Chapter 11
11
Sacrifices Must Be Made
B elial sat in his room taking calming breaths. In, out, in, out. Inner peace. Calm.
Except none of that meditation shit worked on him because he was a demon. Demons didn’t have human souls that they could connect with through meditation and yoga. Thus, all his deep breathing and visualizing did shit all. Actually, it was often detrimental because it frustrated the hell out of him that he couldn’t control his fucking temper.
Well, he could control it a bit . There’d been a time where the snap of a twig would’ve set him off. He’d explode, decimating anything and everything in his path like a freaking atom bomb. He was a lot better now, especially since he’d learned how to cook, but he still knew he was a basket case. His brothers knew it too, always tiptoeing around him, careful not to set him off.
The lack of control pissed him off. Angry at himself, he was thus prone to more fits of temper. The vicious cycle continued, on and on throughout the ages.
And now look where he’d ended up. From one of the most feared demons in Hell to a fugitive, questioning his purpose and existence, his mighty powers dampened while he was on the mortal plane.
Here on Earth, he was nothing special. He had a reputation, sure, but that wasn’t going to save his or his brothers’ asses if Hell caught them. Despite his issues, his brothers looked to him for protection, and he was damn well going to make sure they got it.
That meant summoning the last person in any of the worlds he wanted to speak to.
Bel grabbed all the dirty laundry off the floor and threw it on his bed to clear a spot for the summoning sigil, sketching out the complex design in chalk on the hardwood.
Under normal circumstances, demons couldn’t summon other demons. The one advantage clawless, fleshy humanity had over their underworld neighbors was their ability to summon and bind them to their will with Temporal magic. Thankfully, a true summoning was a near-impossible feat for the average human, and it rarely occurred.
Demons used Sheolic magic, however, and it served their own purposes. Wards could be drawn around territories to (mostly) keep out intruders, hellgates could be used for travel, requests could be made for meetings, and more. But the only instance when a demon could be summoned by another against their will was if that demon was bound as part of a bargain.
Such was the case with Bel’s summoning today.
After completing the sigil, he lounged on his bed with his back against the wall and waited for his visitor to appear. There was a whole lot of dramatic smoke and gusting wind—thankfully, all sealed within the confines of the sigil—and then she appeared.
She rarely disguised her demonic characteristics, and now was no exception. One of the most legendary demons of all time, she saw no reason not to flaunt her true nature. In Hell and on Earth, she was worshiped and adored, a symbol of seduction.
She was a succubus, one of the Queens of Hell, a sadistic bitch, and... Bel’s sort-of ex. If the deranged affair they’d once had could be called a relationship. It probably couldn’t, but he had no idea how else to define their on-gain, off-again bouts of indulgence and aggression.
“Naiamah,” he grumbled, already regretting this.
“Well, hello, Belial. What an unexpected surprise.” She grinned from ear to ear, revealing a mouth full of razor-sharp teeth. Not just a pair of cute little vampire fangs, nope. Every single tooth was a pointed weapon that he knew from experience she wouldn’t hesitate to use. A pair of wicked horns curled back alongside her skull, and her hair was a shimmering curtain that fell to her waist.
She was clad only in a small strip of leather that hung down the front of her body, secured at her hips with chains fastened to a similar-sized strip down her back. The material flared slightly at her breasts, just enough to cover her nipples, and hung from more chains over her shoulders. Her pale skin was decorated with black tattoos of disturbing images—men being beheaded, monsters disemboweling humans, the usual shit—and she wore a delicate headdress of still more silver chains over her sleek, midnight hair.
She was a raging bitch, and Belial hated her with a burning passion. She was also indescribably hot, and unfortunately for Bel, his dick didn’t care whether he hated her or not. It just wanted to fuck her. And it often got its wish.
He had this terrible habit of screwing her every time he saw her, despite the fact that as soon as he was finished, he wanted to punch himself. He always told her he hated her and never wanted to see her again afterward, but she didn’t care. In fact, rejecting her had the opposite effect. Naiamah, being a psychopath, adored it and kept coming back for more.
She wasn’t desperate by any means—she had harems of demons back in Hell begging to serve her, and entire cults of male human worshipers on Earth who had these nasty masturbation rituals to summon her that she probably reveled in—but she was an attention whore, and she got off on watching his self-loathing increase every time he touched her.
She loved the idea that he couldn’t resist her sexual allure despite his apparent disgust. She thought it gave her power over him, and damn if she wasn’t right.
The truth was, Naiamah hated him as much as he hated her, and her primary objective in all their interactions was to make him suffer. She was punishing him for something he’d done over a thousand years ago, and for the control he still had over her to this day.
The worst thing was... a part of him knew he deserved it. A part of him felt guilty. A part of him might have even wanted to suffer a little.
Naiamah sauntered to the edge of the sigil and cocked a hip. She knew all his weaknesses and how to perfectly exploit them. She knew how to stand so her breasts almost spilled out of her dress, and she knew how to pucker her lips and toss her hair to get a reaction out of him.
And it was working already if the state of his cock was anything to go by. The damn thing betrayed him every time he saw her.
“It’s been a while, Belial.” Her voice was sultry and soft. Like fingernails on a chalkboard. “You’re looking tense. Why don’t you come into the circle, and I’ll help you relax.” She glanced down at his lap and licked her lips. “You know as well as I do that I’m the only one who can soothe your wrath.”
In the past, the only thing that had helped him get a hold on his temper was sex. But not some nice, vanilla human sex. No, he needed some real kinky shit, and Naiamah was always happy to deliver.
But he had cooking now. He loved cooking. He was going to make a six-course meal after this, fit for a King of Hell, if it meant he didn’t touch her.
He planned the meal out in his head to distract himself. For the amuse-bouche, we’ll do an herb-infused cream cheese spread on a slice of toasted crostini, garnished with parsley. The soup will be a creamy lobster bisque with a slice of fresh sourdough and aged cheddar on the side. The appetizer will be fried ravioli with—
“I hope you didn’t summon me here just to stare at me,” Naiamah drawled. “Though I am flattered by the attention.”
“I need Nephilim blood,” Bel said, getting straight to the point. The sooner he got this over with, the sooner he could start cooking.
Naiamah blinked. “You’re that desperate already? I thought you’d last at least a few months before it came to this.”
Belial scowled. “Mishetsumephtai is onto us.”
He wasn’t worried about Naiamah betraying him. He didn’t trust her as far as he could throw her—which would actually be pretty far considering how strong he was and how much he hated her, so maybe that wasn’t the best analogy—but she couldn’t sell him out even if she wanted to.
Naiamah had needed his help long ago, and he’d trapped her into his service with an open-ended contract that was valid to this day. The Queen of Hell owed him one thousand favors, of any nature, collectable at any time. It had been one of the finest and most ruthless bargains he’d ever struck, but he would have released her from it ages ago if she wasn’t so useful. He hated her that much.
Unfortunately, she was too well connected and influential to let go. She had eyes and ears everywhere, and her servants were loyal to the point of groveling. Bel needed her, and he couldn’t deny it.
“The Hunter has been sent already?” She scoffed. “Impossible.”
“Not impossible. Got word from one of my legions that he’s been dispatched.”
Naiamah’s lips pursed. Lips that were made to be wrapped around a cock. Lips that had been wrapped around his many a time and drove him to distraction just by being in his presence. He could still see the obscene stretch of her mouth as she fought to work her jaw around him, and it sent a pulse of heat down his spine. Damn her.
“You trust this source?” she asked.
Bel rolled his eyes. “The informant was from one of my legions that’s been plotting to get me back on the throne for forever. I keep telling them to give it up, but they never do. They’re dumbasses, but they’re loyal, and they have way too much to lose if I’m caught.”
“Maybe you should plot to take over the throne.” Naiamah’s eyes lit up. “Lucifer is a useless twat, and everyone knows your power rivals his.”
“I’m not interested.”
“No, the great and legendary King Belial, whose name is synonymous with evil itself, would rather hide in human form on Earth.” She gave him a reproachful look. “How the mighty have fallen.”
He shrugged. Once upon a time, he would have roared a mighty roar that shook the foundations of the underworld with his rage at such an insult. Now, he was just wondering what sauce he should use with the ravioli.
Ash had been smart to plot their escape from Hell. None of them belonged there anymore, and it was only a matter of time before they were found out. Running had been the only option.
“So can you get the blood or not?” he asked.
Naiamah looked disappointed that she couldn’t get a rise out of him. Maybe the mighty had fallen, but he was glad he had better control now. “Probably. I think Naberius has some, and he owes me a favor.”
“I thought his Nephilim was killed a hundred years ago.”
“It was, but not before he harvested a lot of blood from it. He’s been using it sparingly, selling it for a fortune. I’d hazard to guess there’s not much left now. It’s going to cost you.”
“I can pay.”
“It’s a temporary solution.”
“I know.”
“You won’t be able to hide forever.”
“I’ll think of something.”
“It’s never been done, Belial. Every demon that has ever escaped Hell has been caught in the end. Whether by Heaven or Hell, they’re caught.”
“Those demons weren’t me or Asmodeus.”
Naiamah cocked a brow. “Remember Eligos? Even he, the legendary Duke, was found and destroyed mere months after he went rogue.”
Bel winced inwardly at the reminder, but still, he refused to doubt himself. “I’m a King, not a Duke. If I get my hands on Mishetsumephtai, he won’t survive it.”
Naiamah looked unconvinced, but he didn’t care. He didn’t have the luxury of caring. It was do or die. Or worse than die, considering he wasn’t exactly sure what would happen to him anymore if he was destroyed.
Ash was convinced they were no longer one hundred percent demon, which meant the rules didn’t apply. Bel didn’t like the sound of that at all.
Naiamah cocked her other hip. “I’ll ask around, but you know it’s going to cost you a favor. You have so few left. Are you sure it’s wise?”
“I still have a hundred.”
“Ninety-nine,” she corrected with a lifted brow.
He stared blandly back at her, but he mentally cursed. She knew how valuable her services were. Over the ages he’d blown through her favors until he’d become reliant on having her assistance available whenever he needed it.
It was another reason why he hated her. He despised being reliant on anyone or anything, and between that and the sex, Naiamah had far too much power over him.
“Of course,” she drawled, “I might be persuaded to offer my help in exchange for a favor of my own.”
“We’re not fucking,” he snapped. “I told you, we’re done.”
Naiamah threw back her head and laughed. “And yet you always come crawling back for more, precious.”
That she spoke like Gollum did not make him feel any better.
“No one can satisfy you like I can. No one has what you need. And really, it’s a small price to pay for my services.”
“I have money to pay for the blood,” he growled.
“Oh, the blood will certainly cost you money, in both Hell and Earth currencies, I’m sure. But you have to pay for my retrieval services. I’m offering a compromise so you can hold on to that one-hundredth favor for another time.”
“It’s not happening.”
Naiamah turned around, revealing an ass too perfect for words. Thick and full, the flesh jiggled slightly when she moved, and his mouth went dry. More blood rushed to his cock, and he dropped a hand over it so she didn’t see him make a tent out of his fucking pants.
“Most males offer me favors to get a piece of this,” she purred. “And I refuse them.”
She spread her legs a little, braced her hands on her thighs, and then twerked that masterpiece at him like a girl at a nightclub. The tiny strip of leather barely covered her slit. A breeze could lift it and he’d see everything.
He groaned, dropping his head back until it thumped against the wall.
“You know you want me,” she said over one shoulder, rolling her hips in a circle now.
“Fuck you.”
“That’s what I’m asking for, precious.”
That was the problem with this damned succubus. She always wanted it, but it left him drained and feeling like shit afterward. He despised letting Naiamah feed off him, but he’d done it enough that she was obsessed with the taste of his energy now. As a fallen angel and one of the oldest, most powerful demons in existence, his essence probably gave her an unparalleled high.
And she was right, in a way—asking him to bang her in exchange for her retrieval services was far from the worst form of payment, especially if it meant keeping one of his precious favors. But he hated going back on his word, and he’d sworn to himself he’d never touch her again.
Amazing the powers females had. Whether a lowly human or a legendary succubus, every male in existence was only one conniving woman away from becoming a self-loathing piece of shit.
“Come on, Belial,” she cooed. “No one fills me up like you do. No one tastes as good as you. All that power and rage.” She moaned like she was going to come from thinking about it.
He groaned again. “Go fuck Lucifer if you want power.”
“Lucifer has a pencil dick.”
He had to laugh. Lucifer was the most powerful demon in Hell. Even if he did have a pencil dick, he could have done something to fix the problem. But Naiamah had always hated him with a burning passion and wouldn’t go near him.
She rose and faced Bel again, crossing her arms over her chest, which only served to push her breasts together. He wanted to slide his cock between them and come all over her chest.
Fuck.
“Give me what I want, and I’ll track down your Nephilim blood,” she said, the light of victory already shining in her eyes. “Your precious brothers will be safe. Think what will happen if they’re caught, Belial. They’ll be tortured and destroyed. You have to protect them, and to do that, you need to keep your favors.”
Bel closed his eyes. He’d probably be willing to risk it if he was just worrying about himself, but he had his brothers to think about too.
She knew exactly what buttons to push to manipulate him. He was changing, becoming something less and less demonic, and he shouldn’t have been able to care about his brothers the way he did. But he did care, and Naiamah knew it, and she wasn’t above using it to get what she wanted.
Worse, he wanted to give it to her. He wanted it so fucking bad.
He couldn’t seek the sources for the Nephilim blood himself either. Naiamah was bound by their old bargain not to betray him, and besides his legions—who weren’t powerful or connected enough to be able to get what he needed—there wasn’t anyone else in Hell with that kind of reliability. It was her or no one.
“Fine,” he said, sighing with resignation while his cock jerked with excitement. “But I’m binding you to this with a contract. We fuck, I get the blood.”
A triumphant smile split her perfect face. “Fine. But the blood will cost you, and I’m not paying. I’m only finding you a source.”
“Fine.”
“Let me out of the sigil, and we’ll play on your bed. You said your apartment is warded. No one will find me.”
“No. We fuck in the circle. I don’t trust you not to try to escape.”
Her lip curled. “As if I’d want to linger any longer than I have to on your precious Earth. Humans are dirty little things, and I hate having them near me. No, it’s only you and your brothers who actually want to be here, though for the life of me I can’t fathom why.”
Like Naiamah, most demons of the Order of Thrones were uninterested in the human realm, where their powers were muted and they were forced to abide by strict rules. In Hell, they could rule their territories as they preferred and revel in the blood and chaos.
Kings and Queens of Hell were responsible for authorizing visits and rarely had cause to go to Earth themselves. They sent others on special missions to coerce humans susceptible to evil, the goal always being to thwart the opposing efforts of their angelic nemeses.
It was boring as, well, Hell.
What was the point in all that good-versus-evil bullshit? Why bother at all? Why not live their lives doing what they enjoyed and leave others to do the same?
That was all Belial wanted. And, being a King of Hell himself, it had been relatively simple for him to secure himself and his brothers their one-way ticket to freedom. The hard part was making sure they stayed free. Sacrifices would have to be made.
Starting with the recanting of his vow not to touch Naiamah again.
It shouldn’t have mattered to him. Demons weren’t supposed to be capable of keeping that kind of vow in the first place. He was so messed up, and this shit was too complicated to dwell on. He’d need a PhD in psychology to even begin to understand the wars that were being waged inside his head.
Which he could actually get if he got the damned Nephilim blood and then found a way to permanently secure his and his brothers’ freedom on Earth.
Belial climbed off the bed and rose to his full height. “Turn around. Don’t look at me or I’ll gouge your eyes out. Don’t touch me or I’ll rip your arms off.”
Naiamah moaned like his threats were as good as foreplay, and she immediately complied.
He closed his eyes and took a breath, skin already crawling with self-hatred, though his blood pumped with arousal. Thank fuck he’d put a sound-sealing sigil on the door so his brothers wouldn’t hear what he was doing.
Oh, the things I do for this family.