Chapter Twenty-Three
Dommiel
I followed the fury back down to the first floor. He carried a tri-blade spear as his weapon of choice. He was a brute of a beast. I was relieved to see as we headed down the long corridor that there was only one other outside the obvious entrance to the queen’s lair with the opulent, gold-leafed double doors.
The second fury, serpentine eyes narrowing on me, opened the door where pink-tinted light spilled out into the hall. The furies were a gift of Vladek, no doubt. For only a high demon or a prince could spawn a creature of this magnitude. Best be on my game.
The knot twisting in my gut tightened to excruciating once I’d stepped inside and the door closed with a deafening click. The soft light, the song “Whore” by In This Moment playing, the bed draped in gossamer sheers and silks, and the demon witch standing with a glass of blood-red wine, wearing thin black lace, transparent bra, and panties all screamed fuck me. Hard. Apparently, no seduction would be required. She was primed and ready to go.
The irony here was that this was exactly the kind of scene I reveled in once upon a time. That vice had waned since the apocalypse descended on my playground and fucked my world. And it had vanished into ether when Anya stepped into my life.
Nausea roiled. I wanted to put my hands, my mouth, on this woman as much as I wanted to dip my head in acid. The sensation would probably be about the same.
“Come on. My lord.”
I scanned the room, more than pleased to find her two hounds dozing in one corner. Sheeba perked up, her ears twitching, when she caught sight of me. Atta girl. Just wait, baby. Her mate laid back his ears. That could be a problem. He wasn’t nearly as taken with me.
Glancing to the other side of the vast room, Uriel was chained at attention, chin down, fiery gaze on me.
“Don’t worry about him, darling. He likes to watch.”
She let loose a throaty giggle as if to her own joke. Uriel radiated quiet rage even from here. I didn’t even want to fucking know all the tortures and humiliations he’d endured in this place.
I ambled closer to her by a bar with an array of liquor decanters and wine, removing my leather jacket and tossing it on a purple suede sofa in her sitting area as I went. She tipped back the glass and smiled.
“He doesn’t bother me. As long as he doesn’t want to join.”
A maniacal laughter. “Not today. He’s pouting. We had an argument this morning.”
By this time, I was standing right in front of her. I braced both hands on the bar, either side of her. She tilted her head back to look up at me.
“I thought we were going to negotiate.”
“We are.”
She twisted her upper body enough to set her wineglass on the bar. Without hesitation, she lifted off my eye patch and set it aside, then smoothed her fingers over the scar, her perfect face tightening with lust, practically drooling.
I cringed, not wanting her goddamn hands on me, but needing to see this through. Needing to get closer.
“This must’ve hurt,” she said breathily.
“You have no idea.”
Her gaze shifted to the eye I had left. My mouth was thick with extended canines, my beast prowling in this heady atmosphere, waiting for the sign to attack. Her hands drifted to my shoulders as I pressed her body into the bar, sliding my thigh between her legs.
She gasped. “What are your terms, then, my lord? If you don’t want drakuls, what do you want?”
Games. All these fucking games. Had I really enjoyed playing in this world for so long? I can’t believe I hadn’t died from boredom, monotony, disgust.
Anya. Beautiful Anya. Had to get through this to get us out of here in one piece.
“I want to fuck you in your bed. Your Grace. And I’d like a return invitation”—fisting her hair in my hands till I knew it stung—“if you find me satisfactory.”
Her eyes glazed over with dark lust.
“Unless, of course, your master doesn’t allow you to play with others.”
The lust thinned a fraction, replaced by something harder, darker.
“Vladek is not my master. I have no master.”
“Until I have you pinned under me.”
She actually whimpered. I knew exactly how to reach her kind, the ones who needed ruthless domination to get off. I’d been playing this game far longer than her. I was thousands of years old. She was a mere human lifespan of about thirty-five.
“You seem to know me much better than I know you,” she whispered.
“Every demon with a dick from here to London has heard tales of the beautiful, bewitching Lisabette. I heard one too many. I wanted to look with my own eyes and touch with my own hands.”
“And were the tales true?”
“Indeed.”
I loosened my hold in her hair, massaging her scalp in slow circles, giving her a little taste of the gentle dom. Her eyes rolled back in her head.
“Do we have an agreement, Lisabette?”
“Yes,” she choked out.
I threw her over my shoulder caveman style and strode for the bed, tossing her across it none too gently. She grinned, panting with anticipation. Crawling up her body, I splayed my metal hand across her abdomen. She sucked in a breath.
Swallowing the acid trying to crawl from my churning stomach and up my throat, I did what I needed to do, regret already staining my conscience.
“How about a kiss for daddy?”
Her hands were in my hair, jerking me down. Her tongue was in my mouth, flicking over my canines before I had time to blink.
With every fiber inside me that was other, that had walked through the darkness, holding to my power like a lifeline to the paradise I’d lost, I summoned it forward and poured it down her throat. The electric hum that snapped alive with a jolt of power brought her from her fantasies of fucking to the here and now and to the danger too late. Holding my mouth to hers as her golden eyes flared bright with maddening rage, I pushed out a violent wave of essence till she was choking. Rearing back, she clawed at my chest, but I had her wrists pinned as she wrestled with the invading substance gripping her like a dragon’s claw.
“Obey,” I commanded. “Be still.”
Her body went limp as a ragdoll. Up on my knees, without regret, I ordered, “Stop breathing.”
Her mouth opened as if to choke or suck in air, but couldn’t. She had no idea what devil she’d taken to bed. And it was far too late. I’d committed countless murders over the centuries, but this one I relished. She was an abomination of humankind, filled with sadistic ill intent, bent on fulfilling her malevolent needs with cruelty and brutality.
She didn’t make a sound as her body bent, her lungs unable to disobey me and get the air she needed. A rumbling gruff from the male hound in the corner drew my attention. The damn beast recognized her struggle, her distress. This wasn’t her typical bed-play. He lifted his head, then slowly stood.
When she’d slipped into unconsciousness and I thought she’d breathe her last, a sudden force threw me violently off the bed. A black bubble of smoke covered over her entire body, and there was no mistaking the subtle inhalation of smoke with her shallow breaths.
“The key is in the side table,” said Uriel, his voice hoarse from apparent disuse.
Ignoring the subtle movement of the male hound—Sheeba perking up her head—I snagged the key and launched to Uriel, unlocking his shackles and collar.
“What is that?” I asked.
“Her magic. She has a spell to protect her in case she is close to death.”
“Fucking hell. How does she do that?”
“You don’t want to know. Right now, I need to take care of Bale.”
Turning to find the hellhound stalking around the bed toward us, I said, “Not sure you’re up to this, Uriel.”
The murderous glare he tossed me actually made me flinch. He snapped his wings open to their full breadth with a roll of his shoulders.
“She’s unconscious,” he practically hissed through gritted teeth. “She can’t control me now.”
Sheeba followed her mate, but not with the same malicious intent. I held her gaze and snapped, holding out my hand, as I moved out of Uriel’s way. She trotted to me. I whispered the soft incantation into the air when her nose nuzzled my palm. She was at eye level, her head as big as a crocodile’s. My essence swirled out of my mouth and into hers just as a flare of blinding white light burst with a soundless blast of energy.
Bale yelped as his body flew across the room and slammed into the concrete wall. Uriel—arms raised, face blazing with furious power—he lifted the hound and slammed it to the floor again. Already unconscious, he lifted the beast and dropped it again, fueled by pure wrath. Immediately, the door slammed open, the two furies barreling in.
“Sheeba,” I commanded, pointing. “Kill.”
Without hesitation, she reared up and knocked them to the floor with her paws. In two swift bites, she snapped both necks before they could even get a jab with their spears. While she took care of them, I’d run to the bar, took the thickest-glassed bottle and sprayed the contents on the sofa and carpet. Sliding on my jacket and my eye patch, I shoved the bottle in the inside pocket, then I walked to the bed and tore a piece of silk sheer from the canopy.
Uriel was down on one knee. I marched over and pulled him to his feet, bracing him under one arm, holding him around the ribs. He winced. The archangel was riddled with cuts and bruises. Then he’d expended too much power, already weakened having been the witch’s captive for so long.
He pointed to the bedside table again. At first, I couldn’t see what he wanted, then realized on top of the table was a pair of folded jeans. Men’s jeans.
“Fuck.” I grabbed them and tossed them to him. “She did a number on you.”
He didn’t respond, pulling them on with swift, jerky movements, his strength failing him now. She kept his dignity dangling in front of him the whole time, showing him what he couldn’t have when he displeased her. I wished I had killed her.
“You really hated that hound, didn’t you?” I switched subjects, glancing at the beast, blood pouring from his mouth.
“She loved him best,” he muttered. “Used to feed him human children to entertain the court.”
“Christ.” I glanced at Sheeba, who stood waiting for me, already tied to me. My heart sank, thinking of Anya being forced to see such a thing. “And Sheeba?”
“No,” he groaned as I got him into the hallway. “She never would.”
Before closing the door, I leaned Uriel on the doorframe, pulled out my Zippo, lit the shred of silk and tossed it inside before closing the door behind us. Making our way past Sheeba, I patted her neck. “Good girl. Down on your stomach, Sheeba.”
She lay down.
“What are you doing?” asked Uriel as I pushed him onto her back.
“Getting you out of here.”
“What about Anya? I won’t leave her here.”
A twinge of pain at his obvious care for her, I growled, “I’ll get her out. Go to the woodland beyond the garden. We’ll meet you there.” I gripped Sheeba’s muzzle. “Go to the woods. Do what the angel tells you. Kill anyone who tries to stop you.”
She chuffed and licked my face, then trotted toward the main foyer, her claws clicking on the tile. Then I was running up the stairs, not much time before the alarm was raised. I barely avoided a group of courtiers sauntering toward the banquet hall. Slowing my stride as I topped the stairs, I walked casually down the corridor where only Vaughn stood on guard. Another fortunate break of having Anya clustered in the guest quarters with me, there was only one guard whereas the slave quarters would surely have many more hovering about.
Vaughn frowned as I approached. I hadn’t been gone that long.
“All done?” he asked.
“Yeah. Negotiations will continue after the fight.” I winked with a player’s grin.
He chuckled. “Dude, you’re so lucky.”
Shaking his head, he turned, pulling the door keys from his pocket. Wrapping my hand around the neck of the whisky bottle I rapped twice right at the base of the skull where I knew it would count. He slumped to the floor on the instant.
“Sorry, Vaughn.”
The keys still in the lock, I twisted and opened, finding Anya, eyes dark as night, her arm drawn back, and a throwing dagger in hand. She heaved a sigh of relief and rushed to me, taking my hand and leaping over Vaughn without a word. Then we ran for our lives.