Chapter Twenty-Two
Dommiel
We’d been driving for an hour—beginning from the Russian side near the Estonian border—when the transport van finally approached the Kadriorg Palace. Lisabette’s lair in Estonia. Finally. I needed to lay my eyes on Anya and know she was all right. I’d wanted to ride in the back of the transport van with her, but that would’ve been a giveaway that she meant more to me than she should. And Lisabette’s demon guards who’d picked us up were all too watchful.
Still, having to watch the guards shut her in the barred cage where her wings were cramped nearly sent me into a rage. Skaal had to send me off to smoke a cigarette while they cuffed her wrists before I ripped their arms off. The anxiety from having her out of my eyesight as we drove deeper and deeper into Vladek’s territory struck a harrowing nerve.
We’d passed his castle, the medieval Ivongorod on the Narva River, but thankfully the guards kept going, trekking through the snow-swept lands of Estonia. I’d watched the flow of the river for some time, noting its path moving away from Vladek’s lands where I knew it emptied in the Baltic Sea. I’d used the time as we approached Lisabette’s palace to formulate our plan. The terrain gave me all the ideas I needed. One last piece would slip into place, but only after we got inside her palace and I found what I was looking for.
The sight of her palace, a seventeenth-century Baroque, actually made me heave a sigh of relief. The muscle-bound guard I was paired with—Vaughn—glanced at me. Skaal was in a black SUV with another behind us. Vaughn had said little to nothing along the way, which was fine by me. But with the sight of the palace in the near distance, and my anxiety easing up, I realized a misstep on my part. Time to charm him with what time we had left.
“Nervous?” His Russian accent was thick. “You don’t seem the type to be nervous, my lord.”
I found it interesting that lowlings still gave me the deference of my station. Obviously, he didn’t know about my outcast status, but I was sure that secret would be out before long. Coming here of my own accord was like taking a leisurely Sunday stroll into Tolkien’s Mount Doom in Mordor. It just wasn’t done. But I’d never played by the rules. Why bother now, even though this witch could trap me here and offer me to her master as a gift. From what I knew of her, she liked her independence. And her power. Her greed and pride would be all I needed to flip it all my way.
“No, comrade,” I replied. “Just need a cigarette.”
I pulled the pack from my inside pocket and rolled a brimstone between my thumb and forefinger, catching the guard’s eye.
“Care for one?”
“Ya.” He smiled for the first time, taking a cigarette from my case.
I snapped it shut and tucked it away. Flipping my Zippo to life, I lit his first, then mine, cracking the window. Frigid winter air sucked out the swirling smoke. Even so, the deep inhalation inside this contained space sparked my senses to an electric hum under my skin. Exactly what I needed.
“Fuck,” said the guard. “Best brimstone I’ve ever had.”
“I have the best supplier. Good friend of mine.”
“Care to share?”
“Her name is Bone.” I flicked the tip of ash out the window. “From London.”
“Bone?” His eyes widened farther. “The maker of the ether-enhanced automatics? And the forger of the black steel claymore?”
Relaxing into a friendly smile, I was thankful once more for Bone’s kickass skills. And the fact she liked me. She didn’t like many demons. Or angels or humans, for that matter. This was my in.
“She’s the one.” I lifted my mechanical hand, displaying its dexterity and craftsmanship. “She made this for me, too.” I wiggled my fingers and balled them into a fist. “Remarkably skilled.”
The brawny demon stared at me like I was a god. Comical, that.
“My comrades and I worship her.”
Yeah, I could see that. They probably had a shrine and everything.
“She’s gifted. No mistaking that.”
“But expensive. I’m saving drakuls for a set of her black steel daggers.”
Opening my jacket, I reached down to my belt and slid out one of the finger-length set she’d given me.
“Take a look at this. One of her newest crafts. Throwing daggers.”
He switched his brimstone cigarette from his right to his left hand and kept it on the wheel as he took the sleek-designed dagger into his right.
“Whoa.” He shook his head, barely keeping an eye on the road as we swiveled up a winding drive toward the palace, the grounds blanketed in snow. “Remarkable.”
“Isn’t it? Why don’t you keep that one?”
His hand jerked on the wheel, swerving the vehicle a foot before he righted it.
“My lord,” he said in a hushed voice. “I couldn’t take such a gift. No payment is needed for escorting you here with Skaal. It’s my job.”
“No worries. I’ve got a whole set. And a number of other weapons made by Bone.”
He frowned.
“At home, of course.” I’d had to give up my weapons at the border, allowing Vaughn’s partner to store them in his van. “That’s just a keepsake.”
Vaughn appeared to believe me, for what harm could a lone demon lord do with one tiny dagger. I still had the rest of the set inside my belt, but he was so fascinated with my gift, he didn’t seem to care.
“But. You don’t even know me.”
I gestured between us, my cigarette in my mechanical hand. “From comrade to comrade.”
He swallowed hard, glancing at the little dagger, then at me, obviously in awe that a stranger could offer something without demanding payment in return. Demons didn’t know what to do with kindness. Anya would be so proud, until she discovered I was laying a trap. Or perhaps she’d be proud since this was for her anyway. He stared at the perfectly crafted blade sitting on his palm, like he was holding a baby viper. Awfully precious, but he was sure it would bite.
And it would. But he’d never expect it.
Clearing his throat uncomfortably, he tucked the blade inside a pocket of his jacket. “Thanks. My lord.”
“No problem.”
He veered the van toward the front of the two-story palace, it’s Grecian columns embedded into the building and white flowery filigree an ostentatious display of the Baroque style. The palace was a gift from the Czar Peter the Great to his wife, Catherine. I suppose an apt tribute as it was a gift from Vladek to his first and favorite concubine.
Something told me the pretty façade would be in direct contrast to what awaited inside. We rolled up the snow-covered drive, the fountains sporadically placed in the topiary garden all frozen and smothered in white. I jumped out the vehicle and walked to the edge of the drive, looking out, pretending I wasn’t waiting to hear and smell the presence of my angel as the guard hauled her out. It wouldn’t do to show too much attachment to her. Not on a personal level. I’d have to pretend my possession was due to her warrior prowess. And the pleasures she brought me. That’s the only language Lisabette would understand without pointing out the fact that she was my greatest weakness.
I dragged in a deep inhale of brimstone, noting the blackbird winging to a far-off tree, perching with seeming disinterest. Puck was aware this was dangerous. Not a good sign.
“There you go, baby,” said Vaughn, helping Anya to her feet, her hands shackled in front of her.
Redressed in her all black skintight combat gear, as opposed to that angel-whore get-up she had to wear at Odin Shans, I sighed relief as I flicked the butt of my cigarette into the snow where it sizzled dead. Ambling over as casual as I could—wanting to punch Vaughn in the throat for calling her baby—I spoke with very distinct certainty.
“Vaughn. No one touches her. She is my property. Do you understand me?”
The big dude’s eyes widened into saucers. “Of course. My lord. You are Skaal’s guests.”
Obviously, Lisabette had no idea that Skaal was the outside link to getting Nadya out of this hellhole. I wondered again what her story was. But no time for that now. Vaughn gestured toward the door and marched ahead. The second guard and Skaal were coming up behind us. I looked at Anya, observing her expression, reading her mood.
Face placid, eyes steady, back straight, she was ready.
“He shows himself at the oddest times.” Her gaze flicked over my shoulder to Puck in the distance.
“He comes when he’s needed.”
She made no remark, but moved to follow Vaughn when I urged her forward with a hand at her back. I wanted to let my fingers linger, keep her close, but this ruse wouldn’t work if Lisabette or her demons saw through me.
Stepping through the entrance onto checkerboard tile, the ceiling went straight up to the second floor, complete with heavenly scenes painted on the ceiling and white Baroque angel sculptures playing the lyre or blowing a golden trumpet jutting from every ornate filigree. And somewhere in the distance, strains of an eerie orchestra called to us.
Vaughn marched through the empty chamber and down a hall toward the haunting sound. Anya—chin up and confident stride—followed with grace. Whether we walked to our doom or not, she always held her head high. I wanted to grab her and get the fuck out of here before it was too late. But fate, it seemed, had plans for us both. So I walked on, following in her footsteps, letting her take me wherever this path led—to death or to freedom—it didn’t matter. As long as we walked together.
The plaintive strains of violin, cello, oboe, and flute drew us in, the melody wistful but not near as heartrending as the sound that joined the tune in perfect harmony. A voice. An ethereal voice singing a mournful song of the beauty and love of the perfect queen. Obviously an ode to the witch. I knew that sound, one that evoked palpable emotion that could rip a soul in half with song. A seraph. Lisabette held a seraph captive.
We slowed as we entered the chamber. The orchestra played, and the seraph stood at the center. Golden-haired, white wings downy and perfect, her gown—transparent white silk and cut in a vee down to her navel—displayed a mockery of what a seraph truly was. Their gift of song wasn’t simply for praise, it was to literally lift the human souls of those who’d lost too much, who’d lost hope, and were in the binding chains of despair. Their voices could transform souls. Save souls. This angel of Elysium was now reduced to a show horse—wantonly displayed—and forced to praise her slave owner with her gift of song. Even with the palpable touch of her voice vibrating in the air, captivating its demonic audience, this was only a fraction of what a seraph’s song could do.
A swift sweep of the room showed that every underling courtier here felt the song in their bones, just as I did. But I wasn’t fooled by the seraph’s words. I was a high demon, once much higher than that. Seeing through the veneer of the witch’s hypnotic trick was all too easy.
I followed Anya’s gaze toward the angel standing beside a golden throne where Lisabette sat in her glory.
Uriel.
Holy fuck.
What had they done to him?
His gaze was fixed on the floor, manacled wrists and ankles and a steel collar like the one I’d put on Anya back in Berlin. But this one wasn’t just for show. This one would most definitely contain heavy demon essence to keep him under control. Demon witch essence. His wings—once white and tipped in gold—were dusky from dirt and splattered with darker stains. The upper curve of his left wing was shorn of feathers, the raw skin and bone showing beneath. He wore…nothing. His body reflected the abuse he’d suffered. Nicks and scars. Too many to count. Some looked as if they were claw marks, across his chest, down one bare thigh.
His long blond hair hung forward, masking his shadowed face. But I knew whenever I looked into those eyes, it would not be the Uriel I knew before. All-powerful. Almighty. Magnificent in radiant energy. His radiance had been snuffed out by the obscenity of Lisabette sitting beside him.
Draped in black silk, matching the shade of her hair, a crown of blood-red rubies atop her head and dripping at her throat, she was voluptuous and beautiful and every inch a dark queen. As the seraph’s final note raised to the ceiling, the crowd erupted in applause. These creatures—lower demons, humans, witches some beautiful, some horrific—were dressed in ghastly finery. Raiment of the Goth world—reds and blacks, corsets and leather, collars and tattoos—it almost looked like I’d just walked into my old lair of the Dungeon back when I ruled New Orleans.
This was a familiar scene. Except for one thing. In my world, I’d never forced enslavement. Humans and outsiders could join the party. Or they could get the fuck out. And no one was collared without consent. Yeah, I was a demon. But I followed the rules. I indulged in excess, all manner of pleasure and sin. Practically fucking swam in it. But what makes that kind of decadence the most pleasurable is when it’s freely given. I wasn’t a sadist.
Apparently, Lisabette was. She was also powerful, a wielder of black magic, and the favorite concubine of a dangerous, brutal demon prince. This was fucked up.
Skaal came to my side. As the applause dimmed, Lisabette craned her neck in our direction. She knew we were there but had waited for the song praising her beauty and glory by her enslaved seraph to finally finish before she deemed to look our way. Her fire-gold gaze should’ve shocked me. It was of an otherworld, but not exactly hell, somewhere in between. She was a creature of her own making, an amalgam of black magic and blood sacrifice and her demon prince lover’s essence.
When her head swiveled, that’s when I noticed her beasts, whose heads mirrored her movement. Two of them. Bigger than any hounds of hell I’d ever seen. Laying lionlike on opposite sides of her throne, one with his paw over Uriel’s bare foot, their red eyes gleamed, watching and assessing just as their mistress did. Shaggy gray, like wolf hounds, with protruding canines like saber beasts, they were extraordinary. Horrifying. I knew when they stood, their shoulders would reach my own.
Lisabette raised a hand to silence her court. They did at once, following her gaze to us.
“Skaal,” she crooned with syrupy sweetness. “How good of you to pay me a visit. Odin Shans has brought me new entertainment?”
“Your Grace.”
Your Grace? Christ. Another one with a god complex. Or queen complex, to be precise.
He strolled forward to the edge of her red carpet that rolled out from her throne. I followed with Anya beside me, though she kept slightly behind, showing deference, her eyes cast down, keeping up the charade. When Skaal bowed, so did I and Anya.
“Permit me to introduce his lordship, Dommiel, and his angel warrior, Anya.”
I felt movement from Uriel but didn’t dare look at him.
“Dommiel?” She tapped a red-tipped nail on the arm of her throne. “I’ve heard of you.”
I knew there was no chance to hide who I was. There would be too many in her company. Someone would know me. The gaunt black-eyed, raven-haired high demon to her right, her advisor no doubt, looked at me with recognition. But fuck all if I was going to hide or let Skaal take Anya in here without me. Forget about it. So here I was. Dommiel, the traitor, traipsing into the witch’s lair like I didn’t give a fuck. When my nerves were about to fracture into a million pieces with Anya so close to such putrid, foul evil.
Skaal knew my backstory as well as anyone. The basic tale, this high demon helped the demon hunters, so a prince cut out his eye for it. They had no idea how deep my betrayal went. They had no idea I was in love with one of the enemy—the badass, beautiful angel standing slightly behind me to my right. And that I’d kill every motherfucking one of them if they touched her.
“Step forward, my lord.”
Certainly not a request. I stepped forward till her hounds lifted their heads, at alert. But neither growled. I clasped my hands in front of me, bringing her attention to my crotch. Lisabette’s fiery gaze swept down my body, stopping at my dick or maybe she was taking in my mechanical arm—both seemed to please her—then back up.
“You’re quite notorious, Dommiel.”
“I’m aware, Your Grace.”
I smiled in the way I once did so long ago, when I’d honed in on the woman I wanted for the night. Strange feeling to be giving her that look. Nauseating, to be more exact.
Just as it did in my player days, her body reacted. She arched her spine a fraction, pushing her breasts higher, squeezing her thighs tighter, opening her mouth but not saying a word. At first. Then she gave me her smile. The one that seduced demon princes and made minions fall at her feet. But I didn’t blink. Didn’t move a muscle. Why? Because that would make her want me more. To get me under her spell.
She tilted her beautiful head, a sleek wave of black hair slipping over her alabaster shoulder, her black gown in the halter style.
“Tell me. Is it true what they say about you?”
“I’m not sure. They say a lot of things about me. What have you heard?”
The weight of everyone’s attention wasn’t beyond me. But I’d talked my way out of rougher spots than this. Bring it, witch.
“That you allied with the vessel they call the Destroyer. The one who can kill with a word.”
Gasps and whispers ricocheted through the court. Someone hissed.
I chuckled. “Words always get twisted in the retelling, don’t they?” Keeping eye contact with her, I barreled on. “That isn’t what happened. I owed the vessel a favor, for she’d done one for me that must be repaid. And I always pay my debts.”
Lies, of course. It was the other way around. I’d helped Genevieve get into hell to find her man, Jude. And she’d repaid me by stopping Damas before he took far more than one eye. But I was the perfect liar. Full eye contact, voice steady, I could out-lie the devil himself if needed. But let’s hope it didn’t come to that.
She reached out with her left bejeweled hand, rings on every finger, and stroked the hound on her left.
“I like a man who pays his debts.”
“Then we would get along perfectly, Your Grace.”
“I bet we would.” A quirk of her red lips.
I lowered to a crouch in front of the other beast on her right. A startled gasp and some chick actually squeaked in fear as I squatted eye level with the hound.
“Best be careful, my lord. Sheeba has been known to snap off someone’s head when she didn’t like them.”
“Oh, the beasts always like me,” I murmured in a soft rumble, reaching up to let her smell my real hand.
Someone to the right of the throne fainted.
“Your spawn?” I queried.
Lisabette was quite still, watching her hound, watching me. The fanged animal sniffed my hand.
“Easy, girl,” I purred. “Let daddy stroke you.”
Yeah, I used sexual innuendo, knowing the witch’s imagination would bend to me talking to her that way.
Sheeba lay her head back onto her great paws, one of them still covetously laying on top of Uriel’s foot. She nuzzled my leg with her nose, giving me permission, so I stroked the top of her head.
Heavy murmurs carried through the room. I felt Anya’s stare into my back, but I couldn’t reassure her with even a glance. Not yet. Not here.
Meeting Lisabette’s surprised gaze, I smiled wider. “I’m not so bad, Your Grace.”
Scratching behind her ear, the she-beast actually made a contented sigh, though her mate grumbled behind me.
“The girls like me.” I winked.
Her bemused expression moved to Skaal and Anya. That’s when I finally chanced to look up at Uriel. God, his eyes. Hollows of fury behind a blank mask, but somewhere within his searching eyes, I caught the flicker of hope. He knew why we were there. That was all I needed.
“Step forward, Skaal. Tell me about the exploits of our guests.”
I stood and clasped my hands before me as Skaal stepped to my side.
“Dommiel’s angel warrior battled Crusalla the Crusher in the pit at Odin Shans. With deft skill, Anya killed her in under two minutes.”
Another ripple of murmurs and surprised gasps.
“Did she? Step forward, angel.”
Anya did so, keeping her demeanor submissive and her gaze down. Good girl.
Lisabette stood and swayed seductively down the three carpeted steps to our level, stopping at my side but staring at Anya.
“You may look at me, slave.”
Anya lifted her gaze, my essence swirling in black wisps behind her violet eyes.
“Mmm.”
Lisabette swiveled to me, angling her voluptuous body in a sensual pose which had probably slayed many a man, hooked them deep, cock and brain and all.
“She is easy to control?”
“Like cleaning and cocking my gun.”
Her smile widened. I didn’t dare look at Anya, who was surely seething. Lisabette placed her perfectly manicured hand on her hip she jutted out for my perusal.
“And where did you catch such a creature? She has the look of a true warrior. One of Maximus’s army.” Her scrutiny shifted back to Anya. “You captured her from a battle?”
“After a battle. Maximus is sweeping his way through Germany at the moment. I was visiting a friend in Berlin when he crashed our party.”
The skeleton-like advisor strode forward to her side with hurried steps, bending from behind to whisper in her ear, his beady-eyed gaze on me. Lisabette’s hawk-gold eyes widened with interest, arching a brow when she spoke.
“And are you sure this isn’t all some deception, my lord? Gibbon has just informed me that you share blood with the infamous general.”
Gibbon can suck my dick. I didn’t flinch. Not even when I felt Anya’s stare.
“Since you have a history of working with the enemy, how do I know you haven’t reconciled with your brother, Maximus, since the Fall and aren’t here on some reckless expedition to infiltrate my lair?”
I could feel Anya’s stare boring into the back of my head as the witch laid out for everyone who Maximus truly was to me. I kept my cool.
“I suppose you don’t, Your Grace. And while I realize it’s difficult to trust a demon like me, you must understand that I hate my fucking brother.”
The truth rang in the room. I squared off with her, edging farther into her personal space, hands low on my hips, dropping my voice to an intimate whisper.
“But there are definitely things here I’d like to infiltrate.”
I let my gaze wander down to her full breasts, then back up to her mouth before moving back to her eyes. The gold was drowning in black, dilated from arousal. Good to know I still had my touch. This was the most important conquest of my life. Everything depended on it.
“My price is five hundred drakuls for a battle with Sheeba in my arena.”
“My slave is lethal,” I promised. “Your bitch is too pretty and precious to be marred by the likes of her. How about one of your warriors?”
She tilted her head, marveling at the scar running above and below my eye patch. Yeah. She liked ’em rough and scarred. Just take a look at Uriel, poor bastard. I didn’t even want to know the things she’d done to him in her pursuit of pleasure. And of all the half-dressed, whorish-looking get-ups on these courtiers, not one was fully naked. Fully exposed. Only Uriel. A punishment, torture, of sorts, I imagine. Stripped of his dignity. The witch liked inflicting emotional as well as physical pain.
She glanced down her line of courtiers, some of them obviously trained warriors.
“I have one or two you can choose from. Several furies, in fact. And the five hundred drakuls? Is that satisfactory payment for your angel slave?”
Inching forward, I reached below with my mechanical hand, letting a finger brush the skirt by her thigh, not quite making contact with her skin. With a swipe of my tongue across my bottom lip, I said, “I’d rather negotiate my price in private.”
Smiling like the fiend she was, she stepped back out of reach and sashayed down the red carpet as if leaving, stopped beside Anya, and perused her from head to heel before tossing over her shoulder for all to hear.
“Negotiations in my bedchamber at sunset, my lord. Dinner will follow in the main ballroom before our entertainment. Gibbon will make sure you’re settled into the guest quarters.”
A small train of courtiers followed. Others bustled freely. The seraph was escorted with a gold chain around her neck by a behemoth of a fury, his horn in the middle of his forehead tipped with a silver spike. Another fury in similar garb pulled Uriel behind him by the chain attached to his neck collar. Uriel breathed not a word, barely glancing at me, then Anya before he was gone. The rage still simmering behind crystal-fire eyes.
Skaal moved in close and offered his hand. I took it. “Good luck to you, Dommiel.” His words held weight and meaning just for me. “I’ll be off now.” With a quick nod, he followed the crowd back toward the exit.
Then that skeletal advisor stood before me. Gibbon. Asslick. He outed me in front of Anya. Something I wasn’t ready to talk about.
“My lord, if you will follow me, I’ll show you to your quarters. Vaughn will take your slave to hers.”
“Whoa.” I held up a hand as Vaughn wrapped his hand around Anya’s forearm. “She stays close to me.”
“I’m sorry, my lord, but slaves have separate chambers. Vaughn will be careful—”
“No. She goes with me. She’s my property. And I don’t trust everyone in this place.” I emphasized that with a death glare.
Clearing his pencil-sized throat, “That’s highly irregular, my lord. I’ll have to inform Her Grace.”
“Don’t bother.” I pressed into his space, voice dark. “I’ll tell her myself when I meet with her privately in her bedroom.”
“Yes, yes. Of course. Th-this way.”
He led on. Vaughn followed, apparently the official guard assigned to Anya. Or to both of us. Perfect. Making our way through the tiled halls, Anya behind me, we followed Gibbon to the second floor and down another hallway. He stopped before a door and gave a tight bow.
“An escort will arrive at sunset to escort you to Her Grace’s chamber.”
“Thank you, Gibbon.”
Vaughn took his guardian stance as I let Anya enter before me. As soon as we were inside, an audible snick of a key locking the door from the outside answered the final question I had about this place.
Anya spun to face me, eyes pooling with angry tears. She scream-whispered, “What in the hell were you doing down there?”
I stalked forward. “I told you I had a plan.”
She stepped back.
“Is it true? Is Maximus your brother?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You never asked.”
She continued to shuffle back away from me.
“And you want to seduce that…that thing. Did you see Uriel?” She choked on a sob. “What she did to him?”
“Yes. Of course, I saw.”
Clamping my jaw tight, I tried to ignore the stricken pain on her face at the thought of Uriel, knowing he could very well be my one competition for her affections. Once we got him out of here.
Arching a brow, “Why are you walking away from me?”
“I don’t know. I’m furious. And I don’t know why.”
“Yes, you do.” Her wings and back hit the wall. I corralled her in, cupping her jaw with my real hand, tilting her face up to me. “You’re seething with hatred because of what she did to Uriel. And that I have to take the risk instead of you being in the pit this time.” She bit her bottom lip, her eyes flinty. “Well, let me fucking tell you something. No way in hell am I standing by and watching you fight again. I have a plan to get us and Uriel out before.”
“Fine. Tell me your plan.” Furious sparks glinted in those beautiful pools of violet.
“I’m going to seduce her.”
“That’s a great idea.” Her hands on hips, she rolled her eyes.
“Pretend to seduce her, that is.”
“Do you see what she’s done to Uriel? You think she can’t overpower you? You think that—”
I cupped my hand over her mouth as her voice rose in anger and glanced toward the door. No one entered. She inhaled and exhaled in large gusts, her eyes more cloudy than before. Had I triggered my essence somehow and not known it? It appeared to be filling up too much of the blue-violet.
“Listen, baby,” I crooned.
She narrowed her eyes, still fuming. She didn’t like me gentling her when her blood was up. So cute. It made me want to sit and pull her onto my lap and let her ride out all that anger on me.
“Listen.” A stern command. “I’m not going to fuck her, if that’s what you’re worried about. Nadya told us that she keeps Uriel in her room, like her own personal dog. I’m going to get close enough to use my essence to bend her to my will, kill her, take Uriel, then come back and get you.”
Her intense breathing slowed. Her eyes easing up on the death glare. I removed my hand.
“She’s a powerful witch. You heard Nadya. She may overpower you. It’s dangerous.” She lifted her hand to cup my face in a gentle caress that made my heart stutter.
“We knew this would be dangerous.” I wrapped my hand around her nape. “But I’m more powerful than you think.”
Sweeping my lips against hers, I nipped and licked and pried till she softened and opened for me, my pretty night flower. Then she was on me, legs wrapped around my waist. Cupping her perfect ass, I walked backward to the bed and sat, swallowing her sweet moan when she ground herself down on my dick. With soft strokes of my hands, I caressed every part of her I could—her ass, her thighs, hips, waist, breasts, back, wings. I wanted to touch all of her, wanted to kiss every inch, wanted to consume the sweetness of her and let it linger on my tongue for-fucking-ever. She was the most powerful balm to my weary soul. These moments had become everything to me, when I could touch and kiss and claim and call her—
“Mine,” I whispered.
“Yes.” She bit my bottom lip, grinding down harder. “And you are mine, Dommiel.”
Christ. The very thought of belonging to one as sweet as her tore me in two, the idea too perfect, too euphoric to contemplate for too long.
Happiness? What the fuck was that?
With a firm grip, I cupped her jaw with both hands, easing her back, my heart in my goddamn throat for what I was about to say. But it must be done. And one thing I wasn’t was a coward.
Brushing my thumb in that curve beneath her lip, a place I was apparently addicted to, I met her questioning gaze.
“What is it?”
“Baby.” We were both panting. “I want you. Not for an hour or a day or a month.” I licked my lips, stalling while my heart stopped slamming painfully into my ribs. “I want you for eternity. I want you in my bed.” I nibbled at her bottom lip, finding my own lips trembling as I whispered, closing my eye and pressing my forehead to hers, “I want you in my heart.”
A soft exhale. I couldn’t look. Couldn’t see any form of rejection. Temporary lovers was one thing. But I saw the way she looked at Uriel. She cared for him. And if it was one tenth what I felt for her, then I’d surely lose her to him.
“Oh, Dommiel.”
Her soft lips pressed to mine.
“Look at me,” she coaxed with that heavenly fucking voice.
I did, unable to defy her, finding tears streaking her face.
“You’ve had my heart for some time now.”
I couldn’t speak. She laughed.
“I think it was when you fed that dog a scrap of food in Venice.”
“Anya.”
Crushing my mouth to hers, I showed her what I couldn’t say in words. A kiss of longing, gratitude, relief, passion, unending need.
She moaned again, her hands clutched in my hair, pressing her body, molding it to mine. It was the happiest goddamn moment of my life, and it was in the middle of a demon witch’s palace surrounded by those who would flay us alive—literally—if they knew the truth. Never before had I endeavored to protect a lie so dear. A lie that sparked light and life into my demon heart.
On a shaky breath, we parted. Pulling her back onto the bed, I lay on my side facing her, wrapping an arm around her back to press her close, our legs tangled.
“I’d rather do this naked, but now isn’t the time to consummate our relationship.”
She laughed intimately. “I think we’ve consummated it quite enough.”
“No. That was just sex.”
“Just sex?” She hmphed. “I thought it was rather…something better, more than that.”
Preening a little, I arched a brow and smiled. “It was everything, Anya. It was our beginning. But I want inside you now that we’ve…”
I was at a loss for words, trying to figure out what to call us. Girlfriend/boyfriend? No. That was stupid. Lovers wasn’t strong enough.
She giggled again and said in a rather superior tone. “Now that we’ve committed ourselves to each other. And each other alone, you mean.”
“Yes.” I kissed her, sliding my tongue in for a quick taste. “That.”
She wrapped her arms around my neck and tucked her face into the crook of my shoulder. I squeezed her to me, both of us seeming to understand how dire this was. It was easy when we were risking just ourselves. But now we risked each other. We risked this newfound bond, fragile and fresh. The fear of losing it was the most horrifying feeling I’d ever known.
So we held each other. Quietly. Saying nothing. Just feeling. As the sun slipped lower, the light darkening through the window, marking our time as almost up. Then she asked me a question I wasn’t ready to answer.
“What happened between you and Maximus?”
What a question. Sighing heavily, I figured I’d better tell her. No. I wanted to tell her. I knew she’d let me unburden, and there would be no judgment coming from my angel.
“How old are you?”
Pause. “Five hundred and three.”
I tugged her close, my hand at the small of her back. “You’re just a wee babe. Feel like I’m robbing the cradle.”
She half laughed, but said nothing, her arm around my waist hugging tighter.
“I am over four thousand years old. I stopped counting once I hit four millennia.” Inhaling a deep breath, I just said it all. “As per usual, when angels are born, our parents let the warden angels raise us till we were old enough to find our calling. It was obvious that Maximus and I were built to be warriors. So we joined. And fought.”
I paused, remembering Maximus and I sparring together, laughing as we learned our brutal work of art—combat.
“You may not realize this, but there have always been demons. Even before the Fall. Creatures of such putrid malice. Malformed, horned, diseased, rotting.”
I squeezed her to me, as if I could protect her from the memories of those days, fighting evil incarnate.
“Our job was to keep them in their realm, in the netherworld. And so we did. It was enough for a while. But then grumblings began. All we did was fight and bleed. Get clawed and maimed, heal, then do it all over again. Year after year. Decade after decade. Century after century. Then finally, some of them got out, venturing into the realm of men. And that’s when angels finally took notice of the fragile beings called humans and their world.”
Such a very long time ago, and yet, I could still see myself then. Vast black wings, skyrocketing down to the earth when the earliest of mankind was plagued with these monsters, infiltrating life on earth.
“We continued to fight our fight, but we also noticed something we’d never seen before.”
“What was that?” she whispered, voice husky and soft. Laced with sorrow.
“Humans. The joys and pleasures of the flesh. In all their forms. We wanted more than toil and battle. Some in Elysium started to rebel. I was one of them.”
“But Maximus wasn’t.”
“No. My brother was the one who tossed me out of Elysium, cast me down personally. I can still see that enraged look on his face.”
We were quiet. Anya stroked her hand up my back, like soothing a child. I would’ve laughed if it didn’t feel so fucking good to be soothed, to be cared for. To not be condemned.
“The ironic thing is that I never wanted to stop fighting. Never wanted to leave Elysium. It was that I saw the flaws in our world. We defended what was good and right, but we never savored it. We never cherished it. All we did was work, defend, guard, bleed, then do it some more. We only knew toil, no joy. No pleasure.”
Why I tried to defend my choice to break from a home that had once filled me with pride and contentment, I had no idea. Whether it was wrong or not, it was the path I’d chosen. And nothing could change what came later.
“So, you and the rebels, rose up against Elysium.”
“And lost. Of course.”
She sat up, leaning her weight on one arm. I couldn’t help but stray to her wings, arching behind her, reflecting a sapphire sheen in the light of dusk. Something like regret and sadness flitted over her expression.
I chuckled, twining a dark lock of her hair around my metal forefinger.
“No need to feel sorry for me. Though my heart wasn’t totally for the rebellion, once I was cast out, I took full advantage, falling as far as I could go. I earned my title of a high demon of hell, baby. No mistaking that.”
She swallowed hard, her brow pinched, soft voice thick with emotion.
“And yet, you’re not entirely like the others, are you?”
I rolled up into a sitting position with an exasperated sigh. “Don’t try to make me into an innocent. I am not innocent.”
“I never said you were. Who is, really?”
I brushed a finger along the porcelain line of her jaw. “You are.”
She laughed and arched her beautiful brow. “I am most certainly not. Wrath sits on my heart like a dragon just waiting for the chance to breathe fire.” She angled her head thoughtfully, staring down at the white coverlet. “When I was in that pit with Crusalla, beating her wasn’t enough. I craved annihilation. Obliteration.” Velvety-blue eyes locked onto me. “Bloodlust rode me hard. And I let it take control.”
“I’m aware of that.” Like this wasn’t something I knew already. “She deserved it.”
Anya shook her head. “It doesn’t matter if someone deserves the worst kind of fate or not for their foul deeds, the darkness was reflected in me. In my need to punish, to feel that thrill of justification by blade and the spilling of blood.”
This was a feeling I was all too familiar with. A feeling I relished. It obviously had the opposite effect on my angel, her tender heart pricking at her own ability to wield such bloody vengeance. And that alone, the pain of regret in her eyes, drew me to her like a magnet to the north. Sweeping close and cupping her jaw, I brushed my lips over hers, that heady feeling of intoxication knocking my senses off balance.
She whispered, “It’s like you said. The lines are blurred.”
“You’re far from damned, baby. If anything, that sweet soul of yours might just save mine.”
We lingered, foreheads together, breathing each other’s air, inhaling one another’s emotions, savoring this nascent intimacy that I didn’t even know existed. Until, finally, I swung out of the bed, offering my mechanical hand. She took it without a thought, something that still jarred me. So accepting. So trusting. Of me. I guided her down on the chest at the foot of the bed. She flared out her wings and closed them again. Her nervous tic.
“If,” I started, holding her gaze, “for some reason I don’t make it back.”
“No,” she snapped. “You will make it back.”
“I sure as shit plan to, baby.” I swept a finger along her pretty jaw. “But if I don’t, kill the guard and get out of here.”
I pulled two of the finger-length daggers from their hidden sheath on the backside of my belt and gave them to her.
“But, Uriel—”
“Anya. Hear me. Get yourself out. Find Genevieve and come back with an army to get him. Hell, that’s probably what we should’ve done anyway.”
Of course, that never could’ve happened. There was no way across Vladek’s borders without detection. The only way to infiltrate Lisabette’s lair was by deceit and stealth, exactly how we’d gotten ourselves here.
“Dommiel. Please, you must come back to—”
The door lock snicked. I took two steps away from Anya as Vaughn peered inside.
“My lord, your escort is here.”
And that was that.
Let the games begin.