As Above, So Below (The Fated Celestials Trilogy #1)

Prologue

Life for a demon is a dream.

An impossible thing no demon in their right mind would ever want. Yet here I stand, dreaming as I stare at the night sky. It’s undoubtedly foolish, and I’m sure to be reprimanded for wasting time in the veil. Especially by Vaelyn.

I can’t help myself.

I’ve grown tired of my existence—of my servitude, of reaping.

With a defeated sigh, I drag my gaze from the dark, glittering expanse overhead, to the rolling grassy hills in the southern tier of Monora. Thronged with screaming and bloodied mortals, the scene is a strange contrast to the tranquility of the universe.

Gods only know what they’re fighting about now.

It’s probably the result of some proclamation, marriage, or source of power or gold.

Foolish things for foolish mortals to bicker, and fight, and kill one another over.

The demonic blood in my veins sings in response to the carnage, small darts of excitement shooting up my spine.

With pursed lips, I stifle the budding thrill and begin my hunt.

The god of death has sent me to collect one damned soul.

Death, for the living, is inescapable.

Another mortal, one of millions over the eons, beguiled into signing a contract with my father, Netharis. Today’s list of names ends with one Thalion Witherhorn. Judging by the family name, I’m hunting a fae.

A pull in my chest sets my feet forward.

South.

Into the fray, fighting, and chaos. These soldiers are too busy to notice the path of dying grass cutting its way through them.

They’ll ignore all the signs a vessel of death stalks them from the veil—the hair standing on the backs of their necks, the growing knot in their stomachs, the feeling of being watched. All of that, ignored.

They’re too busy killing one another to pay any attention to me.

Not that they can see me. While I walk among them, the veil separates us. I stand in a whole different realm, one that clings to the living world like a thin gossamer. It’s as if the veil wants nothing more than to adorn the living. Or smother them.

I am one of the many horrors found on the other side of life. It’s here I’ll await Thalion’s death and collect his soul.

Mortals signing damning contracts with my father is nothing new. It’s happened since the dawn of time. One would think mortals would eventually learn whatever Netharis promises isn’t worth the payment.

Like Thalion, I myself am contracted to the god of death.

Though, I suppose, serving him—collecting and ferrying these souls—for eternity is marginally better than spending the afterlife damned to whatever torture Netharis deems fit. Marginally.

My toe catches on the limb of a corpse and I stumble, my wings splaying wide to prevent a fall. Curling my lip in annoyance, I regain balance, tucking my wings behind me as I press forward.

The hunting instinct screams in my chest, needing to be followed.

Metal meeting metal catches my attention.

A morningstar in the hands of a fae draws back, preparing for another strike against the helm of a human man.

With lightening fast speed, the weapon descends, and the man, still reeling from the first blow, crumples onto the dirt.

For good measure, the fae follows up with two more strikes, crushing the man’s helmet and his skull.

Breezing past him, a brilliant flash of white light nearly blinds me, and I recoil, raising a hand to shield my vision. A light wielder hides somewhere among these mortals.

My own innate responds, the near sentient magic curious, and thick dark fog ebbs underfoot.

It’s as if my shadows recognize their opposite and the thought of feeding on a light wielder is too tempting to remain hidden.

Attempting to peer through the violent crowd, there are too many faces to determine which mortal my shadows should strangle.

“Press forward!”

To the left, a fae male seated atop an armored buckskin stallion points in my direction. The hunting instinct draws taut and vibrates as a soft smile pulls at the corners of my lips.

He is the one I hunt.

Set into motion once again, I begin my approach. A bloodied sword raised in his right hand, silver braids stream from under his helm as he charges his mount forward. He continues to shout commands to those around him, other fae on foot, all dressed in gleaming platinum plate armor.

Between he and I lie two dozen soldiers. Less in the few steps I take as Thalion cuts them down with graceful ease. Despite being battered and bloodied—or perhaps because of it—the fae I hunt makes for a beautiful sight.

High cheekbones, piercing violet eyes, broad shoulders.

Like all fae I’ve had to collect over the centuries, he is beautiful, powerful, and utterly stupid for signing a contract with the god of death. The soldiers around him rush forward, clashing with those between us and I linger, less than twenty yards away, studying him.

Why would Netharis want the soul of this fae?

And what did Netharis offer Thalion to earn it?

Several soldiers break through the line, swarming Thalion. He’s quick to bring down his sword, ending two lives in less than a second. Rearing back with a foot, Thalion kicks a third in the face, knocking his helmet to the ground, revealing pointed ears.

Not human, fae.

These fae are fighting other fae?

Glancing around with a narrow-eyed stare, it becomes clear this battle isn’t between humans and fae as I’d assumed. The soldiers fighting beside Thalion are a mix of humans and fae, while all their opponents are fae.

I’m intrigued.

A garrison of fae fighting alongside humans is noteworthy considering the history between the two species. Fae dominate the living realm, seeking to rule, possess, or exterminate other species who threaten their reign.

Humans included.

Fae are responsible for the extinction of several species, subspecies of their own kind, no less. Winged fae, forest fae, and pixies to name a few. Fae are the demons of the living realm, truly.

Screams slice through the air, returning my focus to the scene before me as Thalion buries the point of his blade in the throat of yet another opponent. Two others charge at him, and in an instant, a stream of crimson flame blooms through the night, spiraling outward from Thalion’s fingertips.

Engulfed in hellfire, the faes’ cries are short lived as they collapse upon the grass. In seconds their flesh is rendered ash and their armor a molten conglomeration of metal.

There it is.

That’s what Netharis offered.

Hellfire can overpower nearly any innate, and it’s only bestowed to demons—that is, only full-blooded demons are capable of inheriting it. Thalion traded his soul in order to use a demonic innate magic. It’s not an offer I’d ever consider, even if I were a mortal.

A woman howls orders nearby, her voice carrying over the chaos, and drawing my eyes to a flash of crimson hair, but it’s lost before I can see their face. Thalion turns his beast north, and its eyes lock with mine. The creature doesn’t see me, but it does sense me.

Curiosity getting the better of me, I slip forward, between and around the fighting fae, and it chuffs.

“I am not here for you, beast.” I offer a small smile as its eyes stare through me. “But your rider owes a debt.”

No horse has let me touch it. In fact, most animals of the living realm possess the uncanny ability to sense me, and it sets them on edge. My fingers loom inches away, the distance growing slowly shorter as its large dark eyes pierce through me.

Huffing, it whinnies and rears, throwing its legs high into the air and on instinct I recoil, stepping backward. Too many things happen at once.

My wing brushes against a fae, and he crumples to the ground.

As if it were an open invitation, my shadows race across the grass and snake around the feet of the others around me, quivering for my permission to feed.

Thalion’s opponent rushes over the body, shoving his sword into the unprotected belly of the steed.

With a sharp cry, the horse falls, both rider and beast plummeting to the ground. Eyes wide, I lose the white-knuckled grip on my innate and every mortal in a twenty foot radius collapses.

Dead.

Their deaths cause a near euphoric rush to wash over me, and I shudder against it, forcing myself forward.

I cannot have killed Thalion.

I cannot have interfered with whatever Fate Nektos has woven for the fae. Netharis is going to lose his mind if I have. Panic coursing through me, I sweep left, and Thalion lies upon the ground, unmoving. Clamping down on my jaw and my innate, the darkness recedes, hiding itself away.

Shouts rise, and Thalion, pinned beneath the horse and against a large boulder, groans.

He lives. And thank the gods for it. My panic dissipates.

“Protect the Sovereign King.”

My brows raise.

Not simply some fae lord, but a Sovereign King of a fae country. The reasons behind Netharis seeking his soul become clear.

“Send for the healer!”

“Send for the guardian!”

The orders ripple through the field, echoed by various voices as soldiers shift, fighting to gain ground, to get closer to their king. In my chest, the hunting instinct grows feverish, it won’t be much longer before I can collect his soul.

The first of the soldiers reaches Thalion, leaping over the dying horse to remove Thalion’s helm. Bright crimson blood pours down the side of his face and he begins to cough. Of the two creatures dying, I’ve more sympathy for the steed.

Kneeling beside the creature, it stares up at me with wide, dark eyes, nostrils flared with labored breathing. Standing on the precipice of death, it sees me clearly now. Deep red blood leaks from the gash in its ribs, showing no evidence of slowing soon.

“I wasn’t here for you,” I whisper, reaching for its nose once again. “But I will give you painless release.”