Reaper

by Larissa_Ion

  Lilliana’s silky hair swung around her shoulders as she shook her head. “I heard him say something about a new occupant.”

  A new occupant? “Is Revenant back?”

  “Someone else.” She idly dug holes in the sand with her finger. “Moloch doesn’t seem happy about it. I kind of got the impression that Moloch thought the guy was working for him, but now he’s the one taking orders.”

  There was a new player in Sheoul? Interesting. “Do you have a name?”

  “I heard Moloch call him Drakiin, but it almost seemed like an insult.”

  Azagoth snorted. “Because it was. It means larvae in Sheoulic.” That didn’t, however, mean that it couldn’t be his name. Demons were fucking bizarre and disgusting. “Have you seen this male?”

  “I’ve never seen his face.” She shuddered. “He’s evil, though. And cold. It seems to come in…waves.”

  “Waves?” His gaze automatically shifted to the ocean, which was completely oblivious to their plight. “What do you mean?”

  “It’s weird. One minute he’s just lurking in the background, barely noticeable, and then it’s like he becomes radioactive. The evil that radiates from him affects everyone around him. I’ve never felt anything like it before.”

  He inclined his head in a slow nod. “That tracks with some of the reports I’ve gotten.”

  “Any luck finding out who poisoned me?”

  Wishing he had more to offer, he gave what he had. “Zhubaal is questioning everyone who brought you anything to eat or drink. So far, nothing is tripping any alarm bells, and he’s not happy.” No one was, but Z took his job seriously, and when it wasn’t going well, he was intense. “I just wish he’d have saved Hawkyn for last when he’s really pissed off and worked up.”

  Her brow arched in surprise. “Why? What did Hawkyn do?”

  Azagoth reined in what would have been an epic—fuck, he missed Journey—and vulgar tirade. “Nothing much. He just told Heaven about my griminion upgrade, my escape attempt, and the fact that I released a hundred thousand demons to fight Moloch.”

  Lilliana’s eyes went full saucer. “What? You’re kidding. No. He wouldn’t do that.”

  “Yeah, he fucking did. Reaver showed up and gave me a load of Heavenly shit.” Needing a release for his fury, he dug his fingers into the sand and sent a blast of energy through the shore, turning the surface around them to glass.

  Lilliana didn’t bat an eye or miss a beat. Man, he loved this female. “What did Reaver say?”

  “He said he’s trying to keep Heaven from striking at me.” He ground his molars, annoyed that Heaven thought he needed to be policed.

  She let out a sigh of relief. “So, he’s on our side.”

  “No one in Heaven is on our side.”

  “Darling, don’t you see? That’s why Hawkyn went to Reaver. He knew you needed help.”

  “If he had concerns, he should have come to me first,” Azagoth bit out. “If he wasn’t the Memitim liaison with Heaven, I’d banish him.”

  He didn’t like the smile she concealed behind her hand.

  “What?” he demanded.

  “It’s just…” She reached out and cupped his cheek. “You could still banish him, and you know it. But you won’t because you love him and need him, and you know he was doing what he thought was best, even if it was wrongheaded.”

  “He betrayed me.” It was that simple.

  “I know loyalty is important to you, but please, don’t be hasty in your decision about what to do with him. Hawkyn is as loyal as they come. He might have made a mistake, but his heart was in the right place, and with things being the way they are…you can’t afford to alienate him. We need to be strong and united for what’s coming. But we’ll win. You’ll win, Azagoth, and then no one will be stupid enough to screw with you ever again. We’ll be free.”

  He loved her strength, her conviction. But he would never be free. He would always be confined inside Sheoul-gra, the hell he’d built for himself, to atone for all his sins. What was worse, even after Lilliana got out of Moloch’s dungeon, she’d still be imprisoned. The cage would just be more pleasant, and her jailor would be Azagoth.

  But she’d at least be alive.

  “I’ll do whatever I have to do to get you out of there, Lilliana. I promise.”

  “Except release Satan, right?” She pegged him with a don’t-go-there look. “That’s the one thing you can’t do.”

  “I’m aware.”

  “Are you?” She puffed up, and he braced himself for a Heavenly lecture. “Azagoth, the human experience is on a timetable. They’ve got another thousand years to achieve their goals. You can’t mess with that. If Satan gets out of his prison early—”

  “Yeah, yeah.” He rolled his eyes and recited the standard line every angel learned in the cradle. “Humans have until the End of Days to perfect their souls and gain an immortal life on the Other Side. Those who don’t experience all there is to experience over the course of several human lifetimes, whether because they procrastinated or because the Apocalypse comes early, will end up on Earth for Satan to play with for all eternity. I get it. I just don’t care. I’m evil, remember?”

  She huffed. “This is serious, Azagoth. How many billions of souls will suffer on Earth because they didn’t get the entire thousand years to live more lives before the Apocalypse?”

  Angels annoyed the shit out of him, but it was cute when Lilliana let her angelic indignation out to play every now and then.

  “I know,” he said, trying to smooth her ruffled feathers. When she snorted and shook her head, he figured that was a sign that he’d failed. “What?”

  “It’s just that sometimes you act on instinct and don’t think about the consequences of your actions.” She smiled, but that didn’t take all the sting out of her words. “I love your instincts, and I love how you’re willing to do anything for me, but I don’t want you, or anyone we love, to pay a high price for getting me out of here. We’ve already lost too much.”

  A strong wind kicked, blowing sand and putting white caps on the waves. Overhead, a dark storm cloud rolled in, blotting out the sun.

  “Lilliana? Why are you doing this?”

  “I’m not,” she said, looking up. “I thought it was you—oh, no!”

  She started to fade. Lightning lit up the sky as she flickered in and out of existence.

  “No! Lilliana!” He reached for her, knowing it was useless. And just like the last time, his hands closed on empty air.

  Just like before, she was gone.

  Chapter 22

  Azagoth’s body felt heavy, his mind sluggish, as he lay in bed, unable to find the strength to climb off the mattress. His throat was sore as if he’d been screaming in real life the way he had after Lilliana disappeared. He’d searched the island in a futile attempt to find her, hoping she would get the chance to fall back asleep, that she was awakened by a distant sound and not some demon assaulting her.

  She didn’t come back, and he’d shouted for her until he woke up, sweating and shaking, not knowing how he could possibly face another day without Lilliana. Worse, he didn’t know how to change that reality. His attempt to rescue her had failed, and while he and Ares had put together several plans, executable at a moment’s notice and in quick succession, he couldn’t implement any of them without guaranteeing his child’s death.

  But if he didn’t come up with another solution—any solution that didn’t involve releasing Satan—his child and mate would die.

  And if they died in Moloch’s territory, their souls would be trapped for eternity in a hellish existence, tortured by demons, forced into slavery or, worst of all, imprisoned inside statues.

  Entombing souls inside objects, or their own bodies, wasn’t widely considered to be the worst way to spend eternity, but Azagoth knew otherwise. Being trapped in the darkness, helpless, unable to communicate, with only one’s mind as company…no one came out of that sane.

  According to the Charnel Apostle who�
��d helped him release his army, it took as little as a decade for insanity to set in, depending on the species. And in thousands of years of experimentation by Apostles, not one individual made it out whole after five decades. Azagoth thought about the hundreds of demons imprisoned inside statues or their own bodies in his Hall of Souls and figured they’d be extremely insane by now. Some were thousands of years old.

  The newest would be Moloch.

  But only after a couple of decades of torture.

  The thought of stringing Moloch up by his balls was the push Azagoth needed to climb out of bed when all he wanted to do was sleep—just in case Lilliana was sleeping, too.

  Soon. He’d take a nap as soon as he could.

  Moving woodenly, he showered and dressed, choosing a pair of jeans and a black T-shirt, casual clothes he usually only wore when he and Lilliana went on their mini-vacations with the chronoglass.

  Those precious moments were the only reason he had any sense of freedom at all, and they couldn’t happen without her.

  Before she’d agreed to stay inside Sheoul-gra and be his mate, she’d been an angel with one of the rarest gifts of all: time travel. Using the chronoglass as a tool to focus her power, she could open a portal to the human realm’s past that lasted exactly one hour. There were rules, of course, but even if they did nothing but sit in the middle of a cornfield, Azagoth was happy.

  He was fucking happy to sit in a cornfield in 1948, Nebraska.

  If Lilliana didn’t come back to him, he’d never sit in a cornfield with her again. They’d never again stand atop Mount Everest and shout into the wind. They’d never have another chance to ice skate together in Sweden.

  There would be so many nevers.

  Pain sliced at him with acid-tipped claws. He pulled himself together and tore open his bedroom door. The hall was empty of even the dust and debris from his escape attempt. There was no one there to look at him with pity. No one to avert their gaze. No one to walk on eggshells as they scrambled to get out of his way.

  He wasn’t sure if he was relieved or disappointed.

  He went straight to his office, but when he opened the door, he drew to a halt so fast that his heart slammed into his ribcage.

  Someone had set up an altar of marble, on top of which sat a red satin cloth where Lilliana’s wings lay. The tasteful display, so carefully done, took his breath.

  He wasn’t sure how long he stood there when he heard footsteps approach.

  “I hope that was okay,” Hawkyn murmured from behind him. “Cat and I wanted to honor her.”

  Unable to speak, Azagoth nodded and moved over to the altar. He hadn’t seen her wings since last night, which he could barely remember. He’d been so wrecked, so utterly devastated, that his mind had shut down.

  It still wanted to. He brushed his fingers over the silky feathers, remembering how easily he could seduce her with a single stroke along the arch.

  “Father, it wasn’t my intention to bother you, but Maleficent is outside. She’s been there for a full day now. It’s freaking everyone out.”

  “What’s she doing? Terrorizing people?”

  “She’s just…lying there.” Hawkyn remained in the doorway, giving Azagoth space. Maybe out of respect, perhaps because he’d fucking betrayed his father and didn’t want to get too close. Either way, wise choice. “By the pond where Lilliana goes to read. She doesn’t move. Not even her eyes.”

  Azagoth had heard that sometimes hellhounds could communicate through dreams, and he wondered if Lilliana and Mal had been in contact. But if so, wouldn’t Lilli have said something about it? He’d also heard that hellhounds could shut down, their broken hearts leaving them in a comatose-like state.

  Just when he’d thought he couldn’t relate to the mangy mutt.

  Shit. Now, he had to help it.

  Very gently, he gathered up Lilliana’s wings and brushed past Hawkyn.

  “He might have made a mistake, but his heart was in the right place.”

  The memory of Lilliana’s words stopped Azagoth in his tracks.

  “Hawkyn is as loyal as they come.”

  Yes, he was. Most of Azagoth’s children were terrified to stand up to him, but a few, the ones closest to him and the most trusted, had gotten to that point because they stood up to him. Their honesty, while brutal at times, was the reason he respected them and kept them close.

  Hawkyn was one of them.

  Azagoth did a half-turn back to his son.

  “Hawkyn.”

  Hawk pivoted around, his shoulders squared as if he were prepared to take a blow. “Yes, Father?”

  Unexpected warmth trickled into Azagoth’s heart at being called Father. Not many of his children called him that, and it startled him every time.

  “You betrayed my trust.” To Hawkyn’s credit, he merely inclined his head in acknowledgment. Azagoth continued. “I believe you did what you thought was right. What you thought you had to do.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You. Were. Wrong,” Azagoth growled. “Fortunately for you, you fucked me over because you’re decent, which is the only reason you’re still here. That, and because you’re one of the few people I mostly trust, and I can’t afford to alienate you.”

  “I’m not sure what to say.” Hawkyn eyed him with suspicion, probably expecting to feel the slide of a blade between his ribs. Azagoth wasn’t exactly known for his ability to forgive or forget. “Are we good? You’re not going to roast me slowly on a giant spit or trap me inside a statue?”

  “You violated my trust by confiding in an ally. You didn’t betray me to Moloch.” Whoever had would suffer the horrors Hawkyn had described. “We’re…good. But don’t do it again.”

  Azagoth headed outside, still gently cradling Lilliana’s wings. The Memitim had cleaned up a lot of the structural damage he’d caused, but he still had to negotiate a few downed trees as he walked up the path toward Lilliana’s pond.

  He could have flown, or even flashed himself there, but he needed the walk. Needed to see his realm, even if it was slowly decaying, the plants wilting, the grass dying, just like his heart.

  He approached Mal the way he always did: with caution. But Hawkyn was right. She just lay there, staring off into space. He wasn’t even sure she was breathing.

  “Hey, girl.” He stopped at her side and crouched next to her. She didn’t move, but a distressed whimper, barely audible, issued from her throat. “I know how it feels.”

  Slowly, because no one in their right mind wanted to startle a hellhound, he placed Lilliana’s wings in front of her. For a moment, nothing happened. Then the beast’s nostrils flared. Her eyes, once unfocused and empty, sparked to life, and she blinked as she lifted her massive, black head.

  When she saw the wings, she stretched toward them, sniffing and whining, and then she looked at him and growled. He wasn’t sure how he knew the growl wasn’t directed at him, but he did, and in that moment, he had an ally.

  “You smell Moloch on those wings, don’t you?” Tentatively, he reached out and stroked her shoulder. She went so taut at his touch that he froze, but a few heartbeats later, she relaxed, and he gave her another long, gentle stroke. “I don’t suppose you can break her out of his prison.”

  Even if she understood him, he doubted she could get inside Moloch’s keep. Everyone in Sheoul warded their homes to prevent against unwanted visits from hungry hellhounds. Even if Maleficent could get into the dungeon, she was genetically incapable of harming an authorized agent of Satan except in self-defense, and it seemed that with Revenant missing, Moloch was now Sheoul’s caretaker in Satan’s name.

  Still, resolve burned in her eyes, and he realized that, yes, she did know Moloch’s scent. Which meant that she knew who had hurt Lilliana…and, quite possibly, she understood where to find her.

  Mal pushed to her massive paws.

  “I know I should try to stop you,” he said softly. “Lilliana would be angry if I didn’t try to keep you from danger. But I want—I need�
�her back, and if you can help…” He let out a shuddering breath. “Please, Maleficent.”

  A look of understanding passed between them, and as she dematerialized, he wondered if he’d ever see her again.

  Then he wondered if he’d ever see Lilliana again, and he broke down. There, on the edge of Lilliana’s pond, he lost it, knowing that nothing would ever be the same.

  Chapter 23

  They came from out of nowhere, ambushing Reaver as he materialized near the entrance to Ares’ mansion.

  Harvester had come with him today because, as she’d argued, “I’m the Horsemen’s Heavenly Watcher and their stepmother, so they have to put up with me. Plus, I want to see Aleka. I haven’t seen Cara and Ares’ daughter in days.”

  There was no dissuading Harvester when she wanted something, and besides, she knew more about the inner workings of Sheoul than anyone, and her insight could be valuable.

  If she could keep from antagonizing everyone.

  Ares, Reseph, and Thanatos surrounded them before they’d even taken ten steps.

  “Any news about Lilliana?” Ares asked. He was dressed in khakis and a gauzy, beachy, Greek-style shirt, but even without armor, he looked every inch the warrior he was. And he was as tall as Reaver, so there were a lot of inches.

  “You probably know more than I do,” Reaver said. “The last time I saw Azagoth, the battle hadn’t even started yet.”

  There was nothing beachy about Harvester’s form-fitting black dress, but that didn’t stop her from kicking off her heels and planting her feet in the sand. “I heard from my sources that your army was defeated, and your hellhounds cowered and refused to fight.”

  Shit. Reaver didn’t know anyone with less tact than Harvester. Not even Wraith could compete.

  The sound of the waves caressing the shore grew uncomfortably loud as Ares stood there, a muscle in his jaw twitching, storm clouds brewing in his eyes. Just as Reaver was about to smooth things out, Ares shook his head as if an altercation with Harvester wasn’t worth it.

  “You’re right about the battle,” he said. “But the hounds did not cower. They wanted to fight. They wanted to so badly, but they couldn’t. They’re still pissed off and looking to tear shit up, so if you feel like you need a fight, have at it. I know I’d bring popcorn.”