House of Ash & Brimstone

by Megan Starks

  Wincing against the stab of irrational fear, she clipped back toward the GTPA building, pace speeding, feeling like she needed to get off the street. Right now. Yeah, she just needed to get inside. Calm her nerves for a second.

  She rattled the door and cursed. Checked her phone. 5:01 p.m. Of course, it was locked. Never mind that she’d just stepped outside ten seconds ago.

  Against her better judgement, Gisele pressed play on the message Marcel had left her.

  “Giseraphel, if you keep this up, you’re going to force me to take action. As you can probably guess, Felicitisia is neither merciful nor patient. None of the Luciferes are. We need to get you to my mistress before Rhogan finds…”

  As she listened, Gisele stared past the dingy glass to the deserted-looking building. She didn’t know where they’d gone, but there should be people inside, the woman who’d just handled her paperwork, or—

  The lights flicked off, bathing the interior in darkness.

  Her pulse beat on the back of her tongue.

  No way. Nope. She rubbed at her eyes and leaned against the glass, straining to peer deeper inside.

  The loud, abrading crash of a metal dumpster overturning in the alley nearly jolted her out of her skin. Not seconds later, a steady scraping noise started up, like claws scrawling along a brick wall, and she broke into a dead sprint.

  There was no logic to her flight, only cold adrenaline and fear. She darted into a yawning alley two blocks down, bursting through a cracked door to a rundown apartment complex, twisting past the rickety staircase leading to the upper floors in her beeline for the back door. But before she made it, another wave of fear and paranoia washed over her, stiffening her spine, and she detoured into an unlocked apartment. It was dark, even after she’d flipped the bare overhead bulb on, and the place smelled of cat kibble and piss. Someone rolled over on a lopsided couch but didn’t wake.

  Was she out of her mind?

  She glanced around wildly for a weapon.

  Floorboards creaked in the hall.

  And a monster grabbed her from behind.

  She screamed, but a rough hand clamped over her mouth, choking off her cry. She bucked, reaching for guns that weren’t there even as an inhumanly strong grip trapped her arms, banding them against her body.

  Panicked, throttled by her heart thrashing hard against her ribs, Gisele jabbed an elbow into her attacker’s right oblique, garnering a gruff, masculine grunt.

  “Shhh, stop, stop. It’s me,” a familiar voice rasped against her ear.

  She froze. Though she hadn’t thought it possible, her heart kicked further into overdrive.

  Shade. He’d tracked her, trapped her—

  “She’s here,” he whispered and held her tighter.

  She couldn’t breathe.

  His voice sounded rough from disuse, like he hadn’t spoken since their fight the day before. The hard line of his jaw was scratchy where it brushed her ear.

  Had he been following her this whole time?

  “Wait here,” he ordered, his voice quiet. She realized with a start that they were hiding, watching the mottled apartment door from the lip of a splintered bedroom doorframe he’d dragged her behind. “I’ll distract her. Then you go for the car.”

  Like hell she would. Just because she hadn’t yet broken his nose with a well-timed head-butt, didn’t mean she was ready to forgive and forget. As soon as he loosened his grip, she twisted and sucker-punched him in the same spot she’d elbowed him before. He sucked in a breath through his teeth, clutching below his ribs, and a warm sense of satisfaction washed over her. His side would be sporting a nice, splotchy bruise come morning.

  “Who in Lucifer’s name do you think you are?” she snapped, jerking for the tactical knife he’d strapped to his lower back. She hadn’t seen him carry a weapon before, which could only mean something bad now. Something bad for the both of them.

  His eyes widened as he realized what she was doing. He was just fast enough to stop her, bumping the doorframe with a thud as he wrenched her hand away.

  A predatory surge overtook her, fueled by anger or her own damn scorn, and she would have tried again, except that the apartment’s door creaked open behind her. A soft shuffling sound, like cloth sliding across carpet, emanated from the other side of the room. They both froze, bracing against the wave of terror that crashed into them.

  It took all she had to stay standing.

  “I’m not going to make it easy for you, whatever you’re planning to do to me,” she told the both of them, even as the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end.

  Her legs were trembling, yet Shade barely seemed affected. Was he really that much tougher than her? Or was it because the elghoul wasn’t targeting him?

  “Don’t look.” He was staring past her, scowling right at it, a gentle but firm hand cupping her jaw to keep her focus forward. “Close your eyes.”

  His own narrowed, gray and hard as gunmetal.

  What was he going to do?

  “Right. So you both can kill me?” She clenched her fists, clinging to her irrational anger so she could drown out the fear. He’d been stalking her. She wanted to punch him. Again. So she reared back and slammed him in the jaw.

  He winced. Her fist ached.

  The elghoul chose that moment to unleash an earsplitting yowl and attack. Shade grabbed Gisele by the hair and tore her to the ground. He fell with her as long scythe-like claws ripped into his ribs.

  “Bitch!” He snarled and bled but didn’t loosen his hold on her.

  She scrambled and got nowhere. Palms scraping on shredded carpet, she shrieked. She couldn’t see. He’d twisted her hair into her eyes. Held her down.

  He was going to get her killed. Or he was going to kill her.

  An unearthly voice filled the space behind and above her, tightening the muscles between her shoulders. “Give her over, and Master might forgive you.”

  The demon’s spindly, black-scythe claws withdrew from Shade’s side, and Gisele felt the warm drip-dripping of blood splatter the backs of her thighs as horrific fingers ghosted down the line of her body.

  “I haven’t told him yet,” the elghoul taunted. “How you found your little princess. Did you think you could hide behind a fallen-born?”

  Shade spoke then. “You haven’t told him ’cause he’d as likely flay you as thank you for the information.”

  “To be sure. But he’d reward me if I dragged you before him—drenched in the last of her blood.”

  “Touch her and I’ll kill you.”

  “Let me up,” Gisele said.

  She didn’t have a weapon, but she could still defend herself. If she had to fight Shade off first just to face the nightmare behind her, though, she was going to have a rough go of an escape.

  She fumbled for his hand, but he tightened his grip, his strength viselike, his claws scraping her scalp, hard scales jutting from his skin.

  “Shade, let go.”

  “I’ll kill you,” he repeated, a low growl grating from the back of his throat.

  She held her breath, heart hammering wildly, unsure which of them he’d been speaking to.

  “Can you?” the elghoul purred with anticipation. “I’ve always wondered.”

  Gisele expected the elghoul to swipe at her then, to cleave her flesh from muscle, but instead a sound like bones popping met her ears. The ghoul was shifting forms. Shade tensed, drawing her closer to him.

  “Or are you too scared?” the elghoul said.

  Gisele groped for the knife strapped to his lower back, and this time he didn’t stop her, maybe assuming between the two of them that she’d slice for the elghoul rather than burying the blade in his spleen.

  Maybe he was right. But she wasn’t even sure herself.

  She stabbed for the hand he’d tangled in her hair. At the same time he dropped his grip, launching full-bodied like a fired cannonball at the elghoul, leaving her to inadvertently cut off a swath of her hair.

  It didn’t matter
.

  She was free to flee, and she wasn’t looking back.

  She bolted deeper into the bedroom, away from the snarling, grappling demons, eyes darting about in search of an escape route.

  There was no bed, not even a mattress, just a mound of soiled pillows without cases lying beneath a broken window. She poked through the remaining panes of glass with the butt of the knife, and using both hands, hoisted herself through to the alley outside. The cool night air accepted her with a refreshing breeze. For a minute all she could do was crouch against the rough brick exterior and shiver.

  She was free to flee, and she wasn’t going back.

  All she had to do was sprint for her car. So why did she feel rooted to the spot, ears tweaked to the sounds of the crashing demons destroying the building behind her?

  Shade had stopped the elghoul for her again. Hadn’t he? He was risking himself for her, fighting his nightmares for her, right now. Wasn’t he?

  Now that she was free of the crushing terror that had flooded the apartment, she realized that she hadn’t been as afraid this time. She’d been spooked, but she hadn’t been out of her mind. Maybe it was because Shade had prevented her from looking directly at the demon. Or maybe it was because the elghoul had moved its focus from her to Shade.

  Either way, he’d be fine alone against it, wouldn’t he? He’d told her to run for the car while he distracted it. Plus, he had his own agenda, and he could take care of himself. If she was smart, she’d make a run for it. Now.

  But shit, she couldn’t really leave him.

  Steeling herself against the onslaught of terror-inducing magic inside—pupils dilating, palms perspiring, heart skipping—she leaped back through the weathered window frame, and clutching Shade’s knife close to her hip, raced for the apartment’s torn-up living room.

  She’d use the surprise attack to her advantage, go for the elghoul’s carotid artery. It could be wounded. Which meant it could be killed.

  But just as she was trying to make a split-second decision whether to fight with her eyes open or closed—a bad sign for her chances—she rounded the door to the living room and skidded to a shuddering halt. She pinwheeled her arms, flailing the double-edged knife in the air to keep from toppling sideways.

  Gaping, she took in the ravaged apartment. The sheer destruction heaped on the place was unimaginable, and her brain hinged for a beat, trying to process it. How in such a short turnaround—? And where—?

  A soft moan lilted from under the overturned couch, and Gisele jolted forward, coltish from her surging adrenaline. She flipped the couch over with a single shove, cracking it against the wall with a strength that startled her.

  Jesus.

  She’d completely forgotten about the man who’d been sleeping on the couch earlier. Now, he curled protectively in on himself on the floor. His eyes were wild, lips bloodless, and he trembled like he was trapped in the Arctic despite the mid-July heat.

  He looked like he’d seen a ghost. White hair tufted from his temples, hair that’d been brown before.

  “It’s okay now,” she said.

  Inexplicably, they were alone.

  14

  “Gisele.” The uncertainty in Shade’s voice betrayed his guarded expression. No doubt she was the last person he’d expected to knock on his door, and with good reason.

  By his own admission, one or both of them should be trying to kill the other—and she’d brought two handguns, magazines packed with silver shot for that very reason. Despite everything that had happened, she was hoping it wouldn’t come down to that.

  Thirty-six hours had passed since he’d disappeared with the elghoul. It’d taken her that long to gather the essentials and locate his apartment.

  She’d been hesitant to cross the line—to do something she might regret—but he’d left her no choice.

  “Going to ask me in?” she said, impatient as she leaned against the paneled doorframe, arms crossed.

  “Why are you here?” Lines bracketed Shade’s mouth as some of the pain began to show in his face. “You’re smarter than this. You know I—”

  “Ask me in, or I’ll make a scene. It could get violent. Messy,” she threatened.

  He ducked his head, made an unhappy sound as he clearly thought about forcing her to leave. But in the end, with a halting nod, he opened the door and stood back.

  He waited, barefoot, wearing only a rumpled V-neck and a pair of slouchy, gray sweats, slung low over his hips. A strange longing welled up inside her, and she stuffed it back down into her belly.

  “So this is your place. The place where you live.” She’d entered through the kitchen. Both it and the small living room beyond were bare—nothing on the walls, no furniture. No dishes in the sink, clean or dirty. A greasy pizza box sat on the white laminate countertop, the only object in the room that wasn’t a weapon or a black duffle bag. The carpets were gray and stained, at least several years old. “Nice,” she said.

  Shade flushed, locking the apartment door behind her before scooping a pile of rumpled clothes into the black, battered refrigerator. She bit her lip. When he opened the door, the interior lights didn’t come on, and there was nothing inside.

  He rubbed a hand across the back of his head when he returned to face her, looking hesitant—almost shy. Coupled with his casual attire, it made him seem unusually vulnerable.

  “Yeah, I get it,” he said. “Place is a shithole.”

  Her eyebrows rose at the understatement.

  “You haven’t stayed here long,” she guessed.

  “No.”

  “And the neighbors, they don’t know you too well?”

  She watched tension fill his body, stiffening his shoulders. He popped his jaw before answering, “They wouldn’t miss me, no.”

  But he didn’t go for one of the weapons on the counter, didn’t make a move at all.

  “That’s what I thought,” she told him, tossing him a set of steel cuffs. “Put those on.”

  He caught them in the air, examining them before returning a wary gaze to her. He didn’t try to run. He stood, rooted to the spot—considering his options. “Where are we going?” he asked more quietly.

  “Nowhere,” she answered. “We’re staying right here.”

  “You’re going to kill me then.” He’d made it a statement, but there was a hesitation to it, a reluctance to believe it could be true.

  “I just came to ask you some questions.”

  “Then ask.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t trust you enough to just ask. You know that.”

  The muscles in his throat tightened as he weighed the risks and consequences of her request. But still he made no move to run or attack.

  “I want you to trust me,” he admitted at last, voice ragged.

  For a moment, it felt like they were back in the elevator in the Office of the Paranormal, when he’d jumped in front of her, protecting her the best way he could without a moment’s thought or hesitation. It felt raw and real. Like maybe he wasn’t really a threat to her after all—despite the ties he had to demons who wanted her dead.

  She wanted to believe him. But she didn’t know what to trust anymore. She couldn’t afford to be stupid.

  “Okay,” he agreed after a bout of tense consideration. “I’ll do it, if it’s what you need. I’ll put them on.”

  From the grim look on his face, he knew exactly what he was signing up for.

  “Where do you want me?” he asked, ratcheting the first cuff around his right wrist. “Living room has the most space, bedroom will help the neighbors assume we’re having rough sex, and the bathroom is the easiest cleanup. The kitchen has its own charms, I guess.”

  “No, behind your back,” she corrected, ignoring his attempt to lighten the mood. He hesitated where he’d been about to cuff his other wrist, reconsidering his choice one last time before he nodded and complied. “Bedroom,” she answered after, and he rasped a harsh, disbelieving laugh.

  “Of course.”
/>   She indicated for him to go first, but when he stepped closer, twisting to pass her, she stopped him with a hand on his side. Carefully, she lifted the hem of his shirt to reveal the taped bandages over his ribs and the splotchy bruising that speckled his abs and lower right side.

  As she’d thought. It’d been a full day and a half since he’d sustained the injuries, yet he still hadn’t healed. Not in the slightest. He really had lost his master’s favor…maybe because he didn’t want to kill her. But as he’d already admitted, what he wanted wouldn’t matter in the end.

  She traced the rim of a bruise. His muscles flexed to her fingers. He shifted closer to her, and she drew back, dropping his shirt.

  Neither of them spoke, their breaths loud in the silence until she nodded for him to go on. He led the way, tension stretching between them as they walked. His broad shoulders grew more and more stiff, and he kept fisting and un-fisting his hands. But he had little right to be unhappy with her. He’d brought this on himself.

  When they reached the bedroom, she paused to survey the sad state of it.

  Again, there was no furniture, only a bare mattress on a metal bedframe. Clothes were strewn around the perimeter of the room. A cardboard box with a tactical knife harness stacked on top served as a nightstand.

  “You live like a serial killer,” she complained.

  His neck and ears reddened. “Yeah, well, I didn’t plan on having guests. Will Beast also be joining our little party?”

  She ignored his question. “Drop to your knees. Facing the bed.”

  He complied reluctantly. She shoved him forward, forcing his upper body against the mattress. The box springs squeaked, bouncing him on impact, and he winced.

  But it was too late to turn back.

  “You know, all things considered, I forgot you think like a bounty hunter,” he groaned.

  “A fatal mistake.”

  “Don’t joke. I’m trusting you.”

  She dropped her bag on the bed with a heavy thud. Inside, metal objects shifted and clinked. He tried to rise up, but she held him down with a hand on his head.