Azagoth: A Demonica Novella

Chapter Three

Lilliana’s skin crawled as she took in the massive palace before her. True to her intel and research, the building, and all those surrounding it, were fashioned after ancient Greek structures. Great pillars rose up from the ground to support walls that went on forever. But unlike the bone-white framework that typified Greek construction, everything here was blackened, as if polluted by centuries of smoke buildup. She wondered what would happen if she scraped her fingernail down a wall.

Everything here felt...wrong. Even the air buzzed with a low-level sinister energy, as if she were standing next to a leaking, demonic nuclear power plant. Instinctively, she reached for her angelic power, but it was as if she struck a barrier. She could feel her power inside her, but it was trapped somehow, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t reach it.

Raphael had warned her that her powers would be all but useless here, but she’d hoped that somehow he was wrong.

Not so much.

Shuddering, she inhaled the air that stank of decay and filth, and climbed the seemingly endless steps to a landing that was as sprawling as a football field. The doors before her, large enough to allow a pair of elephants inside, opened up as if by magic.

No one was standing at the threshold to greet her. She hadn’t been sure what to expect, but silence and a warehouse-sized room filled with gruesome artwork and fountains that ran with blood wasn’t it.

Lilliana walked inside, her pristine white gown dragging on the polished obsidian floor. She hated the stupid dress, but it was what Raphael had insisted she wear, as if she were some sort of child bride being offered up to a sleazeball who’d paid for her.

Which probably wasn’t far from the truth.

At the far side of the room, a lone figure appeared through another set of double doors. Male. Tall. Blond. Handsome. Evil.

Fallen angel.

He gestured for her to approach, and although she’d been conditioned since birth to despise fallen angels, she obeyed. What choice did she have, after all?

“I am Zhubaal,” he said, when she was a few yards away.

Up close, he was obscenely good-looking in his black leather pants and wife-beater that revealed a massive, muscular upper body, but the malevolence in his gaze made her shiver. Relief that he wasn’t Azagoth was tempered with fear that her soon-to-be mate would be hideous...or that his eyes would be filled with something much worse than cruelty.

“I’m Lilliana,” she replied as steadily as she could, but she cursed the slight tremor in her voice.

“I know.” Zhubaal smiled, and if she’d thought his gaze was fiendish, his smile was a hundred times worse. This was not a male she’d want to piss off. “Tell me, do you feel like a sacrificial lamb?”

Fallen angels were assholes. “I was given more of a choice than any lamb.”

He snorted and started down a long, twisty hallway. “Keep telling yourself that.”

She amended her last thought. Fallen angels were major assholes.

They arrived at an arched doorway that seemed to be carved out of a solid piece of bone. A slab of thick wood studded with iron squeaked open at Zhubaal’s shove.

Warm orange light spilled from the opening, illuminating a room that was chilly despite flames that stretched a full six feet in height inside the fireplace on the far wall. In front of the fire, there was a claw-footed oak desk scattered with papers, pens, and tiny jade animals.

And standing next to the monstrosity was an impossibly beautiful dark-haired male with eyes the color of vibrant emeralds. His expression could have been carved from a solid block of ice, and the blade-sharp lines of his jaw and cheekbones only emphasized the hardness of his appearance. The fang tips glinting between his full lips were the icing on the oh-shit-what-did-I-get-into cake.

“Hello.” His deep voice turned her marrow to pudding even as a wave of heat licked her skin. “I’m Azagoth.”

Dear...God. He was both magnificent and frightening. “I’m Lilliana,” she said, somehow keeping her tone even, her words sure.

He strode toward her, his black slacks defining long legs, his European-style leather shoes tapping against the ebony floor, his rich gray dress shirt rolled at the sleeves to reveal powerfully muscled forearms. Lilliana resided in Heaven, where all male angels were perfect specimens of masculinity, but something about Azagoth made every last one of them seem average. Hell, even Raphael, with his jewels and furs, couldn’t touch Azagoth’s simple elegance and raw sexuality.

Or his deadliness.

He halted a couple of feet away. “Why are you here?”

She blinked, not understanding the question. Surely he understood the deal that had been struck between him and the archangels.

“Ah...I’m here for you.”

He looked at her as if she were completely daft. “I know. But why you?”

“I don’t know why,” she answered honestly. This was a punishment, yes, but the archangels could have chosen anyone to toss up as a sacrifice, so why her specifically? She’d wondered, but in the end it didn’t matter, she supposed.

Azagoth’s remarkable eyes narrowed. “Then why did you agree to mate me?”

She wasn’t sure she was ready to tell him. She could think of little more humiliating or insulting than trying to explain that being here was the least distasteful of two horrific options. “First, why don’t you tell me why you wanted this?”

If she’d thought his gaze was cold before, now it glazed over with ice. “Obviously, I desire a mate.”

“But why?”

He smiled, but it was as frostbitten as his eyes. “How old are you?” he asked, ignoring her question.

“I’m coming up on my four hundred and thirty-sixth birthday.”

He made a sound of disgust. “So pathetically young.” His gaze took a long, appraising tour of her body, and she bristled. “And you’re wearing white. Your idea? Or did the archangels send you to me looking like a virgin ready for the volcano?”

He’d hit that nail on the head. “It wasn’t my idea.”

“But are you a virgin?” he asked, and wow, he had balls, didn’t he. No, she wasn’t a virgin—at least, not in one sense of the word, but the hell if she was going to give him the satisfaction of an answer. When she remained silent, he cursed. “You are, aren’t you?”

“You say it like you might ask if I’m a cockroach. The sneer was a nice touch.”

“A virgin cockroach.” His mouth twitched in amusement. What a strange sense of humor. He returned to his desk and pulled a parcel out of a drawer. Lush gold silk surrounded the package, which was tied with a red satin bow. He handed it to her. “You will wear this.”

She had no idea what was inside the package, but she’d had it with his attitude. “I have my own clothes, but thank you.”

“Your shipment from Heaven is being delayed,” he said, and she had a sneaky suspicion he had something to do with that. “So no, you don’t have clothes. You will wear what I give you.”

Okay, then. The question now wasn’t whether or not she needed the full thirty days to decide if she was staying. The question was how long it would be before she could get out of here. At this rate, she’d be out the door in an hour. Screw the chronoglass. Dissection was looking better and better.

“Tell you what,” she snapped. “I’ll wear whatever is in this package if you start using the words ‘please’ and ‘thank you.’ And if you stop being a dick.”

One dark eyebrow shot up. “The innocent little angel has teeth,” he mused. “I like it.”

She clenched said teeth. “Good. Now maybe you can show me to my room?”

“Our room,” he said with way too much relish. “From this day on, we share a bed. We share everything.”

Azagoth wasn’t sure what to think of the striking angel who had shown up on his doorstep, but he was sure she wasn’t here of her own volition. He’d bet his pearly-white fangs that she’d been forced into mating him, and he’d bet the deal had been couched inside a “choice.”

You can do what we “suggest,” or your life will be a living hell.

The words, spoken to him by the archangel Gabriel, rang in his ears as if it were yesterday. Yeah, what the archangels called a “choice” was more like a prod with a lightning bolt in the direction they wanted you to go.

As he waited for Lilliana’s reaction to his announcement, he gave her a good once-over. Okay, maybe a twice-over, because damn, she was fine.

Unlike most of the angels who came to him, Lilliana was in no way petite or delicate. She looked like the type of female who could hold her own against him in physical combat, and then melt into a puddle of ecstasy when the battle was over and he was between her legs. He admired that in a female.

Of course, there was a lot to admire about her.

Long, sable lashes framed eyes the color of the purest amber, and sturdy, angular features defined her ageless face. This angel was tall, solidly built, with only the slightest of curves in all the right places and muscles that gave her an Amazonian warrior aura. Her chestnut hair flowed over slender but powerful shoulders, and he wondered if it was as silky as it looked.

“The same bed, huh?”

Her question was rhetorical, so he crossed his arms over his chest and waited for a genuine reaction from her. In reality, he’d had another room prepared for her, but he wanted to see how she handled him. He wasn’t easy to deal with, and any female who fell apart within minutes of meeting him wasn’t going to last.

Despite what he’d said to Mariella yesterday, he wouldn’t force anyone to stay. He was a cold, heartless bastard, but even he didn’t want to spend eternity with someone who couldn’t hold their own against him. He could deal with hatred, but he couldn’t deal with fear.

A crying, cowering female in his bed just didn’t do it for him. On the other hand, angry sex could be fucking hot as shit.

So which way would Lilliana go? Fight or flight? Hate or fear? The stubborn glint in her eyes told him that meek acceptance wouldn’t be an option. Good. He didn’t want a doormat for a mate, either.

She lifted her chin and looked down her nose at him in that infuriating way most angels did. As if he was so beneath them, what with his own realm, servants, and more influence than most archangels could claim.

“I was hoping we’d have time to get to know each other,” she said crisply, “but I’ll deal. Touch me without my consent, however, and you’ll lose an arm.”

So, fight over flight. And probably a touch of hate. He liked her spirit. She needed to work on her threats, however.

“Never threaten someone with losing a limb when you can go gorier. Try this next time: Touch me without my consent and I’ll gut you with my teeth and then strangle you with your own intestines.” He imagined her saying that, and his pants grew uncomfortably tight. “See how much better that sounds?”

She glared. “If you’ll give me paper and a pen, I’ll take notes.”

He was starting to like this chick.

“I’m assuming the angels have sealed the portal behind you so you can’t leave unless I expel you?” At her clipped nod, he waved for her to follow him. “Come on. I’ll show you to our room.” He led her to the grand double doors at the rear of his office, and with a mere thought, they whispered open.

Lilliana stood in the doorway, gaping at his bedroom-slash-playroom. “Oh. My. Gaudy,” she breathed. “Please tell me I can redecorate.”

Zhubaal had warned him that females didn’t appreciate man-cave decor. Or torture-room decor. Turned out he was right. “Sure. But nothing nautical. Or American Southwest.”

She didn’t miss a beat. “I was thinking more along the lines of screw-you minimalist. First thing that goes is the spanking bench.”

Damn, he was liking her more and more. Too bad he’d have to break her little haloed heart.

“No furniture goes until you’ve tried it first. But the rest...meh.” He gestured to the walls covered in rich tapestries, priceless artwork by famous human and demon painters, and giant mirrors framed in pure gold. “The color scheme was popular a thousand years ago. It’s time for an update, I suppose.”

She sniffed haughtily, which was such an angel thing to do, and stalked inside. And wow, nice ass. Perfectly packaged in the satin dress, it was a little less full than he liked, but there was still plenty of padding in that heart-shaped bottom. He could picture her bent over the spanking bench as he gripped her hips and thrust against her, her skin flushed with ecstasy and pink from sensual lashes.

“The bed can stay,” she announced.

Of course it could. It was big enough to sleep six, which meant she could put a lot of space between them. She could try, anyway.

“The bathroom is through the doorway to your right,” he said. “The hallway straight ahead leads to a kitchen, dining room, and TV room. I get pretty much every TV station in the world.”

She frowned. “How?”

“Same way Heaven gets it. Demon technicians can warp and tune any manmade signal into something usable down here.” He gestured to a huge oak cabinet. “The wardrobe on the left is yours. There are clothes already inside. I’ll leave you to it.”

She turned to him, that ridiculous gown sweeping across the floor. “Where are you going?”

“I have a job to do. Places to go, people to kill, and those demon souls don’t admit themselves into Sheoul-gra, you know.” He started toward the door. “Join me after you change, and I’ll show you around your new home.”

“Wait.” She started after him, but as he swung back around to her, she checked up like she’d hit a wall, as if realizing that being alone would be better than being with him. “What about my powers?”

“What about them?”

“I have none.” She hugged herself, no doubt feeling naked and exposed without them. “How am I supposed to defend myself in this place?”

“There’s nothing here that can harm you. Except me.” He glanced at his watch. He probably had time to usher in a few souls, show Lillian around, and check in with his griminions before his next appointment arrived. Looking up again, he caught her gaze. “But I can’t think of any reason I should harm you...can you?”

She gave a forced smile. “Of course not.”

“Good. Let’s keep it that way.” He headed toward the door again, pausing at the threshold to say softly, “I’m not a cruel person, Lilliana. But I’m not a forgiving one, either. Betray me and you’ll see exactly how unforgiving I can be. There are no second chances.”

He left her alone, closing the door behind him.