Azagoth: A Demonica Novella

Chapter Four

Lilliana waited until Azagoth shut the door to stick out her tongue at him.

“Join me after you change,” she mimicked. “I’ll show you around your new home. Betray me and you’ll see exactly how unforgiving I can be.”

Yeah, real mature. But the guy was infuriating. And obnoxious. And handsome. She couldn’t forget handsome. The image of him standing next to his desk lingered in her mind, the way he’d been so casual, and yet, there was a coiled intensity about him, as if he could snap her neck with one hand while chugging rum from the bottle on his desk with the other.

Why in the hell did she find that sexy? She was an angel, for Heaven’s sake. She was supposed to be sweet and pure, and...that was a load of crap.

Angels were, in truth, ruthless warriors who fought for the side of good, often with stunning brutality. They fought dirty and didn’t always follow the rules. Then there were the politics—many angels had their own agendas, and those agendas often didn’t mesh with what was best for either the Earthly realm or the Heavenly one.

So, okay, she wasn’t sweet and pure, but she probably shouldn’t think Azagoth’s lethal aura was sexy.

Tossing the package he’d given her onto the black satin bedspread, she looked around the room, and this time, she didn’t bother to hide her shock. When she and Azagoth had first entered, she’d schooled her expression into calm nonchalance, but inside she had been hyperventilating.

She’d seen a lot in her centuries of life—demons and humans were extremely creative when it came to sex—but she’d never thought she’d be expected to participate in anything kinky. Heck, her ex, Hutriel, a high-ranking member of the angelic Eradicator Force who hunted the illegal offspring of angels and fallen angels, had despised the kind of messy sex humans and demons enjoyed so much. Angel intimacy, especially among the hardcore conservative old guard, was polite and clean, more of a merging of souls than bodies. Hutriel had definitely been old guard. He would have hated Azagoth’s lair.

She wrinkled her nose at the huge wood and padded leather St. Andrew’s Cross in the corner. It was much nicer than the one some sex toy salesman tried to get her to “try” when she’d walked past his store while hunting a demon once. And Azagoth’s leather-wrapped restraints were a far cry from the sales guy’s metal handcuffs.

Oh, but not to fear, Azagoth also had handcuffs hanging from a wooden rack next to the spanking bench. All sorts of restraints, whips, paddles, gags, and items she couldn’t identify kept those cuffs company, and she shivered.

And yet...curiosity, and maybe a screw-you aimed in Hutriel’s direction, nudged her over to the rack, and she found herself running her fingers over the surprisingly supple leather strands on the floggers and testing the fabric of the blindfolds. What would it feel like to be blindfolded and bound, completely at the mercy of someone like Azagoth?

Again she shivered, but this time, it was accompanied by desire curling in her gut and spiraling outward until even her skin flushed with pleasant tingles. Maybe she should be appalled by Azagoth’s collection and her reaction to it, but she’d always been adventurous and eager to try new things. With the right male, she’d give this stuff a go.

But Azagoth wasn’t the right male. So far, he’d proved to be an arrogant prick, and in any case, as soon as she found his chronoglass, she was out of here.

She moved over to the huge oak wardrobe and held her breath as she opened it. To her relief, there was nothing too weird hanging on the rack or sitting neatly on the shelves. But black wasn’t her color, and leather wasn’t her material. She was definitely a slacks and blouse kind of gal, so the midnight satin corset and metal-studded leather miniskirt got shoved to the back of the stack.

She finally chose a pair of plain black leggings, a maroon long-sleeved, fitted crop top with a turtleneck collar, and knee-high boots with four sets of buckles down the shaft. She checked herself out in the mirror, was surprised that the outfit wasn’t completely horrible and actually flattered her athletic figure.

She’d always compensated for her lack of feminine features and curves by wearing her hair loose and long, and her clothes were always on the conservative, lacier side. But somehow, these form-fitting garments enhanced her femininity even more than the flowing, delicate gown she’d been forced to wear. Huh.

Sinking down on the massive bed, she opened the package Azagoth had given her. Inside was a simple but elegant Tiffany key pendant on a delicate silver chain. It was beautiful, but why would he want her to wear it?

She wasn’t going to. Already she realized she had very little power down here, and one thing Azagoth wasn’t going to take away was her ability to choose. Very carefully, she put away the chain and left the box on the mattress.

The mattress she was going to have to share with Azagoth.

Unbidden, an image of him naked and lying next to her as that deep voice whispered raw, naughty things, made her skin flush and her breasts tingle. Was that what the angels sent here for him to service felt like when they were standing in this room?

The thought was enough to knock her halo back on straight. There would be no sex, because she was leaving.

Taking a deep, bracing breath, she opened the door to Azagoth’s office. The wall directly across from her had opened up, revealing a green-glowing cross-sectioned tunnel. A parade of demons shuffled through from left to right, each one escorted by a three-foot tall griminion shrouded completely in black. As she entered the room, the parade stopped, and Azagoth swung around. His expression remained neutral, but she swore his eyes darkened as he raked her with his gaze.

“Better,” he rumbled.

“Flattery isn’t your strong suit, is it?”

“And taking direction isn’t yours.”

So he’d noticed the missing necklace. Tough shit. She ignored him and glanced over at the tunnel. “What’s going on?”

“These are souls of dead demons and evil humans. My griminions are escorting them into the lower Sheoul-gra levels known as the Inner Sanctum.”

“Where Hades lives?”

He inclined his head. “Hades keeps them contained and suitably miserable until they’re reincarnated.”

She eyed the demon souls, which appeared to be as solid as they had been when they were alive. “I’m assuming demon souls are like those of humans? Non-corporeal while on Earth and in Sheoul, but solid in Sheoul-gra and Heaven?”

“It’s exactly the same. Human and demon souls appear as ghosts on the Earthly plane, but are fully realized in Heaven and Sheoul-gra.”

If only humans understood that their bodies on Earth were shadowy versions of what they would become after they died and returned to the Heavenly plane where they’d been created. They’d be much happier, not worrying so much about defiling themselves or even injuring their bodies. Their short human lives were but a thin thread in the fabric of their true existences, a drop in the ocean of their lifespans.

Azagoth made a sweeping motion with his hand, and the wall slid closed.

“So you just sit around all day and watch souls walk through a tunnel?”

A faint smile twitched on his lips. “That’s just one of my duties. Come on. I’ll show you around.”

He took her down several winding hallways, pointing out various rooms that led to quarters for his griminions.

“What, exactly, are griminions?” She watched one of the troll-like creatures scurry through a doorway and disappear into the darkness.

“During the negotiations between Heaven and Sheoul over the creation of Sheoul-gra, it was agreed that I would be allowed to create a species of demon that could assist with the retrieval of souls.”

“And you made creepy little skittery things?”

“Not...exactly. My design used imps and gentle Huldrefox demons as a base, combined with a species of demon that can see ghosts. Satan took out the Huldrefox and threw in extra imp. Now I have a bunch of Oompa Loompas with the intelligence of doorknobs.” He shrugged as if trying to dismiss the almost undetectable fond note in his voice. “They’re loyal little guys, though.”

He kept walking, but she slowed him down several times to ogle the priceless weapons and art on his walls. He had tapestries and paintings believed lost to the ages, and weapons wielded by legends and kings. She wasn’t sure how long it took them to get to the huge antechamber she’d walked through when she’d first entered the building, but as he explained some of the demon artwork, she only half-listened as she kept her eyes peeled for his chronoglass.

Disappointed that it was nowhere in the room, she followed him outside, with its blackened landscape and gray sky.

He looked out at the buildings surrounding his giant manor. “You can explore those at your leisure. Most of them are empty shells.”

She eyed a pulsing vine hanging off one of the rooftops and made a note to avoid the native flora. She’d battled a lot of demons in her life, but she’d never spent enough time in Sheoul to get to know how creepy—or lethal—the vegetation was.

“Why are the buildings here, if they’re unused?” she asked him.

A shadow darkened the emerald light in his eyes before disappearing a heartbeat later. “As humans built up their cities, I added buildings to match.”

Okay, so that wasn’t really an explanation, but she got the sense that if she asked for more, he wouldn’t give it to her. “Why is everything here so...filthy?”

He dragged a fingernail down the surface of a pillar, leaving behind a thin line of white stone. “Sheoul-gra’s soul is tied to mine. As I succumb to the malevolence that seeps out of Hell, so do the buildings.”

So this was what thousands of years of demon-grade sewer leakage would do to a realm. No wonder there were angels employed full time to patch cracks between the human and demon realms. She could only wonder about the extent to which miniscule doses affected humans. But Azagoth had been exposed for thousands of years.

“When you first built this place, everything was white?”

He nodded. “And green. There used to be grass here. Trees. Flowers. Animals. Everything died over time.”

She studied his profile, looking for any hint of emotion, but his face might as well have been carved from the same stone used to erect the buildings.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “It must have been hard to see the realm you created waste away like that.”

His expression hardened even more. “I made my choice.” He spun on his heel and headed back inside.

Making a mental note that his realm’s demise was a sore subject, she caught up to him as he strode inside the most amazing room yet.

It was a huge, cozy library with floor-to-ceiling shelves of books. A grand fire burned against one wall, and in front of it, a weathered leather sofa was angled so a person could lounge against the pillows and read by the light of the flames. In the center of the room was a recliner, and next to the chair was the object she’d been looking for.

She tried not to stare, but she’d never seen a double-sided version before.

“It’s a chronoglass,” Azagoth said, and she decided to keep the truth of what she knew close to the vest.

“It’s amazing,” she said truthfully. Framed by a gold rim, the pane of smoky mirrored glass stood at least ten feet tall and four feet wide, easily a third larger than either of the chronoglasses in Heaven. “Can you time travel?” Raphael had indicated that he couldn’t, but she’d rather hear it from Azagoth himself.

“No.”

“Then what do you do with it?”

“I use it to see what’s going on in the world.” In three graceful strides he moved in front of it. Instantly, the smoky color gave way to a clear view of the bustling streets of Paris.

Evidence of the recent near-apocalypse was visible in the scorch and pock marks on the sides of buildings and on the sidewalks, as well as the broken windows and twisted metal streetlamps and bike racks. But the signs of recovery were there too, in the open shop doors, speeding cars, and even a few tourists.

“But how do you choose the time period you want to see?” she asked.

“I can’t.” He reached out, a wistful smile playing on his lips as he traced a finger over a street sign. “I can only see what’s current. Only those with time travel ability can choose to see events from the past.”

“Can you at least choose the location?”

“That,” he said, “I can do.” He gestured to an odd black ball sitting on top of a stone stand. “It’s sort of a mystical remote control.”

She moved toward the ball, fascinated by this new discovery. She’d never heard of anyone using a chronoglass for anything but traveling through time. “How did you get all of this?”

“I made a deal with a fallen angel named Harvester. This was the first half of what she owes me.”

Harvester, daughter of Satan? Wow. Her name had become household in the last few months. As the only fallen angel in history who had not only been restored to full angel status, but who had mated the most powerful angel in existence to become stepmother to the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, she was a rock star in Heaven. It was rumored that she still had to fight evil impulses, but according to most, that only made her an even better choice to be the Horsemen’s Heavenly Watcher.

She skimmed her fingers over the chronoglass’s shiny surface. “You do know that Harvester is a fully restored angel now, right?”

He tilted his chin in acknowledgement. “I’m aware.”

Of course he was. For being trapped in isolation, he seemed to be well connected. “Were you also aware that she’s mated to an angel named Reaver, who was recently promoted to Radiant status?”

His wry smile said he knew even more than that. “Of course. Were you aware that Reaver has an evil twin named Revenant, who was also raised to the Sheoulic equivalent of a Radiant?”

“He’s a Shadow Angel?” she asked, stunned at the news. She’d known that Revenant was the Horsemen’s evil Watcher, but she had no idea he was Reaver’s brother—or that he was so damned powerful.

“Yes,” he said. “It’s been thousands of years since either Heaven or Sheoul had seen angels of their status.” His smile turned malevolent. “Which means something big is about to happen. Just wait. It’s coming.”

At a tap on the door, they both looked up to see Zhubaal enter. “You have a visitor, my lord.”

“Show him to my office,” Azagoth said. As the fallen angel slipped away, Azagoth turned to her. “Feel free to explore my realm. No sentient being will harm you, but be wary of the plant life.”

“It would be helpful if I had powers,” she muttered.

In a surprising move that took her breath away, he was suddenly in front of her. Towering. Menacing. His aura practically dripped with a dark, magnetic energy that tugged her toward him. She actually took a teetering step forward.

His hand came up to cup her cheek in an astonishingly tender touch. Her pulse pounded in an erratic rattle through her veins, and desire spiked. How he could do that to her, she had no idea. She should have been immune to the charms of an arrogant, bossy male, given her experience with Hutriel.

Quickly, she banished her ex’s name from her mind. He wasn’t welcome here. She had enough to deal with already.

“In time, I’ll allow you some access to your powers.” His expression was still doing an imitation of the marble effigy on his desk, but his green eyes smoldered with intense heat. “But not until I’m sure you want to be here.”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” She sounded breathless and wanton, as if he’d been talking about sex, not getting her powers returned. Idiot.

He dropped his hand, and she felt the loss as a sudden chill on her skin. “Not the same thing.”

No, she supposed not. “Is there any place that’s off limits to me?”

“As my mate, what’s mine is yours. You can go anywhere except the Inner Sanctum, where the souls are kept. It’s a dangerous place for anyone, especially an angel.”

“Gotcha.” Sheoul-gra’s Inner Sanctum didn’t sound like a place she’d like to see anyway. Ever.

“Good.” He glanced at his watch. “I have to go, but I’ll catch up to you soon. I think we might have a lot to talk about.”

She nodded, watched him leave, and then wondered what he’d meant by that. She didn’t want to talk. Didn’t want to be here.

Worst of all, she didn’t want to be attracted to him.

Sadly, it was too late.

The cloaked, hooded figure waiting inside Azagoth’s office turned as he entered. The male angel, whose features were concealed by shadow, bowed his head in greeting.

“I hope you have some information for me, Jim Bob,” Azagoth said, using the code name he’d given the angel over a century ago when Jim Bob had agreed to be Azagoth’s spy in Heaven.

One of his spies, anyway. Azagoth had several, each useful in different ways. Some, like Jim Bob, came to him of their own free will, their reasons ranging from wanting the best for the Heavenly realm to having some secret, personal agenda. Others were unwillingly recruited thanks to intel Azagoth gained from the souls who came through Sheoul-gra. Azagoth didn’t give a shit how his spies came to him, as long as they didn’t screw him over.

Jim Bob, whose real name Azagoth didn’t know, inclined his head again. “I was able to ferret out some background on your mate.” He gathered the plain brown cloak more tightly around him, as if his jeans and German flag T-shirt would reveal his true identity. The paranoid moron.

Azagoth didn’t give a shit who the guy was in Heaven. Mighty archangel or lowly desk-jockey Seraphim, it didn’t matter. Still, Azagoth would bet his right wing that Jim Bob was a high-ranking motherfucker, maybe of the order of Virtues or Principalities. The male radiated impressive power even here, where all power but Azagoth’s was diminished.

“Lilliana is of the order of Thrones.” Jim Bob’s gravelly baritone took on a disdainful note, and the fact that he looked down on Thrones confirmed Azagoth’s suspicion that the guy was very high-level, since Thrones weren’t exactly serfs. “When she was an infant, her mother died in a time travel incident. Her father refused to take her in, and she was sent to the battle angel academy to be raised until it could be determined whether or not she possessed the time travel ability.”

Interesting. The ability to travel through time was so rare as to be almost nonexistent. “And?”

“She tested positive.” Jim Bob began to pace, his long strides carrying him across the room in a dozen steps. His heavy-ass work boots didn’t make a sound. “At the age of fifty, she was taken out of battle angel rotation and sent to Time Travel Operations, where she worked for almost four centuries. She had a clean, if unremarkable, record of service until recently, when she was punished for stealing items from the past. Shortly after that, she went AWOL and didn’t show up for work for months. No one could find her until she broke out of the shrowd in medieval England.”

Azagoth was rarely taken by surprise, but that news did it. When angels traveled to the past, they did so within an impenetrable bubble known as a shrowd. The shrowd rendered them invisible and limited their ability to interact with the residents of the era. One of the most important and heavily enforced rules for time travelers was that they never leave the shrowd.

Maybe her infraction was what got her sent here. But why had she done it in the first place? Had she been running from something? He knew it was possible for angels to leave the shrowd in order to reside—or hide—in the past, but he didn’t know how they avoided getting caught. Apparently, Lilliana didn’t know either.

“Why did she break out of the shrowd?”

“No idea.”

Disappointing. “What about lovers?” he asked. “Does she have any? Did she have to leave a male in Heaven to come here?”

Please say no. Not that he personally gave a hellrat’s ass, but if he was going to have to put up with a crying, broken-hearted female for all eternity, he’d like a heads up and a lot more rum.

Jim Bob shrugged. “If so, she kept it quiet. The only relationship I found was with a male named Hutriel, but that ended decades ago.”

Excellent. Azagoth stared into the fire as he contemplated everything he’d learned. When he looked back over at Jim Bob, the angel stopped pacing. “You look puzzled,” Jim Bob mused.

“I’m just wondering why she wasn’t destroyed for breaking out of the shrowd. Was mating me her punishment?”

“Perhaps.”

How not helpful. Azagoth ground his molars in frustration. “Can you at least tell me if her ability to time travel was removed before she was sent here?”

“It was not.”

Well, wasn’t this all unexpected. He recalled how Lilliana had seemed so amazed by his chronoglass, so clueless about what it was and what he did with it, all the while knowing she possessed an ability that could activate the device.

It seemed as if his new mate had been keeping important information from him. Time to find out why.

And, perhaps, remind her that he dealt in death. Not forgiveness.