Chapter 35
ASMODEUS
Simone's blood on white linen.
I materialize inside Abaddon's fortress walls without ceremony or stealth. The reaction is immediate. Half a dozen Elioud scattered through the atrium spin toward me, weapons drawn.
“What in the absolute fuck—”
Maalik rounds the corner in an angry march, coming to a halt when he sees me. To his credit, he doesn't run. He plants his feet wide, his yellow eyes sharp as he takes me in, and that tells me he's had enough centuries in Belial's court to recognize an archdemon on the edge of his patience.
“Who's attacking?” he demands.
“No one.” The words come out hoarse. “No one is attacking. I need Daniel.”
Maalik doesn't move. The Elioud behind him have backed into a loose semicircle, weapons still up. These are the mortal soldiers who trained with Simone.
“Asmodai,” Maalik begins with a sigh, “why are you here? Does the Council know—”
I interrupt him. “I am not here for a fight, Maalik. I need Daniel. Now.”
“Daniel doesn't go anywhere with archdemons.”
“He'll go with me,” I say, and I hate how close to begging it sounds.
“Simone is—” My throat closes around the words.
I've spoken in every human language, addressed every Celestial but God himself, and yet I cannot finish this sentence.
“She's bleeding. The baby. I don't know what's wrong, and I can't fix it, and she asked for him.”
Maalik's expression shifts.
“Simone,” he repeats, his eyes narrowed.
“Yes.” I spread my hands in surrender to whatever mercy he has. “Please.”
I sense the archangel's arrival before I see Saraqael's golden armor glinting with a radiance that seems to come from within rather than without.
“Asmodai.” The way he says my name might have been mistaken for a greeting… by anyone who doesn't attend Council meetings. No, it's a threat. The Fallen and half-bloods here are currently under his protection.
“I came for Daniel,” I say again, trying hard to find a remaining scrap of patience but failing.
A smaller figure ducks around the archangel's tall frame with absolutely no reverence whatsoever.
“Holy shit, is that an archdemon?” The Nephalem, short and blonde and visibly thrumming with nervous energy, stops himself, gazing at me with enormous eyes. “You're literally Asmodeus.”
“Mike,” Saraqael says, the single word a warning.
“Right, yes, focusing,” Mike says, grinning irreverently. “Can I just say that you are smoking—”
“No,” Saraqael and Maalik say together.
I would find this funny on any other night of my existence.
Daniel appears at the far end of the corridor, walking toward us with soft but hurried steps. His gray robes are plain, his pale eyes worried.
“Asmodai,” he says simply. “What's wrong?”
“Daniel—” My voice cracks, the desperation I've been holding back rendering me mute.
Daniel gives me a pitying glance that would normally infuriate me.
“Simone,” he says simply, guessing what the only thing that could bring me to my knees is—Simone and our baby.
“She's bleeding. She's frightened. She asked for you by name.” I pause for a breath. “Will you come?”
Daniel doesn't hesitate. “Of course.”
Maalik steps forward, one large hand coming down on Daniel's shoulder. “You're not going into an archdemon's abode alone.”
“He won't be alone,” Saraqael says.
We all turn to look at him.
The archangel's golden gaze is unreadable. “I will accompany him.”
Maalik lets out a sound that isn't quite a word. Several of the soldiers take a step back like they've heard it before and know it's not followed by anything pleasant.
“An archdemon's child is a rare thing,” Saraqael continues, his voice carrying the unarguable quality of someone who has never once had to raise it.
“Rarer still when the mother is mortal. We will likely need every form of aid available if this pregnancy is compromised.” His eyes don't leave mine. “I presume you have no objection.”
I would object to a great many things about Saraqael's presence in my home on any other night. Tonight, I'm grateful enough to choke on it.
“None,” I say.
Mike raises his hand.
“No, Michael,” Saraqael says, exasperated.
“But I want to help,” the young man whines. “There has to be something I can do? Lana really cares about Simone.”
Saraqael tilts his head, considering. “There might be something you can do, child.”
“Don't call me that,” Mike mutters in a way that lets me know it's not the first time. “And what?”
“Bring your mother to us. Then send for Ithuriel.”
I raise my eyebrows in disbelief. “You want to bring Sataniel's daughter-in-law to Hell?”
“I would rather be overly cautious than ill-prepared,” the archangel says simply.
I run my hand through my hair. If Saraqael is worried, the situation is indeed dire.
“Oh, wow,” Mike says, eyes wide. “Dad's going to pitch an absolute fit—”
Saraqael interrupts him. “Go.”
With a wave of the archangel's hand, the young man disappears, presumably to the human world and wherever Syriniana is.
Maalik looks at Daniel. Something passes between them, wordless, poignant. Then he steps aside.
“Come back safe,” he says quietly.
“That's the intention,” Daniel replies.
I gather the ether, focusing on the two vastly different angels and my Lethe home. “Stay close.”
The bedroom feels too small the moment we materialize.
Simone is curled on her side, both arms wrapped around her belly, her nightgown stained with blood from hip to knee. Her face is wet from sweat and tears, her lips bitten raw, and her hair sticks to her temples in damp strands.
“Az—”
“I'm here.” I'm at her side before my name fully leaves her mouth, pushing the hair back from her forehead. “I'm here, little fairy. I brought him. I brought help.”
Her eyes find Daniel first, and her expression changes to pure, naked relief.
“Daniel,” she breathes.
“I'm here, Simone.” He kneels beside the bed, his gray robes brushing the floor. “May I?”
Simone nods, sniffling.
Daniel's hand hovers over her belly, not touching yet, though it glows with golden light. When Saraqael joins him, Simone freezes for a moment, eyes wide in shock despite her fear and pain.
I count her heartbeats. They're too fast.
The angels exchange loaded glances.
“What is it?” My voice is rough. “Tell me. Tell us.”
Daniel's brows knit together. “The cord.”
“The cord,” I repeat. “What, Fallen?”
“It is wrapped around the babe's neck,” Saraqael says gravely. “Wound, more than once. The babe began to fail and reached for what it could find.”
Simone's hand flies to her belly. “Reached for what?”
“For you, Simone.” Daniel's eyes go to hers, gentle and calming. “For your energy. To sustain itself.”
I blink as realization hits me. If I hadn't gone through with the soul bargain with Simone, if she didn't have a piece of my power inside her, she'd already be dead. The strain would have killed them both.
I was so fucking selfish, siring a child on a mortal. Incredibly selfish.
Saraqael's golden gaze meets mine over Simone's body. “The strain has caused the placenta to be separated from the wall of the womb. That is what you are seeing.”
“Fix it.” It comes out in a snarl I can't help. “Fix her.”
“Asmodai.” Saraqael's tone is the same one he uses on Mike. “We are evaluating.”
Daniel's hand drifts lower, hovering near her hip. He frowns. Then frowns harder.
“There is something else.”
Simone's breath stutters. “What? What else?”
Daniel hesitates, glancing at me as though gauging how much truth I can absorb without breaking the manor in half. “The babe's horns have come in early.”
For a moment, no one speaks.
“Horns,” Simone repeats faintly.
“They're small.” Daniel's voice is careful. “But I cannot tell from this side of your skin whether they have hardened. Whether they are sharp.”
Sharp enough to cut her on the way out. He doesn't say it. He doesn't have to.
I sit down hard on the edge of the bed before my legs decide to do it for me.
“Az.” Simone's hand finds mine, ice-cold. “Az, look at me.”
I do.
Her chin is trembling, but her eyes are steel. “We're getting through this.”
“Yes.” I bring her knuckles to my mouth, pressing my lips against them so hard I taste copper. “Yes, little fairy. We are.”
Daniel takes one of the spare pillows and tucks it gently under her hip, tilting her on the mattress. “This will help slow the bleeding. Keep the pressure off.”
“What can I do?” Simone whispers.
“Breathe with me.” He sets his hand lightly on her sternum. “In. And out. Slow. Your body wants to fight. We need it to wait.”
She nods, her chest rising under his palm.
I keep her other hand in both of mine and watch her, useless.
Useless. I have legions at my command, more power than humans can even dream of. And I cannot do a single thing for the woman bleeding into our sheets.
“Az…” Simone murmurs shakily.
“Yes, my fairy?”
“Why do I feel like I’m grieving already?” she asks in a broken voice.
My fingers clench with pain, holding on to her with desperation. “I’m here, Simone,” I tell her. “And I would rather drown in your sorrow than let you face it alone.”
Her eyes well with tears as she nods, spilling over her already-soaked cheeks.
The air shifts. Saraqael straightens a fraction, and a heartbeat later, three figures stand near the doorway.
Syriniana arrives in a flutter of white, her silver hair loose around her shoulders, lavender eyes wide and a little wild. She must have been in the middle of something as her sleeves are pushed up past her elbows, and ink streaks the side of her hand. She takes in the room in one sweep.
Bed. Blood. Me. The two angels at my consort's side.
For half a breath, she looks frazzled. Overwhelmed. Then her gaze lands on Simone's face, on Simone's fingers clenched around mine, on the tears running down her temples into her hair.
“Tell me what's happening.” She's already moving toward the bed.
Behind her, Mike hovers by the doorway, wringing his hands, his bravado nowhere to be found.
Ithuriel steps past him into the room. The white-haired angel, Sariel's consort, heads straight for Saraqael and Daniel, his voice low.
“Where do you need me?”
Saraqael answers without looking up. “The cord. We must see if we can loosen it from the babe's neck without harming either of them.”
Ithuriel kneels on Simone's other side, bowing his head briefly to her. “Simone. My name is Ithuriel. Jessica speaks of you often.”
My consort blinks at him, then at Syriniana as she settles by Simone’s head, her fingers brushing the hair off her brow. “Hello, child. I'm Syrin. I'm going to help.”
“Thank you,” Simone whispers. She takes in the angels around her, gratitude shining in her eyes. “All of you.”
The four Celestials confer in a quick, low exchange of words I only half follow. Finally, Saraqael looks at me.
“Asmodai. You should leave the room.”
My reaction is immediate. “No.”
“Your emotions are volatile. We need the ether around her to be calm.”
“I am not leaving her.”
“Asmodai—” Daniel begins, but I interrupt him.
“I am not leaving her.”
The air hums faintly with my roared words. I drag in a breath and force my voice down.
“Tell me what to do,” I say through clenched teeth. “Tell me, and I'll do it. But I'm not walking out of this room.”
Simone tugs weakly on my hand. “He stays.”
Saraqael's golden eyes go from her face to mine. He appears to be judging us. Whatever he sees makes him give a small, decisive nod.
“Sit behind her,” he instructs. “On the bed. Take her weight against your chest.”
I'm already moving, easing onto the mattress and sliding in behind her. Daniel and Ithuriel guide her back gently, settling her between my legs, her head resting against my chest. I wrap one arm around her shoulders and rest the other low over her belly, palm splayed wide, my touch careful.
“Like this?”
“Yes.” Saraqael's tone gentles a fraction. “Hold her. Breathe with her. Whatever you feel, whatever you fear, channel it into keeping her steady. Nothing else. Are we clear?”
“Crystal.”
“Mike,” Syriniana says quietly. “Wait outside, my love.”
Mike opens his mouth.
“Outside,” she repeats, her tone brooking no argument.
He nods, swallowing hard, and disappears around the doorway.
Simone tips her head back and looks up at me. Her face is so pale I can see the blue veins at her temple.
“Don't let go,” she whispers.
I press my mouth to her hair. “Never. I’m never letting you go.”