Carol of the Hells (Death Bound Duet)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Rayven

If there was one thing I'd learned since becoming the Queen of Hell, it was that monsters weren't just demon lords or undead beasts. They were human too.

Sometimes, humans were the worst kind of monsters.

The longer I spent as Queen of the Underworld, the more I understood my king’s distaste for mankind. They defiled everything, including death.

Especially death.

Before I was kidnapped by the Lord of Bones, I was guilty of such sins, and disregarded the sanctity of the dead.

I robbed graves to pay my bills and survive, but stealing heirlooms was nothing compared to these vile men’s transgressions.

A disturbing number of despicable souls came to our corner of Hell for Judgement, most of them male.

Rapists, murderers, abusers; the worst of the worst passed through our gates.

In the beginning, I’d questioned if I had what it took to pass Judgement on them. After all, I hadn’t been anything more than a grave thief before the Lord of Bones dragged me down to his realm to punish me.

Since then, I’d learned. I’d grown. It had taken falling in love with the god of the dead to not only appreciate the beauty of death, but to revere it. And in my newest role, assisting Belial with his earthly duties, I’d become death’s guardian.

That's how I ended up outside the Cambridge Funeral Home tonight, staring up at the brick exterior with a navy awning above the front door. The icy winter air prickled over my exposed skin like tiny knives, and I tugged my coat tighter around me.

Somehow, by a dark miracle, I’d convinced my demon king to let me come alone tonight. It wasn’t that I didn’t want his company; every second he was away had a hole burning through my chest that only his presence could soothe. But as the newly-crowned queen of Hell, I wanted to prove myself.

I was strong. Powerful. Capable.

I’d faced off against the worst horrors of the Hells. Bone monsters, a carnivorous tree, despicable demon lords, giant snakes, and worse. Handling a bit of human scum would be a walk in the park—or morgue, in this case.

I tempered my nerves with a deep breath. It wasn’t the man inside that had my stomach in knots. I was keeping a secret from Belial. If he found out, he’d be furious with me for insisting I do this alone. And, even after a year, the Lord of Bones’ ire still struck thunder into my core.

This might be my last shot at carrying out my duties without him, and I couldn't squander it.

I trudged toward the door and grabbed the handle, finding it locked. I figured it would be. This monster had been up to his sick shit for long enough that he would have been caught by now if he made simple mistakes like leaving doors unlocked.

Pulling a bobby pin out of my long, braided hair, I sank to one knee. It had been a while since I used my lock-picking skills. The satisfying click a few minutes later had a smile spreading my lips.

Still got it, I thought as I stood again and headed inside.

The lobby of the funeral home was cozy, inviting. It was a long, narrow room with a desk sitting front and center. A few tables and chairs were situated throughout, but I couldn’t see much past the explosion of decorations lighting up the space.

My eyes immediately caught on a tall, glittering spruce tree against the far wall. Trimmed in every shade of red and gold, its ornaments shone in the room’s dim lighting. It was beautiful, the brightest and most vibrant thing I’d seen in a long time. I couldn’t tear my eyes away.

Was it Christmas time already?

I couldn’t remember the last decent holiday I’d had. Was it back when I was a child, before my father died? I’d been so young then, I wasn’t even sure if the memories I had were real or something I’d fabricated along the way.

What would it be like to have a memorable Christmas now?

A weight formed in my chest, a tug of yearning as I admired the festive tree.

If only I could have a Christmas tree of my own in the castle. Maybe it would make things feel a little more lively, a difficult task in the land of the dead.

Would Belial approve? He wasn’t the type to observe human customs like that. Though…

Christmas could be the perfect time to share the secret I’d been keeping from him.

A knot of emotion swelled in my throat, and I shoved the thoughts away. There was no time to dwell on it now.

Not while I had a monster to kill.

Keeping my footsteps quiet, I made my way through a doorway into the chapel. More decorations spilled into this room, trimming the rows of pews on either side of the space. Straight down the aisle, I could make out a large gold cross hanging on the wall above where a casket would go.

My eyes scanned the room and my mind wandered.

It felt weird being here. The place reeked of death, yet had all the vibes of a church.

Funny, how a place in Hell’s jurisdiction was littered with crosses and bibles.

What would these people say if they knew the god who watched over them was a demon who wore sin like a fine suit?

I’d never been to church in my life. The closest I’d ever gotten was on my knees, begging for mercy from my Lord as I moaned around his cock. It had felt like a hallowed prayer at the time.

That probably didn’t count.

I made my way into the belly of the funeral home.

The halls were lined with polished, identical doors, and the overwhelming smell of formaldehyde clung to the air, sticking in my lungs.

I knew where I was headed without knowing exactly where to go.

The basement was where the monster was—in the morgue.

To anyone else, it looked like an innocuous funeral home. Simple, intimate, peaceful.

It was a lie.

I knew the vile sin that lurked within, what was hidden beneath these bricks.

A waft of cool air wrapped around me as I pulled open the door leading to the basement, and I carefully made my way downstairs, my steps light and my resolve hard as steel.

I’d be damned if I was going to lose the element of surprise over this fucker. I wanted to see the flash of utter terror in his eyes when he saw me, just before he met his end. The thought brought a satisfied smile to my lips.

When I reached the last step, I froze. I was face to face with another door, this one metal with a tiny pane of glass peeking into the room beyond. However, it wasn’t the door that stopped me short, but the sound that was seeping through the walls.

A low, rhythmic thwacking hit my ears, dull and steady—like flesh slapping against flesh.

My stomach turned, and I braced myself for what was waiting just out of sight. With another deep breath, I reached for the door handle and pushed. The metal groaned like a warning with the movement, and I swallowed hard as the room beyond bloomed into view.

Unlike the cozy interior of the rooms upstairs, this place was cold. Sterile. The walls and floor were stark white, silver equipment gleaming in the fluorescent lights.

In the center of the room was a prep table, on which currently laid the funeral home’s newest tenant: Marlene Jacobs, a twenty-three year old college student who’d died in a tragic car accident.

On top of her, naked from the waist down, was a portly Mr. Christenson, the funeral director. He was rutting into the cradle of her pale, slender thighs, his animalistic grunts accompanying the slap of his sopping skin.

How was everything so—ech—wet?

Bile scorched the back of my throat when the large tub of vaseline on the rolling cart beside the table came into view.

Pure unadulterated disgust hooked beneath my gut, and for a moment I thought I might vomit. Then, rage possessed me like a demon.

I could have killed him then and there, could have snapped my fingers and shattered his skull or twisted his spine into a pretzel. It took all my will not to react yet.

Belial had taught me to be calculating and intentional with my Judgement.

Taking a few extra moments to determine my next move could mean more pain for him and more satisfaction for me.

Marlene, and all the poor souls who came before her, deserved justice. My mission was ensuring that she got it.

I’d make this bastard suffer.

Stepping further into the room, I cleared my throat, and the man’s thrusts stuttered. When he looked over, all the blood instantly drained from his face, his sweat-soaked complexion turning chalk white.

“Who are you?” His frantic words ran together as he clamored off the table and shuffled for his pants a few feet away.

“Well, I sure as shit am not Santa Claus.” I forced a caustic grin.

Reaching into my back pocket, I brandished a piece of parchment—a list of dangerous human souls to receive Judgement before their natural clock ran dry—and gave it a wave.

“But you’re on my naughty list, and it’s more than coal you’ve bought yourself. ”

“It’s not what it looks like… Y–you’re not supposed to be in here!”

“And you’re not supposed to be in there.” I jerked my chin toward the dead woman on the table. Now that he was off her, the woman looked even smaller, frailer. Vulnerable, exposed.

Even in death, women couldn’t escape being treated as objects.

Acid burned my tongue as I spit out, “What do you have to say for yourself, you pathetic swine?”

My eyes narrowed into deadly slits as I slowly made my way closer to the damned soul. The soft thud of my combat boots against the tile echoed through the morgue, while Mr. Christenson fumbled his pants on and backed farther away.

“You’re b-breaking and entering,” he sputtered. “If you don’t leave right now, I’m calling the police!”

I threw my head back and barked a laugh, the echo wrapping around us. “Go ahead. I’m sure they’d love to hear why Ms. Jacobs is full of vaseline and semen.”

“You can’t—I wasn’t—” A string of unintelligible syllables followed, as I stopped next to the prep table and ran my fingers along the surface.

My gaze fell on the woman’s face with her jaw wired shut and her eyes closed with glue.

She should have looked like she was sleeping, but her pinched expression implied something less peaceful.

It wasn’t possible for the corpse to react to pain, not in the human world.

But somewhere, I knew her soul was hurting.

“Don’t worry,” I whispered, brushing my fingers over her shoulder comfortingly. “He’ll never hurt you or anyone else ever again. I promise.”

Movement in the corner of my eye snagged my attention, and I looked up in time to see Mr. Christenson running at me with an electric saw. It wasn’t on, but the blade gleamed in the light.

Of course, he’d try to kill me to save himself.

I expected this, hoped for it even.

Lifting my hand, fingers outstretched, I focused on the magic welling in my veins. It was new to me, a gift that came with my role as Queen of Hell, and I hadn’t quite perfected it yet. However, I flicked my wrist, and the funeral director stopped short, the saw crashing to the floor.

His hands instantly went to his throat, like he was trying to pry away invisible fingers intent on cutting off his oxygen supply.

“You’re a sad, creepy fuck. Whatever punishment awaits you down below won’t be nearly enough to atone for your crimes.

” My black hair flew out of its braid with the force of the magic surging around us, whipping around my head and lashing chaotically at my cheeks.

Tools on the flat surfaces toppled, cabinet doors clattering.

“But I’ll do my damndest to try. We’ve got all of eternity to make you pay. ”

I paused as I reveled in his pathetic whimpers. He’d collapsed to his knees, pointlessly begging for his life.

“Oh, and I’m taking your Christmas tree, pervert,” I snapped.

In a flash, I closed my hand into a fist, my eyes locked on his until his skull shattered and bits of brain matter sprinkled over the nearby surfaces. Like a demented Christmas cracker.

How appropriate.

His pudgy corpse crumpled to the ground and landed with a sickening, satisfying crunch.

“Good riddance.”

I extracted each soul from their bodies, taking delicate care with Marlene’s, while I had to stop myself from shattering the funeral director’s then and there.

With a final, scathing look at the viscera-splattered morgue, I turned on my heel and marched back up to the funeral home lobby, my heart set on robbing the place of its decorations.

I would take them back to the castle and string them up there.

Belial would probably lecture me, since this was technically robbing the dead—and we’d been over that—but I didn’t care.

I was getting my festive fucking Christmas, one way or another.