CHAPTER SEVENTEEN #3
A huge dark man hurried toward them. He was as evil as Moffat; a true demon from the highest level.
Usually the highest demons had the appearance of golden male angels, but not this one.
He was as ugly as Moffat was beautiful. Allie cringed.
She was in the hands of two of the most powerful demons she had ever encountered.
His gaze swept her with demonic interest. “Bring her,” he ordered Moffat. He was barefoot, clad in a roughly woven tunic, a wool mantle over his shoulders, and he made Moffat, in his fine velvet robes and pointy shoes, seem the epitome of elegance.
Allie felt even sicker than before. She was about to defy her very Fate by healing a demon. It was unbelievable, but she had to spare Brigdhe any more pain.
Moffat shoved her forward and she followed Kael into another hut. Instantly she sensed death.
Kael looked at her with pure malice. “Heal my brother.”
Allie walked past him, the dying demon’s aura thick with the blood of his innocent victims. He was pretty and golden, like Moffat, and he looked at her with his red eyes as she knelt, no fervor present.
He had been stabbed dozens of times in a battle, and any one of his wounds would have killed a mortal man instantly.
But he was a demon and he still lived. Still, he had lost too much blood, and a raging infection had set in. He would die if not healed.
Allie couldn’t breathe. This man had taken hundreds of Innocent lives, enjoying every sadistic moment of seduction, pleasure, torture and rape. She felt all of their souls, crying out for justice—begging her to desist. She couldn’t do this.
Moffat knelt over her, so close his body spooned hers, his thick manhood a terrible and threatening presence against her back. “Heal him. Otherwise, while Kael enjoys the woman inside, I’ll show you how much you’ve been missing while in Royce’s bed.”
Allie bit her lip. She hardly cared about herself, but she did care about Brigdhe. She lifted her hand, and without enthusiasm, reached for her white light. To her surprise, it eluded her grasp.
She reached more determinedly for it. There was only a thread to seize.
She seized the fragile wave and showered it at the demon. But she had nothing in her hand but air.
Her powers had been compromised by the leap, or the Ancients were near, refusing to allow her to heal their mortal enemy.
She tensed, trying to feel any holy presence within the general area, and she was not surprised to feel grace and majesty nearby.
“What happens?” Kael asked, interrupting her. The demon’s eyes were closed, his face white. “He still dies!”
Allie hesitated, knowing she was in grave straits. “I don’t have the power,” Allie tried. “I lost it during the leap.”
Moffat hauled her cruelly to her feet. “You will pay for this!”
“The gods won’t let me heal a demon!” she shouted in desperation.
Kael knelt over his brother. “He breathes, but barely! Make the bitch heal!”
“I am warning you,” Moffat snarled, his face so close to hers his breath feathered her cheek.
“There is nothing in me,” Allie cried. “My powers are gone.”
Moffat pulled her from the hut. He let her go and she stumbled. “Don’t take this out on Brigdhe,” she begged. Fear arose and consumed her. Could she somehow find the courage to sacrifice herself for the other woman? “Do with me as you will…but leave that poor woman alone.”
“You’re about to pay a terrible price for your refusal,” he said softly, furiously. “I will enjoy hurting you.”
Her fear escalated. She didn’t want to die, but maybe death would be preferable to what Moffat would do to her. Allie told herself she must survive. Royce needed her—the world needed her. Royce, where are you? I am in so much trouble!
And suddenly she thought she felt him, somewhere far away, listening to her.
Royce?
Suddenly Moffat stiffened, his head up, as if he scented Royce, too.
Allie wet her lips, praying. She did not want Royce walking blindly into Moffat’s trap. They needed the Ancients’ help. Weren’t the gods stronger in this time? “I am glad the gods wouldn’t let me heal that bastard,” she said with heat, in an attempt to distract Moffat.
“Be silent.” He remained poised like a hunting hound sniffing the night. Then he finally looked at her, emanating a terrible tension. “He comes, Ailios.”
She trembled and cried, “What do you intend?”
“After I am done with Royce, I will bend you to my will—and enjoy doing so. You had better beg the gods to return your powers to you.” He jerked on her and hauled her roughly back to the building where Brigdhe was imprisoned.
Moffat shoved her into the hut. She tripped and almost fell, but he caught her and dragged her across the room. “What are you doing?” she cried in alarm.
He seized a trapdoor she hadn’t noticed, set into the floor, and flung it open. Then he pushed her over the edge.
Allie fell into cold, wet dirt.
Above her, Moffat laughed and slammed the trapdoor closed.
And that was when she felt something hot, dry and scaly slither over her hand.
She became still.
The snake hissed.
Slowly Allie turned her head, adjusting her eyes to the darkness. And when she could see, she met dozens of small, glittering eyes. Dozens of snakes writhed in a mass just feet from where she lay, hissing and seething, angry at the invasion of their den.
Raw terror began.
Royce, help me!