesty. “And I know you love her.”

  The demon didn’t deny the tender emotion, but folded his arms over his chest, and said in a cool voice, “My cross to bear.”

  An odd kinship developed with the creature, their love of Mads a strange, dysfunctional bond. That kinship didn’t comfort him…but kind of did.

  Using his toe, Micah nudged the whip toward Nix. “The question is how much do you love her?”

  Nix ogled the torture device, the small apparatus nothing like the one he’d used on occasion with sexual play. How much did he love Mads? Nix would wager more than Micah did. And he would prove it. “I love her enough to become the monster you are.” Micah laughed, as Nix swiped up the crop and pushed to his feet. “Anything for Mads.” His stomach turned at the vocal commitment he issued to avenge her death.

  “I like your attitude, Phoenix.” Micah nodded at the object clutched in Nix’s hand. “Do you plan to use the whip? Or do I resume?”

  Nix glanced at the male victim. Yellow-sulfuric smoke puffed off his body, indicating he’d just been ripped from the wastelands where a soul burned in sulfur until called up for special treatment like the one he currently received.

  Could he really do this? Did he have the stomach for it, much less the balls? His palms grew sweaty and the whip slipped in his grip. Stomach churning, it threatened to erupt his last meal. Mads wouldn’t want this for him.

  Mads is dead.

  No pressure came from Micah, just the intense scrutiny of anticipation. Nix closed his eyes and memories of Mads’s smiling face hit the back of his lids. I do this for you, baby, so I can kill the fucker that killed you. A promise he could keep if he just wielded the whip.

  As he drew back his arm, he whispered, “Forgive me, Mads,” and snapped the whip for the first time against his first of many victims to come.

  Demons cheered his fall and the merriment of Hell’s denizens disrupted Nix’s momentum. He doubled over as guilt impacted his stomach like a monstrous fist bent on destruction. Nix met Micah’s gaze. He expected to hear a cackle emerge from Beliel. Instead the archangel smiled, an expression of extreme contentment and victory. Pleasing the demon went against Nix’s nature, but the lull of revenge was too sweet to forfeit.

  Nix steeled his spine. He repeated his new mantra. Anything for Mads. As he laid lash after lash against his victim—abhorring the tug and slide of the flesh against the whip—a vital piece of his soul died as his victim cried and pleaded for clemency.

  Hell never granted mercy.

  The condemned screamed for a long, long time beneath Nix’s tutelage, and he hated himself. Hated what he would become.

  Chapter One

  Four months after Nix’s descent into Hell

  Chattanooga, Tennessee

  “What the hell is going on, Zen?” Madison turned her computer around on the coffee table so the screen would face him. The headlines on Google News detailed the perplexing deaths of birds that fell from the sky, dead from internal trauma, and not a hailstorm anywhere in their flight path. Two days before fish had bellied up on the banks of the Mississippi River, leaving scientists baffled by the cause. “Are you sure Micah doesn’t have the power to do that?”

  Petra walked up behind Zen and peered at the monitor over his shoulder. “Daddy’s power isn’t like that. I know of no demon that can create this type of havoc.”

  Madison groaned her frustration and craned her head back against the cushions of the couch. Things had been wonky for over a month. A hundred thousand cats converged on a mall in the middle of the day in Arkansas, all of them hissing and growling at the customers before the felines keeled over dead from organ combustion. The news had captured the oddity on video and it’d been a huge WTF moment for them all.

  Madison and her entourage, as Nix had once called them, investigated the bizarre occurrence and came up empty-handed. Nothing pinged hers or Petra’s supernatural radars, confirming demons weren’t involved, or both of them would’ve picked up on the distinct signature. Amos’s prophecies failed, giving no hint as to whom or what could be involved. Even Nix’s psychic aunt, Georgie, was confused.

  Other weird stuff included world-wide seismic activity where fault lines didn’t exist. Old Faithful in Yellowstone National Forest geyser failed to blow on schedule, terrifying most of the nation into a panicked evacuation for fear the super-volcano beneath the park would erupt and wipe out half of the United States. A full moon appearing on a half-moon night had the doomsday zealots hysterical.

  Zen’s declaration that the occurrences were biblical irritated Madison since it agreed with the doomsayers. The fanatics shouldn’t be fed. She couldn’t halt the progress of holy matters. There would be no point in saving Nix from Hell if the world was pitched on global annihilation anyway.

  Zen proclaimed these occurrences weren’t part of God’s plan. When asked how he knew, he grew pensive and moody, cautioned her not to delve too deep and to trust him. She trusted him
, but knowing he withheld something vital rankled, especially so when she preferred having all the facts.

  “Are you just going to stare at that, Zen, or offer some comment? Dear God!” She jumped off the sofa and stalked across the room. No one had died from these catastrophes—at least not yet—but the very real fear that whatever controlled these anomalies would soon escalate to human victims, burned like acid in her belly.

  “At least give us some idea of where to start looking.” Alessa, ever ready to help save Nix from Hell, turned the TV to Fox News. The newscaster speculated with a local bird expert on the likely possibilities of their deaths.

  “I already told….” Zen bolted out of his seat and strode toward Madison.

  She stopped her pacing and faced him. “What is it?”

  “We gotta go.”

  Zen’s hand touched her arm, and Madison didn’t even get the word ‘wait’ out before rainbow orbs–the visible proof of Zen’s teleportation—coalesced around her. Zen teleported Madison to the Gulf Coast. Its sandy white beaches were heavily populated with homes and beachgoers.

  “I’m sorry, Madison.” Zen aligned his chest against her spine, clasped her wrists, and snatched her arms up, palms facing the ocean. “Focus on Pandora.”

  “Wait! No!” Her stomach heaved violently, as she swallowed back the bile, panic surging hard. Tapping into the loathsome power contained in Pandora’s Box, when Madison could barely hold it in restraint, terrified her. “Let’s talk about this first, Zen.”

  “No time. Do as I say or thousands will die.”

  The urgency in his voice stifled any other questions or concerns. Madison dragged in a deep breath, shaking all over. Over the last four months Zen had been teaching her how to contain the foreign host, probably lending her a false sense of safety knowing he could restrain the entity if it took over. She slowly exhaled and attempted to manage Pandora’s magic, visualizing one bubble of power at a time bursting to the surface. But in the best-case scenario, that would be next to impossible without Zen’s assistance. Without his aid, she couldn’t be positive of her ability to contain Pandora. She figured she’d have a better chance of stopping a runaway train with dental floss.