Imp Forsaken (Imp Book 5)

by Debra Dunbar

  Fifteen birds, and still more came from the wand. Things were getting really cozy within Feille's protected area. The chickens squeezed together, voicing displeasure over the reduced space and rising a few feet above the ground as they squawked and pecked at one another.

  Feille shrieked and swung his knife. Blood flew and the chickens panicked, flying about in a calliope of feathered sound. Twenty-five birds. The runes shuddered, the revolving globe of silver slowing, evidently unable to protect so many within their embrace.

  "Stupid, worthless slug of a demon," Feille shreiked, killing chickens as fast as I could toss them in. I'd taken to throwing them directly at the high elf, trying desperately to nail him in the head with one.

  "Come out and fight, asshole," I shouted, lobbing another bird at his ducking head. "You'll never escape my killer chickens."

  Escape. Feille jumped off the throne into two feet of feathered chaos, slashing with his knife as he cleared a path. I dashed around the edge of the protective globe, but weak as it was, it still held solid against me. There was a trap door, and Feille reached it as I stood helpless, fenced from him by a swirling band of silver. Swinging the knife, he launched a bloody chicken at me and laughed as he vanished through the door, safe.

  "Son of a bitch," I shouted, spearing the silver globe of runes with the jasper end of the wand. Everything exploded in a flash of silver and I felt myself thrown backwards, rocks and roots creating new injuries adding to my arrow wound. I hit the root-covered wall behind me, shielding my face with my arm as a shower of blood, feather, and bone pummeled against me. By the time I opened my eyes, the room was clear of magic, my wand and the rune circle destroyed, and all the chickens were reduced to a spray of gore.

  I raced for the trap door, yanking it open and diving through. The escape hatch was built into the floor of the room, so I'd expected to drop into another underground chamber, but, instead, I found myself stumbling in the sunlight, plowing face first into a gigantic oak tree. The door was a cleverly disguised portal—but to where? I heard the distant sounds of battle and wondered just how far away the escape hatch had put me.

  Feille. I looked around, not seeing the high lord. I sucked at tracking. I had no sense of smell beyond that of an allergy-ridden human and had no sixth sense when it came to elven prey. Demons, angels—I could feel their spirit-selves, their leak of energy, even within this human form, but I lacked the skill to do that with elves.

  I spun around, looking frantically for some clues. Where would he run? Not toward the battle. Not toward the huge open clearing to my left. There was a massive briar thicket in one direction, which left one logical path. Into the woods, but with a path that would facilitate a run to safety, and no one could run like an elf. I sprinted like the hounds of hell were after me, hoping that fate would smile upon me and let me catch him. Maybe a tree would fall on him, or a landslide, because otherwise, I'd never catch the fucker.

  Ahead, I heard a crash, the sound of several explosions, and shouting. In vain, I tried to access my small stash of energy to propel my human legs faster, but it just sputtered around me in useless fits and starts, like a lighter that refused to spark into flame. The explosions increased in volume, drowning out the shouting, then silence. My heart and the crashing of my feet through the underbrush were the only sounds I could hear as I kept running.

  I didn't pause at the first body, even though I recognized one of my own household. After the fifth, my anger was a living thing, coiling around me like a snake. Digging deep into my spirit being, I found the small, fragile, scarred part and pulled, demanding it come to life. Faster. Something tore inside me, freeing up. With a burst of energy, I went faster, racing through the forest with a speed an elf would envy.

  Another explosion, another shout; this time closer. I ran faster, branches smacking me in the face like whips, briars leaving stripes of red through torn clothing. This time I saw several dead elves next to the dead demons, and I also saw Feille ahead of me, slowing down as he watched cautiously for the enemy. Pulling up every bit of anger and frustration, I launched everything I had at him, searing the forest with a ball of fire.

  He felt the heat and dodged, avoiding a direct strike. Still, his embroidered coat caught, and he halted, taking time to rip the burning jacket off. I put on an extra burst of speed and launched myself at him, tackling him with the finesse of a linebacker just as he turned to dash off. I was lucky. A fraction of a second later, and he would have been gone. Elves were all about speed and agility.

  I thought the high lord would scream and taunt me, struggle against me as he'd done before, but instead, he raised a hand to my side and whispered a soft word.

  Everything seized up inside me. My heart froze; breath in my lungs left in a rush as they collapsed inward. I felt a moment of panic in the face of my death, and as my vision blurred, I saw Feille's triumphant smile. It had to have taken every last bit of magic he had to perform the death spell. That kind of spell didn’t come cheap.

  “I’d planned to let you suffer, Az, but you’ve forced my hand. Die knowing that I’ve won and that I’ll see everything you love in ashes if it’s the last thing I do.”

  I was going to die, and although I could live inside a corpse, I wouldn't do much good just lying there, rotting in the forest grass. Some of my conversion skills had returned, and I had no doubt that eventually I'd be able to form a living body again, but it might take days. By then Feille would be long gone.

  Keeping my spirit-self distant from the dying flesh, I felt the elf begin to pry my hands from his neck. He laughed, mocking my plight, his eyes a maniacal orange in the reflected light of the fire that leapt from tree to tree.

  Fire. My angel’s favorite element. I felt the red-purple of his spirit-self within me and remembered the pair of us playing in the forest blaze, creating fireworks, existing inside a flame. I left my body behind, and in that moment of glorious free-fall, where my spirit-self existed in its pure form, I felt as though I had the power of the universe at my fingertips. As if taking a deep breath, I gathered the thick, sweet energy that flowed all around me in Hel, and I created.

  Feille shrieked and tossed aside my dead body, frantically rolling as he tried to put out the flame that appeared from nowhere to consume his clothing and blister his skin. I wasn't an ordinary fire, though, and refused to be smothered. As I clung to him, I thought of all the humans he'd killed, callously tortured, murdered; crushing their spirits as he crushed the bodies. Mine. They were mine, and he couldn't have them.

  It didn't take long. I lingered against his charred remains, the more traditional flames licking through the trees around me. Feille was dead, but how many of my household still lived? Had Dar made it out of the tunnels? Was Leethu safe within the palace? How many of my Lows had met their end?

  "Who the fuck lit off a fireball?"

  Dar's voice sounded annoyed. There weren't many demons that could produce the element, and without a launcher, a fireball wouldn't go far. I concentrated, again pulling from the energy around me as I desperately tried to create my human form. It was agonizingly slow. The newly repaired sections of my spirit-self stretched painfully as I demanded far more than they were prepared to give. I felt a shape form, a structure of bone, a branching of nerves and vessels, threads of muscles and skin, and the shock of cold water against my naked body. I was wet—drenching, soaking, near-drowning wet.

  "Dar, you ass," I sputtered, spitting water from my mouth and nose, brushing soaked hair from my face to glare at my brother.

  "Mal?" He jumped backward, his hands coming up defensively before dropping when he recognized me. "Are you snuggling with an incinerated elven corpse? I'm impressed. That's the sickest thing I've ever seen, even for you."

  I scooted off the unrecognizable, blackened body of Feille and motioned toward him. "Got the fucker—no thanks to you. Where were you? So much for my back-up at the escape door."

  Dar glared and parted the fur on his arms, showing a mess of bloody scrapes a
nd tiny stab wounds. "The elves were nothing compared to those damned chickens. Meanest motherfuckers I've ever seen in my life. I barely got away with my life."

  I laughed. It was a giddy, high-pitched laugh that people get when they’re at breaking point, on the edge of insanity. Dar, nearly taken down by a pair of chickens. No wonder Feille had been so afraid of them. But whatever humor the moment provided, it was chased out of my mind as I remembered there were insurmountable tasks ahead of me. Were the elves still fighting? How many of my household remained alive? Would Taullian honor his promise? And just how pissed was Ahriman going to be if he found out?

  Dar reached out with furred paws to shake my bare shoulders. "Focus, Mal. We've got bigger problems. Taullian's elves are within the palace gates, but your household has gone mad with blood lust. They’re storming the city walls, killing everyone they see, no matter which side they’re on."

  I pushed his hands away and looked around, trying to judge the direction of the city. "Dar, you ass. You were supposed to be in charge, to keep this from happening. How could you leave your post like this?"

  His face tightened, eyes shadowed as he looked at me. I knew my words hurt. Dar took his responsibilities very seriously.

  "Mal, you are a broken demon, going up against a powerful elven high lord. The others seemed to be okay. I thought you needed my help more."

  We'd always been close. We’d always been there for each other, sometimes causing more harm than good. But as much as I loved my brother and cherished his loyalty, I was beginning to wonder if his protectiveness hid something else.

  I sighed, rubbing the end of his damp nose with my knuckles. "Let's go rein them in before they massacre the entire town."

  It didn't take long since only six of Dar's troops remained alive of the thirty-two he'd brought in. I felt a wave of nausea course through me at the losses and hoped that Leethu and her five were safely hidden in the depths of the palace. If they’d made it through all this alive, I would have gone from a household of forty to fourteen in one day. My dangerously low funds would still be a problem, but at least I could feed this reduced staff and provide for them a few years before I became destitute. Hopefully, that would give them enough time to find other, more well-funded households.

  We'd no sooner corralled my depleted household than an elven officer appeared at the wall, a sorcerer at his side.

  "His Lordship, Taullian of Cyelle and the United Elven Kingdoms wishes to speak with the leader of the demon mob, to negotiation their peaceful retreat from the Wythyn lands."

  What. The. Fuck. Had we been betrayed? I could see Taullian doing something like this to me, especially after our misunderstanding over the elf/demon hybrid contract, but I couldn't believe he'd pull this crap when he thought I was working on behalf of Ahriman. There was no way he was arrogant and stupid enough to think he could double-cross one of the highest demons in all of Hel.

  Unless he had taken it upon himself to contact Ahriman directly. My blood ran cold at the thought. If so, he'd know that Ahriman had not sanctioned this little activity of mine. Ahriman would know that I'd committed him to this mad plan, exceeding the reach of my authority as consort as well as directly going against his orders. Taullian would realize I was acting alone, and that he could fuck me over however he wished. My hopes of covering this up before word got to Ahriman, of minimizing the whole affair, vanished. I wouldn't have to worry about a thousand years under the demon’s cruel claw, because I'd be dead. He'd never forgive such an insult.

  I exchanged a quick, anxious glance with Dar and stepped forward. "I'll speak with his Lordship."

  The gate creaked open, and a guard beckoned me forward. Normally I'd insist on a neutral meeting place, but I figured nothing he could do to me would be worse than what Ahriman was going to do.

  "I'll come with you," Dar whispered, stepping to my side. "Who knows what that jerk has in mind. He'll have one of his sorcerers with him; you should be allowed one of your own too."

  Dar had a good point, but looking at the eager, barely restrained, six demons around us, I shook my head. "I need you here more. If they all start up again, any negotiations I'm doing will fall apart, and we'll both find ourselves dismembered and up to our ears in burning ash."

  My brother glared at the city wall. "I'll stay, but one shout from you and I'm storming the castle."

  I left him as he tried to find interesting entertainment to occupy the six demons while they waited. I walked to the gate, which the elven guard had opened barely wide enough for me to squeeze my naked body through. Elves had no problems with visible body parts, human or otherwise, and no one batted an eye at my nudity.

  A makeshift reception area had been set up in the courtyard. I recognized the ornate, jeweled throne Taullian sat in, his expression smug. A sorcerer stood beside him, and the look he sent me seemed downright sympathetic. The guard escorting me paused, motioning me to continue through the ring of elven fighters, arrows notched and swords ready. They surrounded Taullian, far enough away that soft conversation would be inaudible, even to sensitive elven ears.

  "Az," Taullian addressed me in ringing tones by my more common name, rather than the childhood one he usually used. "I understand your feud with Wythyn and their previous lord, and am willing to overlook the trespass and attack, in spite of our prior issues, as long as you and your demons leave immediately and never return."

  I looked at the sorcerer. His shoulders slumped; his eyes had a glazed, defeated expression, and I knew then that Taullian didn't intend to keep his end of the bargain. Somehow I needed to turn things in my favor, and fast. Once Ahriman got his hands on me, I’d either be dead, or powerless to demand so much as a glass of water.

  "Where's Leethu? Where are my five other demons?"

  He shifted in his chair and I realized that he had no idea where my household members were beyond the rowdy ones outside the gate.

  "I am here, Ni-ni." Leethu came forward, her young, elven male appearance exploding in a pop as she resumed her scaled, humanoid form. The crowd gasped, and the elven soldiers vacillated between keeping their sights on me, and covering this new threat.

  The succubus pushed passed them, hips swaying, pheromones snaking out in seductive curls. I was amused to see the elves' eyes drop to run along her graceful figure, the bows in their hands trembling slightly. Leethu was a force to be reckoned with.

  "Your lordship," her voice rang out like a delicate chime. "I have five demons hidden here among the Wythyn citizens, just as undetectable as I was. I suggest you re-think your offer to the head of my household."

  The elves and humans looked around nervously, trying to determine who among their neighbors may be an enemy. The circle around Taullian hummed with speculation and accusations as some turned their arrows on each other.

  "Quiet!" the high elf boomed. Silence fell, and once again, he turned to me. "What do you wish, Az? I cannot give you the previous lord of this kingdom. I refuse to turn an elf over to the demons, no matter what his crimes. That justice belongs to us."

  The crowd murmured in admiration, while I rolled my eyes. Taullian had already begun his elitist, benevolent, high lord act for his new empire, but it didn't mean shit to me. He'd paid me to kill the elf; he'd been happy to agree to just about anything to sit on that throne. The elf might think he held all the cards, but his position wasn't as solid as he thought.

  "I've already killed Feille." Once again, a gasp arose. "Over where the fire is, you'll find his body. Better take a sorcerer to identify it—he's pretty charred."

  I let the image soak into the imaginations of all who heard and took a few steps toward the throne as the elves once again turned their arrows to me.

  "You know what I want, Taullian. And you best give it to me, unless you intend to be the shortest-lived ruler in all elven history."

  The high elf drew himself up taller on his throne, squaring his shoulders in defiance, but I saw the flash of unease in his eyes.

  "You dare threaten me
, Az? Once again you bluff. You've gambled it all on a lie, but you've been exposed. There's nothing left for you to leverage, imp. No household, no powerful supporters. Nothing. Go home, and if Ahriman lets you live, you can take your place among the Low."

  He was right. I was powerless and alone, my household decimated. I didn't even have my chicken wand anymore. I saw the threads of my possible futures before me, and they all were bleak and short. Leethu and Dar would survive if they quickly distanced themselves from my sinking ship, but the rest of us were at a dead end.

  "Perhaps you should re-think your definition of power, Lord Taullian,” a seductive voice sang from beside me.

  Leethu's eyes glowed as gold as her scales, the pheromones flowing in a wave from her swaying form. Several guards dropped to their knees, swords and bows clattering on the flagstone; others gasped, shaking as they tried to fight the power of her call. I felt a surge of love, appreciation for the loyalty of my sister, but I didn't want to see her sacrifice herself for a lost cause, and no matter how powerful a succubus she was, she'd never prevail against an entire army, against a high elf, with only the intoxication of her sexual lures.

  A soft word escaped her lips, and I saw her hands fist, pulling a small string taut between them. Instantly Taullian's hands went to his throat, a line of red appearing just below his chin.

  The high lord made a choking sound, his hands scrabbling to pull away a cord that wasn't there. The sorcerer beside him paled.

  "Phantom hands garrote," he breathed, frantically attempting to break the spell with various incantations.

  Leethu held the noose steady—tight enough to turn the high elf's face red, but not enough to kill him. The guards who remained free of her pheromones hesitantly pointed their arrows at her. They could kill her, but one twitch of the hand and Taullian's head would be rolling across the floor—Elves were a sturdy race, and high lords were powerful enough to survive some pretty drastic physical wounds, but decapitation wasn't one of them.