Hell Hath No Fury (Razing Hell Book 3)

by Cate Corvin

  It was probably a good thing Belial was late. His temper was far worse than mine. “I’ve reached my allotted limit of tattoos, but thanks for the offer.”

  He looked like he was going to protest, but then Vyra brought another cup of wine to Balaam. Asmodeus immediately took on the look of a starving tiger as she passed.

  Azazel narrowed his eyes at the Prince staring down his sister. “Don’t even think about it.”

  “None of you are any fun,” Asmodeus muttered, and alternated his sullen gaze between me and Vyra.

  Now I understood why the Princes never congregated, and why they’d all warned me about them. Like Belial, every Prince was the epitome of his Circle. Having them packed into one small place was going to be its own kind of Hell.

  The Prince of Gluttony, Belphegor, was the next to arrive. He had the same chiseled physique, but when he sat down, Lucifer helped Vyra carry over a massive platter heaped with food.

  He inhaled it like a starving man, eating enough to burst a horse. It was impossible not to be amazed as he gulped down an entire roasted turkey leg, bone and all.

  I leaned back and turned my head so I could whisper into Azazel’s ear. “I get why you all avoid each other now.”

  His lips twitched, but Abaddon chose that moment to pause in his snoring, mutter something unintelligible, and wrap his arms around me. I awkwardly patted the top of his head. He was as big as Belial, but there was something oddly child-like about the Prince of Sloth.

  “We’re bringing a teddy bear next time,” Vyra said, draping a blanket over him.

  Lucifer just pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes, his temper clearly fraying before we’d even begun.

  “Three to go,” I whispered, glancing at the clock as the other Princes talked.

  “Pytho!” Asmodeus said suddenly, standing up and spreading his arms. The Prince of Fraud stepped into the room, giving him a fox like smile and palming several coins off Balaam’s jewelry as he passed. Pytho settled with Asmodeus, and Lucifer glanced up at the clock one last time.

  “Mammon won’t be coming,” Pytho said, accepting a glass of wine from Vyra. He frowned up at her as she passed, his brow creased like he recognized her, but he wiped the expression away when he saw me watching him. “I didn’t pass on the message to meet.”

  “But he’s the Prince of Treachery,” I said without thinking. “Wouldn’t this be his wheelhouse?”

  Pytho eyed me over the rim of his glass. “Would you really want Treachery here when he’s just as likely to turn on you? We’re all taking a risk with our lives and Circles just by being in this room.”

  “Nor have you explicitly promised us the aid of the Grigori,” Leviathan said, his voice muffled behind the bone mask. He glared accusingly at Azazel. “And where is the Prince of Wrath? I refuse to discuss anything until all of us are here and equally complicit.”

  Balaam lowered his eighth glass of wine and glanced nervously at his neighbor, as though that point had just occurred to him.

  Fuck. And just when I thought things might get a little easier now that they were almost all here.

  “Good,” Lucifer said smoothly. “Keep Mammon out of this. The only person he serves is himself.”

  “Belial is coming,” I told Leviathan, refusing to back down just because his masked face was eerie. “And even if he’s not here, I speak for him as the Lady of the Seventh Circle.”

  He didn’t look convinced. Maybe it would’ve been possible to have more gravitas if Abaddon wasn’t drooling on my arm.

  “Or perhaps your lover has run to Satan.” Pytho leaned back on the couch, spinning one of the coins he’d stolen from Balaam between his fingers. “And left us all to face the Dragon alone.”

  Fury boiled through me at the implication. I almost stood up, careless of whether Abaddon would face-plant on the carpet or not, but the curtains chimed again.

  Belial stepped in, a shadow at his back. He barely looked at the other Princes before his gaze found me.

  I glared at Pytho, full of relief. “What did I say?”

  The Prince of Fraud just shrugged. “Think the way I do, Lady Wrath. Live your whole life next to Treachery and tell me you don’t see conspiracies in every shadow.”

  Belial wore an odd expression, like he was trying to conceal triumph. “We do have Treachery.”

  He stepped aside, revealing the shadowy figure at his back. I drew in a sharp breath when I recognized him: the cold-faced, black-haired Nephilim he’d taken under his wing in his arena. The Nephilim’s large, leathery wings were folded behind his back as he ducked into the room, surveying each Prince with his chin held high. No emotion was discernible in his strong features.

  Vyra froze in the act of refilling Balaam’s glass, her eyes glued to the Nephilim.

  “Nobody trusts Mammon, and with good reason,” Belial said. He gave Abaddon a dirty look as the Prince of Sloth oozed down my shoulder and sprawled across my lap. Azazel jerked his hand out of the way before he got drooled on. “So I bring you his son, Adranos. He will stand in for his father.”

  Belphegor stopped eating long enough to make a disparaging sound. The coldness of Leviathan’s gaze was tangible through the mask. Pytho’s expression was unreadable, but he’d stopped flipping the coin, his hand frozen in midair.

  Asmodeus gave Adranos a slow and very obvious once-over and licked his lips. I found myself feeling for the out-of-place Nephilim as he stepped forward. I knew all too well what it was like to be the outsider.

  My gaze roved around the room. The Crown Prince of Dis, Lust, Gluttony, Greed, Sloth, Heresy, Wrath, Fraud… and now we had Treachery. All of the Circles were represented here.

  We’d managed the impossible.

  “Now that we have everyone,” I said cheerfully, interrupting the tense silence and drawing everyone’s gaze. “Why don’t we get down to the business of killing Satan?”

  21

  Melisande

  “No Nephilim can take the place of a Prince,” Leviathan said, leaning forward to rest his fists on his knees. “What do you expect to accomplish with this?”

  Belial crossed the room in several quick strides, gave the snoozing Abaddon a puzzled look, and leaned over the back of the couch to kiss my forehead. He rested a possessive hand on my shoulder as he raised an eyebrow at Leviathan.

  “The bloodline runs true.” He looked calm and collected, but I felt the tension in his grip. “I wouldn’t have suggested him as a replacement otherwise. And I’ve seen him at work in my arena. The Nephilim are an asset, not a liability.”

  Belphegor wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. The shimmer of grease on his lips made me feel vaguely queasy. “So what are you proposing? That we kill Mammon, too? The Prince of Treachery will never stand for another taking his place.”

  As soon as he finished talking, he picked up an entire roasted onion and shoved it in his mouth whole, swallowing without chewing. Vyra, lurking in the far corner, made a face as he wiped his hands on his shirt.

  “I say anyone who stands in the way of our goal needs to be taken out,” I said, and patted Abaddon’s head when he grunted in his sleep.

  Pytho’s eyebrows contracted. “Someone explain to me why this angel is the one running the show here?”

  Tascius gave him a narrow-eyed look and crossed his arms, standing beside me like an honor guard. Pytho leaned back in his chair, meeting his gaze evenly.

  “She’s the one who brought back your sacrifices.” Azazel was practically vibrating with energy, wisps of smoke rising off his skin. “And she’s our mate. Show some respect.”

  Asmodeus gave us both a heavy-lidded bedroom gaze. “Keep an open mind, Pytho. The biggest surprises can come in small packages.”

  Leviathan cast him a scathing look, his mouth sneering under his skull mask. “You would know, wouldn’t you, Asmodeus?”

  Instead of getting upset at the dispersion cast on his own package, Asmodeus just settled into his couch, spreading his legs wider. “I
have no issues in that regard, but you’re welcome to check for yourself.”

  I let out a silent sigh. So they were spending precious time poking each other about their dick size. Altogether, it could’ve been worse. I’d been somewhat convinced that getting all the Princes together might end in a bloodbath.

  On the other hand, we still had plenty of time to get to the bloodbath portion of the proceedings.

  My Prince of Wrath just smiled at Pytho, a dangerous edge to his sharp-toothed grin. “I, for one, have no problems with the idea of killing Mammon. Of all the Princes, he’s always the last to have our backs, the last into battle… but always the first to save his own ass. Maybe it’s time for a change in the Ninth Circle.”

  Adranos, who’d been lurking near the door the whole time, finally strode forward. His wings were pulled in tight against his back, but he kept his arms loose at his sides, his stern face as cold as the first time I’d seen him. “I’m here for one reason, and one reason only. I wish to prove that unlike my father, I’m not a treacherous, two-faced pig. I didn’t come in with aspirations to take his throne.”

  Vyra gave him the narrow-eyed look she gave to people she wasn’t sure of. I wondered what Belial had offered him to fight for us, but I kept coming back to the same thing: the throne of the Ninth Circle seemed like a damn good incentive to risk one’s life against Satan.

  “Mammon is a wee bit of a cunt,” Asmodeus agreed, but Leviathan didn’t look convinced.

  “We’ll see,” he said. “You want to shake up the natural order of things, and that’s bound to leave some empty thrones that need filling. Which is why we’re going to need more than just assurances if we’re going to risk ourselves.”

  “What other assurances do you want?” Azazel was completely hazed in shadows, his eyes flashing with color from the depths. “Here’s your explicit assurance: I offer my Grigori. The Seventh Circle has united with us and the Prince of Dis. One way or another, this war is coming to us.”

  “Speaking of the Prince of Dis, you’ve been very quiet, Lucifer.” Pytho began flipping the coin between his fingers again, his mouth set in a grim line. “Your father should’ve been killed in the Apocalypse, and now you’ve gone and murdered the only wielder of the Sword of Light. Might alone isn’t going to kill the Dragon, so what is your exact proposal? We’re not going to fling ourselves headfirst into death.”

  Lucifer had been quietly leaning against the wall, his silver eyes darting from each Prince as they sniped at us and each other. He stood upright, looking darker than ever with his oil-spill wings framing his broad shoulders.

  “Gabriel wasn’t the only one who could touch the Sword of Light.”

  So now it was time to bring out the big guns. I knew convincing them had been a good idea.

  Pytho palmed the coin and made it disappear. “Oh? Are you suggesting that you-”

  “No.” Lucifer cut him off, cold as ice. “But she can.”

  He nodded towards me. Every Prince looked at me, their gazes like weights. Belphegor had stopped eating mid-swallow.

  As though I needed to prove myself to them, I held up my right hand, revealing my diamond-scarred palm. “I’ve wielded the Sword and lived to speak of it,” I said, trying to sound completely confident. “And I kept Gabriel’s hand as proof. We both have the same scars.”

  Leviathan’s eerie skull mask turned to the side as he cocked his head. His eyes flashed red behind the eyeholes. “So this is why you keep her.”

  “That has nothing to do with it, but yes, it’s a perk,” Belial said.

  Pytho laughed, but there was nothing pleasant about it. “You’re willing to put the Sword in her hands and let her face Satan alone?”

  I sat up straight, my irritation with Pytho breaking through my calm shell.

  “Well, ideally I wouldn’t be alone, which was the entire point of gathering all of you here.” I glared at him, resisting the urge to add “you prick” to the end of that sentence. “I’m willing to take the Sword, but I need people at my side. I’m glad we’ve gotten all of the dick-measuring contests and petty rivalries out of the way here, but what it comes down to is this: none of you would have come today if you didn’t have a grievance with the Dragon. You’re here because you want him dead. Now you’ve got a ready-made weapon against him, at least two Princes and the Lord Watcher ready to make it happen, and you’re arguing over the dumbest shit I’ve ever heard.”

  Abaddon grunted, and I realized I’d dug my fingernails into his shoulder in my frustration. I relaxed my grip and stroked his hair, settling him back into sleep.

  Asmodeus shook his head. “Make her your princess, Belial. And make that three Princes. I’ve been in from the moment I walked in the door.”

  “She already is,” Belial murmured, stroking my hair.

  I glanced sideways at Pytho, who no longer looked at me scornfully. There was a modicum of respect in his eyes now.

  “No one should give a damn if Adranos is Nephilim,” I said. “That’s immaterial to the greater goal. And who cares if he does take Mammon’s place? By all accounts I’ve heard today, Treachery’s an utter cock. If he throws in his lot with the Dragon, he gets what’s coming to him.”

  It was all utterly ludicrous. I couldn’t quite believe I was sitting here trying to convince the Princes to put aside their petty differences in the face of something as momentous as destroying Satan… all while one took a nap on my lap.

  I wondered how the hell they’d all managed to survive this long if this was how they worked out their plans.

  Leviathan leaned back and the couch creaked. He plucked at a bowl of grapes Vyra had slid into his vicinity, rolling one of the little red globes in his fingers and studying it like it contained a whole fascinating little world.

  Belphegor reached over and grabbed a bunch of the grapes, tilting his head back to gulp them down. “She has a point.”

  It was incredibly hard not to roll my eyes.

  “Mammon is the closest to Satan,” he said, chewing thoughtfully. “None of us have ever allied with him. He’d sell his own mother if he thought it would get him in the Dragon’s good graces.”

  “And what is your point?” Leviathan asked, squashing the grape. Juice ran over his fingers and he dropped the crushed fruit back in the bowl.

  “My point is that I wouldn’t be sorry to see Mammon go,” Belphegor said bluntly. “So let the Nephilim stand for him. We’ll have to go through the Ninth Circle to breach the Pit. I’d rather have his son on our side.”

  “You talk like you’ve already decided you’re in on this.” Leviathan reached up and scrubbed a hand through his hair, and suddenly removed his skull mask, the bones in his hair clinking with the movement. I jerked my eyes away before I could be caught gaping.

  All of his Princely beauty had been carved into with knives and burned with brands. Alchemical symbols decorated his forehead and cheeks, tattooed with scarlet whorls and lines.

  No one else seemed surprised by the Prince of Heresy’s mutilated face. I just didn’t want to look any closer, because his vivid gaze was that much more powerful unveiled. I felt like he’d be able to look right into me and see what I was thinking.

  “Because I am,” Belphegor said. For once, the empty plate in his lap went ignored as everybody focused on him. “They brought back one of my women. I’m tired of sacrificing Brides, Leviathan. I’m fucking sick and tired of owing a tithe of flesh to the Dragon, when he’s done nothing to earn that tribute but lounge around in the Pit and demand more, and more, and more. Are we Princes or not? We come together for a last time and usurp the destroyer, and then we each rule our own Circles the way we see fit.”

  Silence descended until the clinking of coins filled the air. Balaam had an entire wine bottle in his hand, having dispensed with the glass. “I wish to keep my demons and Circle for myself,” he said. I’d expected nothing less from Greed. “Come now, Pytho, Leviathan.”

  Pytho’s lips quirked in a crooked smile. “Easy for you to
say. My Circle will be one of the first trampled.”

  They descended into bickering after that, arguing about who would be sacrificing the most. I met Lucifer’s exasperated gaze, but he shook his head when I opened my mouth.

  Belial bent down, tilting his head to talk in my ear. “They’re always like this when they get together. The crux of the matter has already been addressed. They’re in.”

  “How do you know?” I muttered, barely moving my lips, which was pointless. No one one would overhear me over the crash of glass and shouting.

  Balaam had just thrown the entire wine bottle at Pytho’s head, which the Prince of Fraud barely ducked. Glass shattered on the wall and rained down on Leviathan. Asmodeus watched it all gleefully, looking like a child whose birthday had come early.

  Azazel nodded his head at the mess. “You can wield the Sword, which was all they needed. They just have some… old grievances to address while they’re in each other’s vicinity.”

  “It’s a pissing contest,” Belial informed me. “Which always comes second to the dick-measuring contest.”

  Lovely. I stroked Abaddon’s baby-soft hair, comforted by his snores as Pytho bellowed at Belphegor.

  Finally, the Princes stopped yelling at each other about everything from unfair taxes to dick size to how cavernous their mother’s vaginas were and settled down.

  “I’m in,” Pytho said.

  “As am I.” Leviathan fitted his skull back to his face, casting a dirty look at Balaam as he did it.

  “My god, I wish you were all Princesses,” I said acerbically. “This would’ve been decided ages ago.”

  Based on the looks they gave me, if I hadn’t had four protectors right there in the room with me, I would’ve been smited right then and there.

  Can’t blame an angel for speaking the truth, though.

  “We need to talk strategy,” I continued, but Leviathan held up a hand to stop me.

  “There’s one more. We aren’t all agreed.”

  I stared at him for a second, wondering how I’d missed a Prince when we had them all in here except for Mammon, then Abaddon snorted and sighed, rolling over so the back of his head was pillowed in my lap.