Chapter 13
Maximus took charge at the King of Wrath’s compound, Dante gaped when the Son of Wrath rejoiced to the point the fierce daemon actually laughed to find his bastard father’s body occupied by Jack. Satisfied Maximus would keep Wrath’s servants from suspecting anything amiss, Dante and Jack dematerialized to the old mill.
“Finally, cousin. We were about to start without you.”
Dante turned to see Davin smirking, though he noted, despite Davin’s casual stance and lighthearted appearance, the Son of Pride seemed uneasy, likely due to their unusual guests. A dozen angelen and sancten gathered on Dante’s left, while Jack stood alone near the back wall. In truth, Dante found the division of the dilapidated chamber comical, Dante’s cousins gathered on one side, Michael and his Guard the opposite.
“We had to ensure Satan’s minions knew the King was traveling and accepted Maximus as their ruler. These things take time,” Dante said.
“So all is taken care of?” Tony asked.
Dante nodded at Tony, who stood at Michael’s side. Dante scanned the other members of the Guard. Each immortal wore the same suspicious expression, their wary gazes flicking from Dante to Jack to Davin and the rest of his cousins. Dante’s cousins, on the other hand, appeared outright hostile, as this was the first time most of the Daemon Princes were this close to an immortal from the Hereafter. Most definitely their first time near a wraith. Dante held hope that everyone’s prejudices would change once they joined forces to defeat the Kings and the Horsemen. Life in Eastlake Falls would be much easier if they could walk among each other without fear.
Jack answered Tony’s question. “Of course it is taken care of.” Jack’s lips curled into a frown, the wraith offended at Tony’s doubt in his abilities. “I never fail and always accomplish whatever it is I set out to do.”
Dante snickered and immortals on both sides of the room rolled their eyes and scoffed, or chuckled at Jack’s arrogance. Dante might not like the prejudice Jack faced as a wraith, but if laughing at Jack brought the Guard and his cousins together and broke the icy silence between them, then Dante would accept it… for now anyway.
“Um, good,” Tony said. The saint’s pinched face let Dante know he was suppressing his urge to tell Jack exactly what he thought of self-aggrandizing. After a moment, Tony fixed his expression, took a deep breath, and turned to Michael.
“With Wrath neutralized,” Tony gestured toward Jack. “We can utilize his body to get close to the other Kings. The next step is for Jack, as Satan, call a meeting. Once all of the Kings arrive, we ambush them, our sorcerer in place, prepared to open the portal. Everyone should have their assigned tasks—”
“Return to me now!”
Dante winced at the voice echoing in his head and struggled to remain upright. The mill and its occupants faded to the background as the King of Lust’s command penetrated Dante’s mind to overtake his consciousness.
No! Oh Fates, not now!
Though he knew it to be futile, Dante fought back and pushed his own will against the King’s compulsion. Immediately, he knew it to be a mistake. Dante roared, crying out as red-hot pain stabbed the back of his skull. His ears rang so loud, this time Dante did collapse to his knees, his hands clamped over his ears. With his father penetrating his mind, Dante screamed and thrashed, waging an internal battle, his powers against those of his father’s.
A battle I cannot win.
“Amicus?” Jack’s voice scarcely registered as Asmodeus sent another, more forceful, demand.
“You shall come now, wretched whelp, lest you suffer at mine own hands.”
An anguished howl tore from Dante’s chest as the pain in his head exploded.
“Cousin, go.” Dante barely felt Davin’s hand on his back. “You cannot defy him and you know it. Don’t do this to yourself. I shall take care of everything ‘til you return.”
Unable to respond, Dante squeezed his eyes shut and dematerialized to his sick bastard of a father’s house of horrors high on the mountains that overlooked Eastlake Falls. The second Dante set foot on the King’s estate the excruciating pain flicked out of existence. Wards set in place by a bevy of powerful practitioners prevented Dante from dematerializing directly into the mansion. Only Asmodeus had that privilege, not that Dante wanted it.
“Son… you dare to keep me waiting? You know what I think of insolence.”
Dante blanched at the fury in his father’s tone and a wave of self-loathing crashed into him. Dante despised the fear his sire instilled. Dante was a powerful daemon in his own right. It galled him that one immortal had such a formidable hold over his thoughts and actions.
Gritting his teeth, Dante strode up the paved stone path and climbed the stairs to the enormous front entrance. Before he could reach for the knob, the door swung open to reveal one of the King’s many human slaves, this one a beautiful young female with sad brown eyes wearing only an inch wide red ribbon around her breasts and over her nipples, and the tiniest scrap of gauzy red material between her thighs, tied in place with a black ribbon over her hips.
“His highness has instructed me to inform you he is waiting in his personal salon,” she said, her eyes downcast.
This was another thing Dante despised. The fear etched in the female’s features despite Lust’s vicious compulsion over the girl. Dante witnessed plenty of abuse inflicted upon humans and immortals at his father’s hand, so he ignored her and brushed past to enter the single place on the Earthly plane he loathed above all others—Domus Desiderii.
When he reached the archway that led to the King’s private quarters, Dante paused to gather his courage. Son of a djinn, how Dante detested the weak and cowardly feelings that arose before he faced his father.
Soon he shall be gone.
The thought almost made Dante smile. Head held high, face stoic Dante stepped into the room. Like all of the Kings and their Sons, Asmodeus could read the fear and anxiety in Dante’s aura. Even so, maintaining a calm façade was important to Dante. His reactions were the only things Dante could control and he refused to concede that last bit of dignity.
Dante stopped in front of Asmodeus and went down on one knee, arm resting on his bent thigh, his head down. “Father.”
“You still try to defy me,” the King said. “Even after all this time.” Dante focused on breathing in and out through his nose, anything to not give his father the reaction the bastard wanted. “When will you learn?” The toe of a shiny black boot pushed against Dante’s chest and he toppled back to land ass first, sprawled on the marble floor.
Fury roared through Dante like an out of control wildfire. He clenched his fists and steeled his jaw to bite back the insults that clung to the tip of his tongue. Asmodeus laughed, a deep, cruel sound that penetrated deep into Dante’s very soul.
“You think I don’t know how much you hate me?” Dante fixed his gaze on his father’s midnight blue eyes, identical to his own, and sneered. Asmodeus stepped closer, towering over Dante. The King lifted his foot and placed the sole of his boot on Dante’s chest, applying a fraction of the pressure Dante knew he could inflict. “I know everything about you, you filthy little shit.”
With each word, his father shifted more of his weight to the foot on Dante’s chest until sweat trickled down Dante’s temples as he fought not to react. Any moment, he swore his ribcage would collapse and his heart beat so fast, Dante thought it might explode… if his father didn’t crush it first.
Asmodeus cocked his head and grinned. “Nothing to say to your dear father?” Dante flashed the King an enraged scowl but kept his mouth firmly shut. Not getting the response he desired, Asmodeus removed his foot and frowned. He stepped back but not before tossing out, “Useless piece of shit,” at Dante.
Dante clutched his chest and gasped for breath. It took several minutes to regain his faculties and crawl back to his knees. Not a single being—human or immortal—in the salon made a single sound. Without looking Dante knew there were seven others in the room, three humans, three immortals, and the King. One of the immortals had a smug, pleased aura that Dante immediately recognized as Vyltaran’s. The knowledge made his blood run cold, as the presence of the incubus never bode well for Dante.
As a distraction, Dante shifted his attention to the humans. All three were under his father’s compulsion and near to overflowing with lust. Dante was ashamed to admit his daemon snapped and snarled to get at the humans, his daemon side never one to refuse a delectable taste of desire.
One of the remaining two immortals was a sitri, mischievous little daemons that got off on instilling sexual impulses in others—usually humans—at the most inappropriate of moments, such as an overwhelming desire to strip naked in the center of the village square.
Yet, it was the aura of the final immortal that disturbed Dante the most. In fact, it had him more concerned than his own dire situation—even the thought of dealing with Vyltaran or his cruel father. Dante couldn’t see him or her, but the immortal’s aura was so weak he could hardly detect it at all. What little Dante could sense chilled his veins. The aura wasn’t riddled with fear or anxiety or anger—all of which Dante expected. No, the immortal was filled with sorrow, regret, and resignation—the aura of one who had given up wholly and completely. Aye, Dante was a daemon and did some cruel things in his time, even getting off on acts some considered depraved. But, notwithstanding his inherent nature, something about the near-lifeless immortal nearly moved him to tears.
“Ahhh, I see you found your gift.” Dante jerked his head up to face his father, having kept it lowered as he wandered off in his own mind and searched the auras in the room.
“Gift, father?” Dante questioned.
Behind him, Dante heard Vyltaran cruel scoff and Dante couldn’t stop the threatening growl that rumbled in his chest. Not only did Dante despise the incubus, his daemon did as well, viewing Vyltaran as competition for available lust. On a personal note, Dante simply hated the prick because he was a petty, vindictive bastard who took pleasure in Dante’s humiliation.
“Bring her forward,” Asmodeus commanded.
So the immortal is female.
Dante heard the clink of chains—without a doubt cursed to prevent the immortal from dematerializing, not that she could within the warded walls of the mansion—and flinched when a figure landed a heap between Dante and his father.
“A gift for my son,” Asmodeus said. Dante glanced at the frail female. Her naked and pale skin deeply bruised, long, matted hair covering her face. “Originally I wanted her for myself, as she is truly stunning.” His father stared down at the girl and grimaced. “When she isn’t filthier than an elf rolling in shit.” Asmodeus knelt at the girl’s side whilst staring at Dante. The evil gleam in the King’s eyes caused Dante to shudder. Without sparing her a glance, his father’s enormous hand fisted the female’s hair and with a cruel yank, pulled the girl’s head up so Dante could see her face.
Oh fates. No.
The girl. No, female. Dante knew her. Not by sight, but by aura. He would recognize it anywhere, she had been too far away and her aura too faint for him to realize until now, but the pain inflicted by his father caused her aura to pulse for a brief second. This is the Watcher. The one he sensed in the Guard’s hall. The one with the inexplicable interaction with the Archangel Michael.
“Isn’t she perfect?” Dante stiffened as Asmodeus cupped the female’s face and squeezed her cheeks in his powerful grip. The Watcher’s eyelids twitched but other than that, she gave no reaction to what Dante knew to be painful. Not even a flicker in her aura this time.
Think, Dante. He couldn’t allow his perverted father to violate the delicate and beautiful young Watcher.
Go with it for now.
“She is perfect,” Dante purred, scraping together every bit of long practiced deception to convince his father he desired the girl. Dante even backed off to allow his daemon side to surge forth. The action would switch his aura from angry to lust-filled. While Dante didn’t feel a single sexual urge for the girl, his daemon had other plans. Not that Dante had any intention of allowing his daemon to feed upon her. “You said she’s a gift?”
“Aye,” Asmodeus hummed. Dante’s mask nearly broke when the King’s hand released the Watcher’s face and slowly slid down to her throat, passing over a ring of nearly black bruises that wrapped around the pale, slender column like a collar, to roughly cup her breast. “I found this delightful snack on my property and decided she was to be your test.”
“Test?”
Vyltaran snickered and this time, Dante couldn’t help himself. He whipped his head around and bared his fangs at the incubus as he hissed, long and loud.
“Ha,” Vyltaran chuckled gleefully. “Defending his property already. He is taken with her, my lord. Maybe your son isn’t such a useless bitch after all.”
Asmodeus laughed along with the incubus. “Perhaps.” Then the King’s glee cut short and his face hardened. “You shall be locked in your chamber until you take the Watcher’s virginity. I insist you defile her many times in as many ways possible. Only when I feel you have finally given up these annoying human sensibilities of yours and surrendered to your true daemon nature, will I allow you your freedom.”
“And the female?”
Again, Vyltaran snickered. Dante clenched his teeth to stop from attacking the sick fuck and tearing out his throat. He must needs be strong for the female.
“That is of no concern of yours.” The King’s hand continued to alternate between massaging the female’s small breast and pinching her bruised nipple. Dante closed his eyes and pushed down his human half. If his father picked up on his fury, he wouldn’t trust Dante with the Watcher, and if nothing else, Dante was determined to get her out of the King’s clutches. Even if doing so resulted in his own banishment at his father’s hands.
“Fine. May I have her, then?” Dante’s daemon snarled and preened, eager to get his claws on the delectable female. Dante knew his eyes shone, the whites swallowed up by the dark blue color of his hungry daemon.
Asmodeus’s hand left the Watcher’s breast to curl around her throat and his gaze narrowed. The female swallowed against his palm and her eyes cracked open. Dante heard her breath hitch and watched as her aura turned ice blue with fear. Her reaction due to the hand on he throat. Clearly, she had been choked, and by the panic spilling off her, Dante would bet the King created the bruises that littered her delicate skin. An immortal cannot be killed by strangulation, but it’s a very cruel way to torture one.
“I will have her washed and prepared for you. You shall wait in your chambers until she is delivered. If you defy me this time, every bit of pain I have ever inflicted upon you will seem like the caress of a feather compared to what you will suffer.” Dante didn’t move, didn’t show fear, didn’t react at all. “Do you understand?”
“I understand, father.” Dante forced himself to gaze at the Watcher’s naked body and allow his daemon’s stare to linger over her lush curves and the slit at the juncture of her thighs. His daemon’s lust surged and to Dante’s relief, Asmodeus grinned.
“Good.” The King shoved the female to the ground like she was garbage. The fragile and abused Watcher didn’t posses the faculties to break her fall and landed on her face. “Go to your chambers and wait. Do not fail me, son.”
Dante didn’t wait to hear anything else. He rose and hurried out, ignoring the smug expression he wanted to claw right off Vyltaran’s face.
How in the name of the Fates am I going to free the Watcher?
Dante hadn’t a clue, but he would sort it out. He had no choice. For whatever reason, his human half refused to let the female suffer the same fate as he.
Mayhap there was hope for Dante after all.
* * *
“Don’t worry, you are safe now.” Honor flinched when warm hands skimmed over her aching skin. She felt the whisper of cloth as someone rolled her side-to-side whilst he pulled clothing over her battered body. After weeks of only the cruelest of touches, she didn’t know what to make of the kind, cautious hands that worked quickly and respectfully. A fingernail scraped against a raw, oozing wound on her ankle and she whimpered. “Apologies, Watcher, but we must needs hurry.”
Honor held her breath and her heart skipped. That voice. She knew that voice. Cautiously, Honor opened her eyes. “You,” she croaked. Hovering over her was the face of a stunning immortal male. One with coal-black hair and bright sapphire eyes. A face she recognized. “You’re the Son of Lust.”
“Shhh, don’t speak. You still aren’t well and we mustn’t raise alarm.” A tug on the front of the clothing caused Honor to glance down. The daemon’s large hands were deftly buttoning a male’s tunic to cover her exposed breasts. She blushed at Lust having seen her naked. “It’s all right,” he said. Honor closed her eyes as the daemon gently petted her head and she melted into the only kindness she’d been offered in weeks. “Fear not, you have not been violated…”
When he paused, Honor opened her eyes to take in the Son of Lust, Dante.
“I apologize,” he said. “But I don’t know your name.”
“Honor,” she whispered, ignoring the flames that ripped down her parched throat. “Honor Ward.”
Dante smiled. The sight was so beautiful her tense muscles relaxed for the first time since her capture. “Here.” Dante slid a hand behind her head and raised it as he brought a cup to her lips. Glorious water, cold and wet, touched her cotton wool-filled mouth. She gulped it down as fast as she could manage, uncaring that half of it dribbled down her chin. When she was done, Dante placed the cup on a table and lowered her head to a soft pillow.
“Thank you. Where am I?”
“My bedchambers.” Honor stiffened and her heart leapt to her throat. “Prithee, do not fear me. I have not touched you, nor has anyone else. My father…” Dante made a face so filled with loathing, Honor would have recoiled were she not so exhausted. “He gave you to me as a gift.”
Honor frowned. “A gift?” It surprised Honor when Dante’s cheeks began to flush a deep crimson.
A blushing daemon?
“Aye. As a test. I was to… um, take you.” Dante averted his gaze. “Sexually. To prove my worth to my father.”
“Oh.” What else could be said? This was so far beyond anything Honor could have conjured up no words described how she felt at being gifted to someone to rape and abuse.
“But I have made an alliance.” Dante sat on the bed next to Honor and gathered both of her hands in his larger ones. “An alliance with your kind. The Protector and his Guard.” Honor bolted upright at news of Michael, but when she did, the room spun and tilted about. Dante gently pushed her down. “You are quite weak, Honor. It’s imperative you rest. When it is time to leave, I shall carry you.”
“But Michael, he is all right?” Honor held her breath as she awaited news of her Michael.
Dante gave her a kind smile. “He is fine. We are going to banish the Kings.”
Honor remembered overhearing the daemon’s plans and nodded. “I know.”
This time, Dante’s smile included teeth. “I expected you did.” Then the smile fell from his face and Dante glanced around his bedchamber. “Stay here. I shall check the hall. We cannot dematerialize from within the mansion. It is heavily warded as my father is paranoid.”
When Dante left the room, Honor grew anxious. For the first time in weeks, her life force shone bright. It wanted Michael. She wanted Michael. No, needed Michael. Needed him as she needed air to breathe. Her lavender light pulsed back to life, and energy flowed through her veins, repairing her weakened body whilst filling her hollow soul with something sorely missing since her capture… hope.
“Come. I should have preferred you rest longer, but we can’t pass this opportunity,” Dante whispered as he hurried into the room. He gathered Honor in his arms as if she were weightless. “No matter what happens to me, you are to flee the mansion. Do you understand?”
Honor stared into the depths of the half-daemon’s stunning blue eyes. “And leave you?”
“Aye,” he said with finality. “Even if it means leaving me. I require your oath, Honor Ward.”
Honor was reluctant to comply. How could she abandon her savior in favor of herself? But as she stared at Dante, Honor knew the stubborn male would accept nothing less.
“I don’t like it, but aye, I give you my oath.”
With a sharp nod, Dante opened a door and whisked Honor into a sinister-looking hallway made of stacked stone. It had low, arced ceilings and thick, moist air that chilled her skin despite the both heat radiating off Dante’s body and the daemon’s oversized tunic that hung from her emaciated form.
“I can walk. My soul is better. I am healed.”
“Don’t say a word,” Dante whispered. He frowned, but set her on her feet. Honor hid a wince. Mayhap she wasn’t completely healed. Dante glanced over his shoulder and Honor met his serious gaze, though she didn’t miss the hint of fear shimmering in its depths. Dante reached back and without hesitation, Honor slid her hand into his.
The Daemon Prince led her along a veritable maze of what must be an enormous mansion. Eventually, the halls began to display the tastes of its owner. At one point, Honor grew queasy and almost gagged at a collection of paintings and tapestries that boasted scenes of perversion, the likes of which Honor couldn’t have fabricated in her darkest nightmares. She tightened her hold on Dante’s hand and he gave hers a reassuring squeeze.
“Not far now,” he said. “The servant’s quarters are through there. They have a separate entrance to the mansion.” Dante nodded toward a non-descript door at the end of a long corridor. “Come on.” He sped up the pace. Determined to keep up, Honor pushed her body harder. Her muscles cramped and her lungs ached. She grew lightheaded and felt weaker than she ever thought possible, but still she pressed on.
Blessed Fates, the exit stood mere feet away. Hope soared in Honor’s battered body. They were actually going to escape this horror, this depraved slice of the Underworld on Earth. Excited to be free, visions of Michael filled her head. So much so that Honor failed to notice when Dante came to a sudden stop. She slammed into Dante’s broad back and had it not been for his tight grip on her hand, she would have bounced off the male’s hard muscles and landed on her backside.
“Why—?” Honor peeked over Dante’s shoulder and her throat sealed up tight.
Prithee, may the Fates take me now.
All hope of escape fled in an instant, because standing in front of them, blocking the only path to freedom, were the King of Lust and his creepy incubus sycophant, Vyltaran. Lust’s eyes glittered a brilliant sapphire blue while the incubus’ shone a blazing shade of red, the color as grotesque as fresh spilt blood. Honor sidled up to Dante and the daemon slung a protective arm around her shoulders.
A malicious grin spread across the King’s face, though his gaze remained narrowed and his body radiated fury.
“Such a disappointment, son.” Dante shifted Honor behind his larger body and struck a defensive posture, feet apart, knees bent, and fists up.
“I’m sorry you feel that way, father,” Dante spat. The Prince sounded confident, but pressed tight against his back, Honor felt him trembling.
“Tsk, tsk,” Asmodeus clucked. The King’s terrifying stare flicked from Dante to Honor as she peered from behind Dante, and she swore to the Hereafter, the King’s gaze penetrated through her skin to lodge firmly in her heart, a frigid arrow that plunged deep into the vital muscle. “You have no idea what you’ve done,” the King growled. Without tearing his chilling stare from Honor, the King spoke to Vyltaran. “Put them in the dungeon, racked and shackled. No one is to touch them… Wait. Make that no one except Balon. My favorite torturer had quite a time with that one,” Lust gestured toward Honor and she near to fainted. “And he shall certainly enjoy the company of my son.” The casual manner in which the King spoke of torture caused Honor’s lungs to seize. “I have somewhere I must needs be, but when I get back…” the King’s pointed glare shifted to Dante. “I intend to make my son pay for his insolence.”
Honor shivered at the tone in the King of Lust’s voice. It was pure, darkness. Evil at its worst. An oozing black sludge that slid under her skin to penetrate every organ and instill paralyzing fear, rendering her immobile.
The last thing Honor heard before Vyltaran delivered a devastating blow to her head, was Dante’s despondent words.
“I’m sorry.”