by Indra Frost
Blurb
If you were given the chance to free your soul, even at the cost of your life, would you take it?
All her life Alyth has been sold from one demon to another, bound through blood and contracts against her will.
When five men enter her life - one with the promise of freedom, and the other four willing to help take down her current master - she must decide who she's willing to trust and how far she’s willing to go.
But the stakes get higher when a lord of Hell comes to claim her for himself. Now it's not just a matter of trusting them, but one of life and death.
Will she be left at the mercy of her master? Or will she be left to the demon that wants to own her, mind, body, and soul?
Warning: This is a full-length slow burn reverse harem fantasy/paranormal romance. It features one strong woman, and the five men determined to help her save her soul. It contains violence, torture, strong language, magic, angels, vampires, shifters, and a villain set on making sure she doesn’t find happiness. This is the first book in The Hell Gate series and it should be read in order.
IMPS AND ANGELS
Indra Frost
Copyright
PLEASE DO NOT SUPPORT PIRACY.
THESE STORIES YOU ENJOY ARE THE RESULT OF MONTHS OR YEARS OF WORK… SO ARE THE ONES YOU DON’T ENJOY.
Copyright © 2020 by Indra Frost
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
EDITOR: First Table on the Left Book Services
COVER DESIGN: EmCat Designs
FORMATTER: Nicole from Swamp Goddess Designs
This book is dedicated to my friends and family. Thank you for your unwavering support on this journey to achieve my dreams.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by Indra Frost
I swung in a familiar pattern, the sound of my fists hitting the bag was soothing in the noisy gym. The repetitious movement my body made as I attacked the rough, knuckle-splitting fabric was like a dance. The routine was familiar and soothing, my moves well-practiced. I had done this particular combination so often that I fell into an easy rhythm. The sounds made by the continuous action were the melody to my favorite song.
The fighting maneuvers I used weren't all from one discipline. It was a culmination of styles I had been taught, as well as things I had picked up by watching the other members of the gym. It would be a confusing mix of actions to anyone else watching. Seeing others fight, and adapting their moves so that I could use them was a skill of mine. Years of training across disciplines mixed with my Supe abilities gave me what I needed to make it happen.
It was a mix of styles that I had watched and learned over the years, adapting them to fit my own style and body type. I was fit, but I was also on the shorter side of the yard stick. Some of the motions needed to be changed to fit my shorter stature so they were effective for me. With me being just over five feet tall, I had learned to aim higher, needing to account for a taller assailant.
The murmur of voices filled the air as two fighters stood outside the ring located on the righthand side of the gym. It was the one furthest from the door, but in easy viewing distance for the owner if he were to look out of his office window.
I adjusted my stance, turning a bit so I could better watch the show. I learned by watching, and new blood meant new maneuvers I could teach myself later. I would mentally record them now, then adapt and rehearse them after everyone had gone home.
Besides, it's not like I was dying to get back home.
One of the reigning female members, a witch who wasn't very powerful, was leaning on the ropes, her expression a mix of boredom and irritation. She may not have been a powerful magic user, but she made up for that in physical prowess and ferocity.
When someone new wanted to join the gym, they had to fight one of the top members. These members were ranked according to the owner’s specifications, though no one really knew what they were.
The gymnasium was a large, open space, with stairs leading up to an office that took up the back-right corner. From there, the owner could watch over all of the activity within his gym. The main area held four rings total, equally set apart in a square that took up most of the space in the center. Specialty equipment and punching bags were scattered along the outside edge. Aside from the office, everything was on one level and a few doorways branched off into other rooms. One of the doors towards the back corner hid a stairwell leading to the basement. Just looking at it made me shiver.
The prospective gym member stepped into the ring. Most of the people in the room were watching, eyes captivated by the two in the ring who were about to fight. There weren’t many members that were still using the equipment.
A hush fell over those gathered, and I could see the figures in the ring as they conversed. They spoke for a moment before they separated and took fighting stances. The witch went with her usual kick boxing stance, but the potential member used one that was more relaxed.
They circled each other slowly, looking for any weaknesses they could use. It was an odd contrast seeing them in the ring. The witch looked like she was ready to fight dirty, while he looked calmly prepared, like he was ready but not overly emotional about what was about to go down. They attacked quickly, and I kept a close watch on their moves and their technique.
As I tracked their movements, I couldn't help but notice the new guys' looks. I had to admit, he was hot.
Very hot.
His bright-blue eyes were fierce as they watched his opponent, taking in her movements. His body type was too muscular to be considered lean, but he wasn’t as big as most of the boxers here. His aura was a golden-white color, which was more indicative of his race than his temperament. His blond hair shone under the cheap lighting, making it almost seem as if he were glowing. Or, that the shimmering light was a halo, floating over his head like it needed to prove how good of a guy he was.
That made him showing up here to try and join a gym known not to be on the up and up much more suspicious. Angels weren’t known to hang out in a demon’s gym. He wasn’t the only odd ball that was here, but angels and demons didn’t tend to get along. It wasn’t to say that they couldn’t, just that they didn’t.
I watched him bob and weave, avoiding every hit aimed his way. He delivered an uppercut to the witch’s jaw and used a combination that I hadn’t seen before in quick succession. His aura almost seemed to clash with hers as they fought, and I made a note to remember those maneuvers for later. But I also noticed that he didn't seem to be trying. It looked more like he was testing her skill, than attempting to beat her. I took in everything he did: his counters, attacks, everything. I soaked it up and mentally cataloged them to teach myself later.
He seemed to have learned what he needed to from the fight, because only a few moves later, he took her down. One of the gyms top performers, a serious contender in the ring, was taken down by a devilishly handsome angel in less than
two minutes.
I smirked as she fell to the ground, glad someone was able to put her in her place.
“What are you looking at, freak? He won’t want anything to do with you,” a vicious voice hissed out from behind me.
I didn’t let him see that he had startled me, but I cursed the fact that I had allowed myself to become distracted. I was so engrossed with what had happened in the ring, that I had completely lost sight of what was going on around me.
“What’s the matter, Hairy? Jealous that the bag is getting more action than you?” My voice was smooth and cold.
He was only doing it to get a rise out of me, but I knew better. I wouldn’t let him antagonize me the way he wanted to.
I turned to look at him and he seemed to hesitate at the sight of my red eyes. His hesitation was normal, and it wasn't an uncommon thing to see when people talked to me. It was the fact that they knew they were dealing with a demon. It was just another reminder of how I was different and gave him more leverage to come after me. I was wary and on-guard as I wondered why he was here, but I kept my cool.
‘Show no weakness’ wasn’t just the motto of this gym; it was something demons like me had to live by.
The man in question growled at me, not able to hide his own emotions so easily. Fur sprouted along his arms and face, the reason for my nickname. He was a shifter, a human whose soul bonded to an animal’s, and allowed him to take its form. I thought his real name was something simple, like Peter, but I never bothered to call him that. I enjoyed his reaction to the nickname I had given him too much. I called him that knowing how much he hated it, and how much he hated me.
I wiped the sweat from my forehead, not scared in the least, and pushed back the long, black strands of hair that had escaped from my ponytail. The length was dangerous for fighting, but it was the one vanity I allowed myself. It was a trait that was passed down from my mom, and it was one of the only things of hers that I had.
Hairy took a threatening step towards me, but then he looked up over my shoulder. His face was angry when his gaze found mine again; he couldn't do anything while the gym’s owner was watching over the floor. The owner’s shadow was framed in the window that faced the rings as he watched the fight.
Bending close, Hairy leaned in to whisper in my ear, his foul breath leaving a residue behind with every word.
“You’d better watch your back, bitch,”
I didn’t move, though I desperately wanted to; his presence felt like sandpaper against my senses.
“He can’t protect you forever.”
A scoffed escaped me at Hairy’s words, but I held my tongue and with a huff, he finally walked away, leaving me alone with the bag once again.
I had scoffed because of his assumption that I received any special treatment in this place. The owner didn’t protect me from anyone, not like these people thought. He was protecting an investment, however. That’s all I was to him. A tool to earn him more money. And I couldn’t escape.
Whether I liked it or not, he owned me. Owned me with the use of a magical pact that could never be broken. I was bound by something that I had no say in, and I had no way to escape. If he had his way, I would be dead long before it ever expired.
Anything would be better than this.
It was safe to say that the new guy made it into the gym. The owner had pulled him into the office after his bout this morning, and he had emerged with a prideful swagger, immediately taking up at a heavy bag across the way.
I watched him discreetly, but when he didn’t do anything more exciting than beat on the bag and check things out, I resigned myself to accepting that he was just another meathead in this sweat-drenched hellhole. He was nicer to look at, and I tried to take comfort in that even if it was all superficial. It was a much-needed distraction, and I was willing to take anything at this point.
As the day grew later, the people slowly started to leave for the night. As the last of lesser members left, the owner emerged from his office. Just like how the top fighters were chosen to test the prospective members, certain members were given more privileges.
The owner’s skin was an ashy, lifeless grey color, and it was set off by his dark hair. His eyes were a red so dark they were almost black, and they matched the sharp horns that protruded from his head. He wore dull clothes to match, and it made him look like a sinister black and white photo given life.
He stood next to the railing as he looked at everyone who was still here. Standing tall and looming over his domain, he was only a minor demon, and not very powerful on his own, but he had powerful friends.
And for all that, he wasn't just the owner of the gym; he was the owner of my soul.
He turned to stare me down, like I would forget that I had to stay. I hadn't tried to pull that trick since the first few months after my arrival earth-side. There was too much pain that came with that decision.
Though sometimes, I couldn’t decide which was worse. Staying, or my punishment for trying to leave.
The noise of many voices was overpowering from where I stood, leaning against the hallway wall. An announcement rang out so loudly it shook the floor beneath my feet. Not for the first time, I had to wonder at the power of the spell that stopped anyone unwanted from hearing what was going on. It would make my life easier if this place was discovered.
For a while, at least.
A hand came down on my shoulder, purposely pressing against the brand hidden beneath my clothes. The magic flared at its owner’s touch, causing the mark to burn, and I didn’t have to turn to know who was behind me.
“When you get into the ring tonight, don’t fight back,” Greg told me, the feeling of invisible chains tightening around me at his command. “Consider this your punishment.”
I wondered what perceived punishment this beating would be for, but I held my tongue, the chains tightening further until I nodded. They settled into place, and I knew I would be forced to do what he said until the fight was over.
Order given, he walked out, the crowd roaring their delight at his presence.
Allowing them to settle, Greg started in on his part of the announcements, talking about the final fight and his prized fighters. I snorted, then started forward once my name was called until I emerged in the arena. I kept my face expressionless as the crowd jeered, forcing a sense of calm I wasn't feeling as I entered the ring. It wasn’t much more than a cement square with a chain-link fence, but it served its purpose. I was tired of having to do this shit. Of being forced to be here.
I turned to face Hairy as I entered the ring, standing straight, shoulders back and stiff. The surrounding Supes called out crass things, yelling insults and slurs. I didn’t look at any of them.
Night after night, it was always the same. I stood inside the cage, waiting for the announcements to end; waiting for my beating to start. Greg used this match as a reward for his most popular fighters. It was a way to boost them up, while I always emerged looking like a dirty, worthless half-breed. It was a show that he liked to put on, and I was forced to play my part in a play that I never auditioned for.
I wasn’t allowed to actually fight back, or use the skills I had harvested. It was just one more way that Greg reminded me that I was property. It was a chance to beat up a half-breed without repercussions, and the members of Greg’s underground fights took full advantage. They enjoyed taking part in these illegal matches, and the opportunity to take out their anger on the owner’s half-breed ‘pet’.
I didn't have much say, but I liked to tell myself it was a chance to learn their moves. I was teaching myself to fight, and having them use what they knew on me helped me mentally keep my skills up.
Greg kept me in the gym upstairs because it kept up my image as a fighter, even if I lost every single match before it ever started. I constantly trained and worked, but I would never be a real contender; Greg would continue to use me to play on the fans’ prejudices against half-breeds to make more money.
I swore that one day I w
ould use the same moves I was practicing to free myself from this place, and from the people who fed on my pain. But until that day came, I would do what I could, and continue to learn.
Hairy didn't wait before he started in on me, delivering a blow to my face, then stomach.
I almost lost my lunch and had to press through having the wind knocked out of me. He quickly rained down a series of blows, sending me reeling. I took another shot to the face and went down.
I didn't bother to put on a show of defending myself tonight; no one cared, and even the thought of rebelling made the brand on my shoulder burn, tightening the chains until it was hard to breathe.
A kick to the stomach while I was on the ground left me gagging. It was just my luck that Hairy was the winner of last night’s bout.
He would be taking full advantage.
I didn't regret what I’d said to him last night, but he was doing his best to make me try and eat my words. Or, regurgitate them on his shoes, as it were.
I looked over at Greg from the ground to see his disapproving stare. He wasn't happy with me.
Sighing, I stood and started to pretend to fight back. Not landing any blows, as that would trigger the brand, but putting on a show like I was supposed to. It was a hard and painful balance that I had to find, but it wasn’t long before Hairy got tired of playing with me, and with one, final blow, I went down.
