by Jo Carlisle
“Come taste the slut,” he said over his shoulder.
Leila joined them, her tongue attending the other nipple with expertise. “Ah, my prince, she’s delicious,” the demon bitch murmured.
“Ohh,” Harley moaned. She was no match for the two of them.
The sudden urged to sink his fangs into Harley and drain her while she was bound and helpless seized him. He fought it down, but the beast was becoming nearly impossible to subdue.
Almost out of time.
“Yes, she’s sweet. Enjoy her while I see to our handsome demon.”
With Leila absorbed in her seduction of Harley, he moved to Zen, who was practically rabid with the desire to kill him.
“Let me down from here and I’ll carve out your fucking heart,” Zen hissed.
Soren looked deep into his eyes, willing him to get his message. “I hope you do. Now pretend I’m biting you.” He pressed his body into the demon, palms skimming his sides. When his teeth grazed Zen’s neck, the demon shivered and tried to pull away. Giving the beast some rein, he sank his fangs into Zen’s neck, but only enough to make it look like he was drinking. He wasn’t ready to die yet.
The demon was a good actor and gave a hoarse cry. Soren ground his hips, sealing them together. He walked the razor’s edge between the pretense of evil and reality. The beast was rapidly taking over every corner of his soul.
Hoping no one could see, he reached between them and slipped the sword from his belt. Zen sensed what he was doing but not why, and began to struggle. Soren withdrew his fangs to whisper in his ear. “Easy. I’m not going to hurt you. Help me. This has to look real.”
Soren put his arms around Zen, as if holding him in a lover’s embrace. Though the demon wasn’t aroused, he put on a good show. He moaned as Soren’s mouth claimed his, their tongues dancing, exploring. Zen was so good at it, his actions were driving the beast inside Soren nearly out of control.
Quickly, Soren tucked the hilt of the blade into Zen’s waistband at the small of his back, the sword’s blade running behind one leg, hidden from view. He broke the kiss and gave the demon a sad smile, and kept his voice low. “When the moment comes, use it well.”
Zen inclined his head to indicate his understanding, and Soren walked back to Leila and Harley. He spared a furtive glance at Val’s body.
Dead. He’d been wrong, and he’d failed.
His fragile hold on his mind began to crack, like thin ice across a pond. Leila had Harley enthralled, fingers deftly stroking between her legs, teasing her clit. The demoness laved one nipple, then the other, nipping at her breasts. Drawing a bit of blood, licking it away. Harley moaned, helpless.
Looking up, Leila smiled at him. “She is ready. Kill her.”
He closed the remaining distance and Leila moved aside. Burying one hand in Harley’s hair, he pulled her head back. Her lovely eyes were glazed with passion, ready to submit to his will. To give him her life’s blood. And he wanted it flowing into his mouth, his cells. All of it.
Soren sank his fangs deep into her throat. She bucked, crying out, but her words were drowned in blood. Streaming into his mouth, filling his hard cock. Throbbing.
“Yes, that’s it,” Leila breathed into his ear. Her hand cupped his crotch, stroking his erection through his pants. “Take it all. Drain her. Feel her heart slowing. This power, this ecstasy is all yours now, my love.”
Yes! The beast exulted. Kill her!
The wickedness bled to every part of him like an ink stain. He could feel her heartbeat weakening as he drank. She was saying something again and again, the words finally penetrating the fog.
“I love you, Soren,” Harley whispered. “I always will.”
Soren. His name.
I love you.
He drew back as she slumped in the chains, eyes closed. His gaze fell to the tiny holes in her neck.
I love you, Soren.
He staggered back as if from a physical blow. “Harley?” He shook her shoulder gently and her head wobbled, hair obscuring her face. “What have I done?”
Leila sidled up to him, laid a possessive hand on his chest. “Don’t worry, darling. The beast’s first kill is always a bit shocking. It gets easier with each one. Kill the other two; then we’ll feast on their hearts.”
Feast. On their hearts.
On his mate’s heart.
Cold rage suffused him and the beast demanded blood. But when it flowed again, it would belong to Leila and her cohorts.
Howling with grief, he shoved Leila away and whirled. He flung out an arm and hurled a blue bolt at the chains holding Harley’s body. They snapped as the blast hit the wall, and she collapsed to the floor in a heap. Leila leaped at him, but Soren sidestepped her, freeing Zen and Luc in an explosion of flying rock and chain links.
The pair dropped to their feet, Zen whisking the sword from his back.
“What are you doing?” Leila screamed. “Arron, guards, stop them!”
The bitch is going to fucking die.
Turning, he shot another bolt at Leila. Missed. Instead, it slammed into a column next to her, taking out a large chunk of marble. The impact knocked her off balance and she staggered backward.
Shit! In frustration, he cast about for a weapon, wishing he hadn’t given his to Zen. Power flowed through his veins like an electric current, but what damned good did it do if he didn’t know how to control it?
Arron, who had been tensed and waiting, promptly relieved a surprised guard of his sword and lopped off his head with it. “Soren, catch!”
Soren caught the weapon and faced the advancing guards. It wasn’t his own sword, but it would do. They split off, a group of them going for Zen and Luc, and the others standing against him and Arron. It seemed like daunting odds.
And then a familiar dark-headed vampire charged into the temple, leading reinforcements. Aldric! Thank the gods. The newcomers joined the fight as Aldric tossed Luc’s magic sword to their youngest brother.
One big brute squared off with Soren, feet planted, sword at the ready. The confident grin on his broad face revealed just how short he believed the fight would be.
With one swift stroke, his opponent raised the blade and brought it down at an angle. Soren barely parried the blow in time to keep his head on his shoulders. He blocked several more, but the weapon felt awkward in his hand. He wasn’t going to win a contest of swordsmanship, so he’d change the rules.
Tossing the weapon aside, Soren charged the giant before he could swing again. The vampire’s eyes widened a fraction, and he wrapped his arms around the brute’s waist in a flying tackle.
Caught off guard, his adversary toppled and they crashed to the floor. The vampire’s sword skittered out of reach as they rolled, grappling. Soren landed several good punches before a flash of metal caught his eye. Pain lanced low in his abdomen. Straddling the demon’s waist, he looked down at himself to see the handle of a dagger protruding from his own belly.
“Not so tough, are you?” the lug sneered.
Jerking the knife from his belly, Soren plunged the blade into his foe’s heart. The demon’s scream ended on a gurgle, then a final rasp as his eyes went blank. Soren moved off him, springing to his feet.
Blood everywhere. Flowing like a crimson river. It puddled underneath his boots, the stench of it driving him mad. Both beautiful and awful. He couldn’t let the insanity claim him forever. Gods, if he could only hold out a little longer, he could finish this. The prickling sensation in his stomach told him that his flesh was already knitting closed.
Holding his head in his hands, he blinked furiously to clear the red film, the frenzy to feed that had descended over him once more. The scene before him was unfolding like a surreal, grisly nightmare.
Zen and Luc were fighting back-to-back, cutting a swath through the enemy, the Fontaine swords glowing with beautiful, sinister light. Zen had taken out one of Leila’s goons and was wrestling with another, teeth clenched in grim determination, muscles bunching. Gaining the uppe
r hand, he hooked an ankle behind the demon’s leg and tripped him. They fell together, and Zen finished him with one efficient stroke to the heart. The demon’s flesh sizzled and popped as the magical blade slid home, ending him.
What Luc lacked in practice with his sword, he made up for in sheer strength and resolve. Blades clashed, Luc’s sword sending out showers of eerie sparks with each hit, and he drove the attacker back, unbalancing him. The kid was good, and Soren felt a surge of pride. The falter in his opponent’s step provided the opening his brother needed. Grasping the heavy weapon with both hands, he swung, cleaving the demon’s head from his shoulders. The severed neck blackened and burned.
Arron had just dispatched the last of them. He braced a booted foot on the shoulder of the deceased, yanking the blade from his chest.
In the middle of the carnage, Leila stood laughing like a loon, her high-pitched cackle raising the hair on the back of Soren’s neck.
“Bravo, darlings! I knew those dimwits would be no match for such brave warriors.” Dropping her voice low, she looked straight through Soren with a knowing smile. “My, look at all the blood you’ve lost from that nasty wound. You must be starving, my love. Why don’t you begin with Zenon?”
“Shut up.” Clenching his fists, he glared at her, hatred for his tormentor—and himself—bringing a hot rush of bile to his mouth. Don’t think of the hunger!
“Death surrounds you. Can’t you smell the sweetness? Can’t you taste—”
“Shut the fuck up!”
Soren started for her, ready to rip out her throat, to end her miserable existence, when a movement along the wall snagged his attention. Harley! She was moaning, holding a hand to her temple, trying to sit up. Joy bloomed, but his happiness was short-lived.
Leila spun with a curse, outraged to see that her rival wasn’t dead after all. She intended to do something about it, but Soren grabbed her arm, jerking her around. Wild power surged through him, and he flung her to the tile with enough force to crack the surface where she landed. She stared up at him, eyes wide with surprise as he fell on top of her with a snarl, grabbing for her throat.
His fingers wrapped around her neck like a vise. He probably couldn’t kill her by strangling her—if he were still a normal vampire. But now? Fierce, dark satisfaction swelled inside him at the sight of the way her eyes bugged as he turned his black magic on her. Used the power against her that she’d worked so hard to force on him.
It flowed from him like a river of blood, burning the demoness like acid. Her flesh began to sizzle under his hands, and he laughed. “Die, bitch.”
He was unprepared for the blow that sent him flying through the air. His flight ended abruptly as he crashed into one of the support columns, his head smacking against the stone. He slid to the floor, dazed, fighting to stay conscious. He’d used too much of his unpredictable new power and didn’t know how to get it back.
The images before him split double, bouncing. But he could make out Luc, running to place himself between the demoness and Harley. The maniacal wrath on her features twisted them into ugliness. Zen raced after him.
“Get out of my way, before I send you to Hades!” Leila shrieked.
“You first, bitch,” Luc growled. Feet spread, he held the sword in front of him like a born warrior. Behind him, Harley’s green eyes were huge in her small face, taking in the unfolding horror.
Soren blinked, tried to push up, and fell again. With a flick of her wrist, Leila hurled a bolt into Luc that staggered him, in spite of his attempt to deflect it. Stunned, the sword slipped from his nerveless fingers to the floor with a clatter. Lips curled into a sneer, she reached into her cloak.
“I don’t think so. Die, young vampire.”
What happened next seemed like a series a slow-motion clips as Soren pushed to his feet.
Leila’s hand slipped from the folds of her cloak and drew back a bloodstained dagger.
Arron and Zen leaped forward, shouting. Arron was closer, and stepped in front of Luc.
Held out his palm as if to reason with a child.
“Leila, sto—”
Arron’s words broke off on a strangled gasp. He gazed down at himself, dumbfounded. The blade was buried deep in his chest. He took a halting step, then slowly sank to his knees. “Poison,” he whispered. “The blade is poisoned.”
Luc knelt beside him, catching him as he collapsed, cradling him gently. “Easy, dude. You’re going to be okay.”
Arron gritted his teeth hard and began to shake as Luc held him against his chest. A muffled sob from Harley urged Soren forward, step by painful step, until he stood between Leila and those she would have him destroy. Her face was drawn into a cold mask as she raved.
“See what your little whore and your sniveling brother have caused? They’ve made me kill my only friend!”
“Friend? You treated him like your possession,” Soren said. “You’ve used his son against him like a weapon for hundreds of years, and now he’s dying by your hand. You’re a vicious whore, and if he doesn’t walk away from here, neither will you.”
Leila glared at him. “A very moving speech, not that it matters. After I kill them all, I will make you my slave. I will rule the Coalition alone as queen.”
“No, you fucking won’t.”
The deep voice that came from behind Leila was filled with deadly promise, like the roll of distant thunder. A chill blew past Soren, as if someone had trailed icy fingers down his cheek.
Leila spun, her face blanching in shock. “No, this can’t be,” she whispered.
Soren looked past her to the altar, and what he saw made his knees go weak with relief. Valafar sucked in a giant breath and strained against the chains binding him. One by one, they snapped in rapid succession, reverberating throughout the temple like gunshots.
With great dignity, he rose. Steady on his feet, he straightened to his full height, stretched his fully healed black wings to their massive span, and approached the small group. The tread of his boots made a slow, ominous click across the marble. He raised his dark head, eyes smoldering. The new, moon-shaped scar on his cheek—exactly like the one on Soren’s hip—added to the effect. He moved like a cat, exuding power, grace, and utter control. The demon prince held no weapon, but Soren knew he wouldn’t need one.
Valafar’s lips turned up, and he spoke to Soren first. “Sorry I’m late. The belladonna took a little longer to work than I expected.”
“I’m just glad you made it,” he admitted. “I could use some gods-damned help.”
“What the devil is going on? How is this possible?” Leila gaped at the prince. “Soren took your blood, read your secrets. He said only the gods are allowed to partake of belladonna!”
Valafar stepped so close to her, she had to tilt her head up to look at him. Very, very softly, he enunciated each word so that there could be no mistaking his meaning.
“Yes, that’s exactly what he said.”
Leila froze, lips parted, terror leaching her color to gray. “But . . . but you were sired by an incubus and a human woman. How do you have the mark of Azrael?”
“Ah, you do not know my true history, thanks to Soren.” He smiled. It wasn’t a nice smile. “I am indeed the son of an incubus who was a descendant of Azrael. The archangel’s mark shows only when I allow it, such as now. But I wasn’t birthed by the human woman you speak of. Soren lied to you about that, just as I trusted him to do.”
Soren didn’t envy Leila’s position. Valafar was toying with her now, a cat with a mouse.
“Y-your mother . . .” she stammered, unable to finish.
“Is Hestia, goddess of Olympus.”
A collective gasp sounded from the small group. Even Arron’s eyes widened in surprise, and he and Valafar exchanged a glance that Soren couldn’t decipher. Leila began to back away, shaking.
“F-former goddess!” She was desperate, grasping at straws. “Hestia resigned her throne on Olympus eons ago! That makes you nothing but the bastard son of a common a
ffair.”
“No, my conniving traitor. It makes me the beloved son of my parents—and a demigod. It makes me your prince, keeper of peace and justice in the Southern Coalition. I was charged thus by the gods of Olympus when they granted me immortality in this very temple, and it’s past time I take my duties seriously. I’ll do it gladly to prevent more parasites like you from squirming into my realm.”
Valafar caressed her check with his palm. Transfixed, gazing into his stony face, she sank to her knees.
“My prince, have mercy,” she begged.
“Your request comes centuries too late, demoness.” Retrieving Soren’s bloodied sword from near his feet, the prince lowered it, resting the tip at the V of her neck and shoulder. “Leila Maria Doucet, for your crimes—including the murders of countless innocents, the attempted murder of my beloved brother, Arron, and for treason against my throne—I hereby sentence you to death.”
“Valafar, please! I’ll do anything—”
“Soren Fontaine, for the wrongs you and your beloved have suffered at her hands, you have earned the right to choose the method of execution—and the right to carry it out.”
Soren was struck temporarily speechless. He didn’t deserve such an honor. He could no longer recall the vampire he’d been.
“No!” she screeched. “He betrayed you! He tried to kill you with the belladonna.”
“Belladonna is a healing agent to a demigod. Soren saw my secrets, but he chose to reveal the one that would strengthen and free me, not destroy me. In spite of your pitiful attempts to crush the remaining good in him, you failed. I owe him a great debt. Sentence her, Soren. That’s an order.”
He studied Leila. Next to Valafar’s awesome presence, she appeared beaten, small. How could he have allowed her to control the beast inside him? Was he so weak?
Considering her fate, he took no satisfaction in it. He believed only that the punishment should fit the crime. Death by beheading was too swift. This required something more in keeping with her hideous acts.
