Darkest Heart

by Juliette Cross

  I didn’t recognize the source of the screams at first when red priests shoved my naked limbs onto the other spikes, stretching my body out on the X, kept upright by the giant nails impaled through sinew and bone.

  My vision hazed. I drifted. Voices overlapped, none of them distinct till one of them drew nearer. Simian. No, Rook. The same long black hair, deceptively attractive face, hardened by cruelty, red eyes too watchful. Dressed in black leather, no armor, he crouched down to the floor before me, his gaze down.

  “It can’t possibly be,” said Rook.

  “What is it, brother?”

  Simian still sprawled on a red leather sofa in the middle of the room, which swiveled on an elevated dais so he could watch the infernal games from every angle. It was his own carousel of merry death, twisting him in any direction down in this pain-numbing, brain-splintering torture chamber. Right now, I was the only guest of honor.

  Rook stood, face-to-face with me, lifting his forefinger to show me the bright red blood staining his finger. My pulse tripped.

  “Do you know what this means, angel lover?”

  I didn’t. I feared when I’d noticed that color—muted and dark—had begun to show in my own blood. I’d never seen this happen before and didn’t want to consider the implications.

  “What are you looking at?” shouted Simian, standing from the sofa to come forward.

  Rook’s sinister expression tightened, though his eyes widened in disbelief.

  “This demon is not quite a demon anymore.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Rook held up his hand to show his brother the bright stain of my blood. Simian stopped, staring at the blood spot.

  “Redemption?”

  Simian commanded, “Get the whip, Bellock.”

  Rook’s head tilted much like a snake considering his prey in the long grass. “He actually loves that angel.”

  “Impossible,” hissed Simian.

  “It’s the only explanation. He gave himself for her. And it…saved his soul.”

  I dropped my head back, unable to stop the bark of laughter. First, I had no intention of ever being redeemed. I’d always thought it impossible, beyond imagining. But now, if they destroyed my body and let my soul slip free, it would go to Elysium. To the House of Souls.

  Simian snatched my hair and jerked my head forward. “Keep laughing, you fucking traitor.” Malice burned so bright in his demon eyes. “All this means is we can’t kill your life force. But we can keep you alive and torture you for eternity.”

  The truth of it sank like a stone of regret. Now they’d never let my soul slip free of here. Eventually, they might’ve gotten bored and let me go to some haunted place for lost souls in Erebus. But now…they’d never relent. I hadn’t just betrayed my own kind, I’d done what they never could. Found redemption.

  Simian stomped to Bellock and snatched a whip from his hands. He cracked it in the air, the tip flaring with green ether fire.

  “Fuck,” I mumbled.

  “You thought you knew pain before? We’re just getting started.”

  With a wide arc of his arm over his shoulder, he let the whip fly, slashing me across the neck and chest.

  I cried out.

  Pain.

  Such brain-hazing pain. Like the rip of a razor chased with a ripple of molten acid scorching along the single line from my chest to my neck. And that was one lash. From the hatred simmering on Simian’s face, there would be many, many more.

  He launched forward, menace seeping off of him in tidal waves. He grabbed my jaw from underneath my chin, his claws sinking into my skin.

  “You think your angel is safe?”

  My pulse raced in triple speed.

  “That’s right. I’m going to find her. I can promise you that. I’ll drag her back to this room, and you’ll watch while Bellock cuts off her pretty wings and I’ll fuck her till she begs you to save her, begs me to stop.” He grinned, serrated teeth pronouncing his monstrous promise with calculating effect. “I won’t ever stop. Ever.”

  Closing my eye, I could see the ghastly picture he painted seared in my mind. That’s when I felt pain I’d never imagined existed. Searing, soul-killing, heart-breaking pain that would drown me in grief long before I took my last breath.

  “You think on that while I lash the shit out of you.” He let me go and stomped back to the perfect spot where he could flog me best. “Bellock! Go and get his fucking angel and bring her here.”

  “No!”

  The rage poured out of me, my essence whipping out of my mouth in curling mist, reaching for Simian and encircling his neck. I’d never been able to harness my essence into a physical tentacle. But something had changed, allowing me to grab hold of this fiend, lifting him off the floor and watch him choke in midair. My strength was weakening by the second, blood pulsing through my veins like a burning fever, but I wouldn’t let go. Couldn’t.

  Rook was there, slicing through my arm of essence with a sword. It dissolved into vapor, disintegrating into a whiff of smoke. Simian sucked in air, gripping his throat, wide eyes on me.

  Rook snapped his fingers to the priests. “The iron gag. Get it.”

  They affixed a gag with an iron tongue that filled my mouth, strapped around the back of my head. The iron was imbued with something that dulled my demon senses, blocking me from my own essence.

  Then the lashes began. And they didn’t stop, spaced just long enough to prevent me from blacking out from the pain.

  I let my head fall back again and closed my eyes, finding a place in my mind where I could bear the excruciating agony racking my body.

  Anya. That night in Nadya’s cottage. So beautiful. Her soft laughter. So warm in my arms.

  Crack.

  I winced, then fell back to that place. She took me up to the stars. She had no idea what kind of gift she’d given me. Not just the act of taking me to the sky, but the desire behind it…her desire to offer me a moment of joy. That was when she’d burrowed so deep inside my heart I knew I’d never let her go. Until I had to.

  Crack.

  Bellock couldn’t find her. Christ, he couldn’t. She would’ve listened to me. Yes. She had to. If she was with Maximus by now, she was safe.

  I’d never prayed. Never. That required a humility that didn’t exist in me. I wasn’t beyond anything now. I’d do anything to keep her safe. Crawl on my knees, pray to the heavens that had cast me out, beg like the beast I was. Anything.

  Crack.

  The blood draining warm down my limbs, the indentation of my spine, dripping to this dungeon floor, every drop was worth the sacrifice to save her. As long as my angel lived. As long as she never stepped foot in this foul pit of hell where I was slowly losing my sanity, where I learned I still had a soul and it would remain trapped in this damned darkness forever.

  I whispered the only plea I could think of to keep me from slipping into a mindless oblivion where the insane never returned. The only prayer I could manage, lifting it to whatever fucking angels might be listening.

  Anya. Help Anya.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Anya

  I’d gone to Xander’s place in Chelsea, finding no one home. By now, Uriel was awake and speaking very little. He’d asked about Dommiel and had remained silent when I told him what happened. But he was alert enough, crystal eyes sharp, to walk on his own. He’d insisted on coming with me to search for Xander. Without my cell, I had no way of reaching him. We scoured the streets. I’d even returned to the place of the last battle, right outside Dommiel’s basement apartment. In that time, Uriel seemed to strengthen by slow degrees. His body still bore the healing bruises and wounds inflicted upon him in Estonia, the gash in the arch of his wing where the feathers had been scraped away somehow the ugliest visible wound. Even so, he recovered quickly. Much quicker than I expected.

  As we stared down the empty street toward the spot where the red priests had circled the humans, I remembered.

  “Wait. I don’t k
now why I didn’t think of it before. I bet Cooper will know how to find him.”

  I sifted us to the high school where we’d taken the Twelvers that day we saved them from the demon princes.

  Uriel eyed the raven circling the sky above us. Puck landed on a scraggly tree in the children’s weather-beaten garden, which was nothing more than a patch of grass and this leafless elm.

  “Is that his raven?”

  “Yes.”

  I was surprised he knew about Dommiel’s raven, but I had to remember Uriel had spent thousands of years on earth, leading his demon hunters whereas other archangels had remained apart in Elysium. Surely, he’d bumped into Dommiel now and then. I wanted to ask him more, but my anxiety had amped my nerves. Now wasn’t the time.

  We were almost to the back entrance now. Uriel said nothing, his somber gaze having gone flinty since we’d landed in London. I felt the wards as we crossed over them, having the vibrant signature that reminded me of that aura always dancing around Xander. He’d protected these people with his own enchantments.

  I flung open the back door, my agitated energy making me move too fast. Uriel followed as I led us down a short hallway toward the open doorway of the library where voices could be heard. From what I gathered on our last visit, the library was the hub of this Twelver station.

  I recognized the lilting, sensual timbre of Xander before we rounded the corner. Barreling into the auditorium, Xander stood next to the resistance leader Cooper and three people I didn’t know. Nor did I care. I had one goal in mind and one alone.

  All of them froze in shock at the sudden and unexpected entrance of two angels. Then Xander cursed and was striding across the room.

  “Bloody hell.” He grabbed Uriel by the shoulders, obviously taking in the bruises and gashes in various stages of healing on every inch of his exposed torso and arms. Interestingly, his face had not a blemish.

  “Uriel. Christ. Are you all right?”

  The somber archangel was not the one I knew before. His quiet rage simmered beneath his cloak of gloom.

  “I need rest.” He looked at me. “But Anya needs your help at once.”

  I hadn’t told Uriel what I planned to do. He knew anyway.

  Xander peered between us and beyond our wings. “Where’s Captain Blackheart?”

  He used his ridiculous nickname while wearing a grave expression.

  “That’s why I’m here. I need help getting into hell to get him out.”

  The humans behind them—who’d been murmuring low since we walked in—stopped talking altogether. I think they might’ve even stopped breathing.

  “Okay, darling,” said Xander as if I’d asked him to do some minor favor like hold his gun. “So, perhaps you tell us exactly what’s happened before we go off to never-neverland.”

  Heaving a sigh, my eyes pricking with the irritation of unshed tears, I spilled all, starting from when we’d left this place, to our journey to Nadya in Elzeberge to Odin Shans in Moscow where I killed Crusalla to Lisabette’s palace in Estonia, and then finally the run-in with Bellock and Simian’s red priests on the verge of escape.

  Nearly out of breath, having said all in one speedy tumble of words, I added, “Dommiel chose to go with Bellock. He sacrificed himself.”

  For me.

  “I’m going back to get him. But I need help.”

  “You haven’t spoken to George?”

  George was the leader of the Dominus Daemonum, second to Uriel, and one of the few hunters who bore the kind of compassion Uriel did. He was also Xander’s ancestor, his only family. Centuries older than Xander, but family all the same.

  “No.”

  Xander swiftly pulled his phone from his back pocket, dialed, and waited.

  Cooper had stepped forward to me, speaking low but steady. “If there’s anything we can do to help, Dommiel has been a friend to us.”

  Why this shocked me, I wasn’t sure. The devil in me wanted to prod. “Wasn’t he just a merc for hire for you guys?”

  Cooper’s wide mouth slanted into a semi-smile. I’d noticed his tall intensity before—a rugged, goal-driven man—but this was the first time I realized he was handsome. His close-cropped beard made him look fiercer, but his smile softened the hard edges.

  “He was. But he risked himself far more than he ever needed for our sake. Whatever his motives, we owe him.”

  “George.”

  Xander’s voice snapped my attention back to him.

  “Sorry, am I interrupting something? Afternoon tea? Romp with the missus?”

  I couldn’t believe Xander’s casual talk. Why wasn’t he screaming into the phone? I was on the brink of madness, needing to move, to run, to fly, to get to Dommiel now.

  “Well, we have a bit of a situation.”

  Though Xander sounded calm and charming as ever, there was an undercurrent of ferocity in his ice-blue eyes. He had the kind of unguarded smile, casual elegance, and handsome face that put one at ease. But his eyes were where one could see the true nature of the man.

  “Seems we have a rendezvous in the Black Keep.”

  His hard gaze met mine.

  “No. Anya and Uriel are”—he paused, glancing at Uriel—“fine. I’m staring at them at this very moment.”

  Uriel remained motionless, and while someone else might think his stoic, flat demeanor was his norm, I knew otherwise. Uriel had always radiated three things. Power, control, compassion. It might seem an odd mix, but it wasn’t. It was exactly who he was—a potent archangel who defied the naysayers of Elysium and made his demon hunters out of lost human souls at near-death. He transformed them into an army of immortal hunters to protect humans on earth. With his superior power, he didn’t ignore the plight of humans or those souls doomed to hell, he found a way to save them all. But Lisabette had broken something inside him. My heart splintered at the things she must’ve done, but I couldn’t endure that now. For somewhere in the bowels of Simian’s lair, Dommiel was enduring unfathomable tortures as well. Pain burned behind my sternum, threatening to overwhelm me.

  Xander had been made in the 1800s by Uriel, but I didn’t know his story. Though seemingly an open book with his charming nature, Xander was more closed off than anyone I knew.

  “It’s Dommiel,” he said into the cell. “Yes.” Another pause as George rattled something off to him, then finally, “Agreed. Quickly, then.”

  Xander slid his cell back into his pocket. “He’ll be here in a minute.” He crossed his arms, tilting his model-hot face. “So. Our demon friend has a heart after all.”

  I said nothing, swallowing hard, remembering Dommiel’s whispers of affection, his hands on my body, his parting words. We always knew our story would be a tragedy.

  It was Uriel who broke the silence. “We’ve always known that.”

  Uriel and Xander shared some information with nothing more than a look.

  “Hey—” I started but then George and Jude rounded the corner into the library with long strides. That was fast.

  George’s expression registered the shock of seeing Uriel in this state. Jude’s did not. His dark eyes glinted with fury and the storm that always seemed to be brewing just below the surface. George gripped Uriel by the shoulder in greeting, careful that he placed his hand where he had no bruises or wounds. Jude’s jaw tightened as he glanced over Uriel.

  George didn’t ask how he was or where he’d been or what had happened to him. These angels and hunters knew each other on an intimate level I could feel resonating between them.

  “You can rest at the Isle of Arran at Jude’s place. You know where. The wards are strong.”

  Something akin to vengeance flitted over Uriel’s face, but it was an expression I’d never seen him make. “I won’t be sitting this one out.”

  Jude rumbled low. “You should rest. And heal.”

  Uriel cut a look to both of them, power rippling off of him in a static charge, reminding me why he was their fearless leader. “No need.”

  An awkward bi
t of silence stretched. Cooper whispered something to Xander and ushered his people from the library. Though it was evident to all of us, Uriel wasn’t nearly 100 percent healed. But he was also an archangel, strong enough to crush a few demons into dust, even wounded.

  “Where’s Genevieve?” I asked.

  She had the ability to kill demon princes—body and soul. We might be able to maim and incapacitate, but even if we destroyed their bodies, and cast their souls to Erebus, they’d sprout somewhere else and find their way to the surface eventually.

  Jude’s scowl deepened. “She’s at our home. I’m not letting her in that fucking hellhole ever again.”

  Again? She’d been to the underworld before? Jude’s attention shifted to Uriel.

  “She’s waiting for you on Arran.”

  Uriel nodded. “I’ll see her when we’re done.”

  “And Kat?” I asked. Kat was George’s wife, only recently married since this apocalypse began. They were rarely ever apart.

  George piped up. “She’s staying with Genevieve.” He glanced at Jude. “I convinced her to stay behind with Gen.”

  I almost laughed. Kat never steered away from a fight. I could imagine their conversation on “staying behind” was loud and boisterous.

  “Right.” Xander clapped his hands together, his voice light. “So, it’s a party of four for the Black Keep?”

  “But we need a way in.” I knew children of Elysium could not cross the plane into the netherworld, unless taken by a being of darkness.

  Xander sighed. “Yes. That is the dilemma, isn’t it?”

  “You all seemed to have been there before,” I remarked, ignoring their secretive glances between one another. “So how did you all get into hell the last time?”

  In unison, Jude, George, and Xander said, “Dommiel.”

  It startled me. My demon lover’s betrayal of his own kind had apparently gone much deeper than the help he’d given Genevieve. My heart fractured a little more.