Chapter 10
The temple was delightfully creepy.
Dusty, its walls and floors stained with ancient blood, and cobwebs stretching between gnarled, desiccated roots, it was just the kind of place Raika would expect demons to hang out.
So cool.
She loved the underworld and all its weirdness. The gross, squishy textures intermingled with sharp edges and wicked spikes. The mysterious realms, shrouded in evil fog and given life by unholy wails and agonized screams. She loved all the things that made other people run away in terror.
Sure, she didn’t love the cruelty inherent to evil, but something about the atmosphere that supported it was fascinating. But she also adored horror movies, so that tracked. And her father was the Grim Reaper himself, so…yeah. Her friends sometimes joked that she was a real-life Wednesday Addams.
She was okay with that.
Summoned blade in hand and a delicate orb of light floating in front of her, she crept along narrow passages, sometimes pausing to study the grotesque and erotic images carved into—or painted on—the uneven earthen walls.
The scenes of butchery and orgies grew more graphic as she got closer to what she assumed was the main chamber.
If she interpreted the symbols correctly, this was a Temple of Lilith.
One of dozens, but unknown to Raika before now.
Why had her prey come here? The demon Raika sought wasn’t a succubus.
As she slipped around a corner, her exceptional eyesight guiding her through the darkness that extended far beyond her me-powered light, her shoulder brushed some sort of painting nailed to the rough wall.
Little more than a stretched piece of hide—or, more likely, skin—the hyperrealistic piece featured six hideous, horned demons feasting on what looked like a human male, his rib cage spread wide, his mouth twisted into a silent scream.
Strangely drawn to the detailed scene, Raika drew her fingertip along the edge, noting the smooth texture of the canvas and the sticky, almost wet feel of the paint. And maybe she was imagining it, but it seemed that, all around her, the air grew heavy. Oppressive.
The chamber spun, closing in on her.
She tried to back up, but something—one of the demons inside the painting—grabbed her hand.
A rare thread of terror shot up her spine as the beast tugged her so violently it nearly wrenched her shoulder from its socket. Its sharp-toothed maw gaped wide enough to swallow her entire head as it dragged her closer and closer.
Grunting with effort, she threw herself backward and sliced at the demon with her free hand.
The blade caught the thing in its lower jaw, breaking bone and sinew with such force that the shockwave vibrated through her arm.
It screeched, teeth and blood exploding onto the wall and coating her hand in gore.
With a whoosh, the demon retreated into the painting, and the malevolent tension in the air dissipated.
Fool! Raika berated herself as she fell back against a stone pillar to catch her breath. You were caught off guard. So stupid!
She should have recognized the tableau sinistre, an abomination that sucked unsuspecting admirers into the scenes. Once inside, there was no escape. You were trapped, living the horror of your death over and over for eternity.
She shuddered at the thought of being stuck in a painting of a demon feast.
Raika could appreciate the diabolical nature of the art, but that didn’t stop her from shooting it a glare and giving it a wide berth.
The corridor narrowed just as she felt a warm bloom against her abdomen.
Yes!
Halting, she plucked a hot crystal shard from a pocket on her weapons harness. The tracking crystal glowed with heat and pulsed with a feeble, flickering orange light faster than it had before she entered the temple.
She was getting closer to her target.
Excitement drilled through her, and her breath practically burned with anticipation.
“I fucking love my job,” she whispered to herself.
“And what, exactly, is your job?”
Startled, Raika wheeled around to the owner of the raspy, female voice. “Funny you should ask,” she said calmly, hoping to hide the fact that she’d been caught by surprise. Again. “My job is to capture you.”
“Me?” The demon, an eyeless, sharp-toothed, ugly-ass thing half-concealed in shadows, cocked its head. “Why me? You’ve been stalking me for weeks. Who are you?”
Raika slipped the little bead back into her pocket and summoned another blade. She fought best with two.
But she wasn’t ready to fight yet. She liked it when her prey knew their fate. She liked…foreplay.
“Why you?” Raika purred. “Because you’re a demon who escaped your fate when Azagoth destroyed Sheoul-gra and freed you.”
“My fate?” The demon hissed in anger. “That bastard sealed me in a statue of agony for centuries. He freed me! My fate is now my own.”
“Nice try, but that’s not how Heaven sees it.”
The demon retreated into the shadows. “You’re an angel?”
“If only you were that lucky.” Raika clanged her weapons together and grinned. “I’m a Reaper, bitch. And it’s time to reap.”
One of the best things about being an angel was being almost impervious to extreme temperatures. It was something Gabriel had taken for granted.
Because, as an Unfallen angel, he felt the cold. He felt the heat. He felt the fire Lilith liked to burn him with, even as she made him lie prone on blocks of dry ice.
Right now, he felt every inch of his blackened, scorched skin and frostbitten flesh. With the exception of one exploded eye, his face didn’t hurt, but that was only because Lilith had healed his shredded cheek.
“I don’t want to mar your beauty, my lovely Gabriel,” Lilith had told him. “I like my lovers pretty.”
Once, he’d been stupid enough to tell her that he wasn’t her lover. She had a very loose definition of the word and had shown him, over and over in the most painful and vile ways possible, that he was, indeed, her lover.
Bile filled his mouth at the memory of the things she’d done to him and forced him to do to her.
Don’t puke. Don’t puke. Do. Not. Puke.
Desperate to avoid the misery of choking up vomit in his raw throat, he focused on two pieces of straw a few feet away.
Not long ago, he could have blinked them out of existence with a mere thought.
Or impaled them in the walls. Or transformed them into blades that would decapitate the horrid bitch.
But now, the little bits of straw just lay there on the stone floor, mocking him. Hell, he couldn’t even make them move when he blew a breath at them. Not that he had any breath to spare. He could barely breathe through his agony, and what little air moved through his lungs felt like fire.
Everything hurt. Even his ears. His eardrums throbbed, sending pulses of pain into his brain. The rhythmic thumping grew louder, hurting more. It drove him crazy—so crazy he thought he heard shouts. Clanks. Strange thumps.
Wait… He lifted his head and concentrated. Footsteps? Curses? Battle?
The noises drilled into him, and excitement made his heart leap. He knew what fighting sounded like, and that was definitely the clang of blades on blades. Screeching. Bloodletting.
He opened his one good eye, but his eyelid was sandpaper across his tender cornea.
Blurry images of what he thought were two females formed before him.
By the shape of her body and the shock-white color of her short hair, he knew the one getting her ass kicked was Vanthora.
But who was the curvy warrior in black? And why was she fighting the demon?
Not that it mattered. He’d root for anyone who could destroy Vanthora.
They danced a violent, bloody routine across the floor, weapons flashing, curses flying. The dark female controlled the battle, her movements graceful and effortless as she beat his tormentor to a pulp. Victory in increments. Death by a thousand cuts.
Vanthora went down, and excitement burst through him as the other female performed an exquisite, fluid routine that a ballerina would envy, almost mocking the prone demon before slicing her head clean from her body.
Who is this magnificent warrior?
Wings erupted from her back, arched in victory. Shiny black at the pointed, clawed arches, the feathers gradually turned crimson at the tips in a stunning ombre effect.
He coughed, and her wings flared as she spun around, her blades dripping blood.
His vision was still too blurry to make out her face, but her silhouette left an impression that would have had him thinking naughty thoughts if his brain and body weren’t so broken.
Tucking her wings away, she approached, her boots striking the floor with light taps. A moment later, she went down on her heels, forearms resting casually on her knees.
One slender hand reached out to tip his face up. “Who are you?”
That voice! That smoky, deep voice that sounded like sex on a bed of hot coals.
“Raika?” he croaked.
Startled, she leaped backward into an aggressive crouch, a blade poised to punch through his skull. “Who are you?”
“Gabriel.” He coughed, spraying blood. “I’m…Gabriel.”
Silence. Then, “You’re not Gabriel. Not the Archangel Gabriel, anyway. I’ve met him. He was way hotter than you. Smelled better, too.”
She thought he was hot?
She thought he used to be hot. Now, she thought he was ugly and stinky.
“I can prove it.” He swallowed, making a futile attempt to work up some saliva to relieve the dry pain in his throat. “Look at my hair. It’s all the colors of humankind. It’s unique, even among angels.”
“It’s shit-brown right now. All of it. You’re filthy. Try again.”
“I know your father,” he wheezed. “He used to call me Jim Bob. I met you at his manor, remember? He made you change out of the bikini.” He’d also threatened to make cocktail olives out of Gabriel’s eyes if he didn’t stop staring at his daughter.
“Oh, yeah. I guess you are Gabriel.” Cocking her head, she appeared to think on that. “So, you were yeeted from Heaven?” At his nod, she added, “And Vanthora captured your pathetic, Unfallen ass?”
Pathetic? Kinda harsh. “Not Vanthora. Lilith. And another fallen angel named Fearr.” Stifling a groan, he staggered to his feet. “You need to release me before she comes back.”
“Lilith?” Raika casually flipped her blade into the air and caught it with two fingers, clearly unconcerned that one of the most powerful demons in history could return at any moment. “Hmm. Makes sense. This is one of her temples.”
“Right.” He thrust his bound wrists at her. “Quickly!”
Another agonizing moment of contemplation. “Lilith is one of the demons I’m tasked to capture.” She strolled around the perimeter of the room, moving her hands in complex patterns as she weaved some sort of magic he couldn’t see.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m setting a trap.”
“Then you’ll release me, right?”
Barking out a laugh, she swung around to him. “Why would I do that?”
He stared in disbelief. “You can’t leave me here.”
“Of course I can.” She moved toward him, a malevolent smile lifting one corner of her luscious mouth to reveal a shiny, sharp fang. When she reached him, she crouched down and booped his nose. “You’re the bait.”