Bittersweet Darkness (27 page)

Her brain balked at even thinking the word. Maybe when she was alone she’d allow herself to think about it. She could go into hysterics without embarrassing herself too badly.

The woman—the extremely beautiful woman—who’d handed Ash the sword studied them, her lips pursed and her nose wrinkled as though she’d smelled something unpleasant.

“Would you like to follow me?”

Faith wasn’t sure. Actually, she was sure—she didn’t want to follow her. But at the same time, she was intrigued to see Ash’s home. Did he spend most of his time here? So far, it didn’t appear particularly cozy. She glanced at the others to see what they thought about the idea. Ryan shrugged. Graham was still staring around him, not appearing too bothered by his location, but she’d already guessed he must be aware of what went on at the Order.

“Lead the way,” Tara said.

The woman spun on her heel and stalked away. They shuffled after her. She was dressed like a female version of Ash in his bad-ass gear but her leather pants were way tighter as though she’d been shrink-wrapped into them. She wore a scarlet shirt on top, tied in a knot at her middle, and knee-high black boots with four-inch heels. Her long black hair hung to her waist. Faith didn’t like her, but decided not to analyze the reaction to closely.

“Who is she?” she whispered to Tara as they followed her through an archway and down a wide corridor. The walls were stone, the floors flag-stoned and cool against her bare feet. She hadn’t bothered to put her shoes on, but then she had been thinking of other things at the time—like that the whole building was shaking and it had nothing to do with the mind-blowing orgasm she’d just experienced.

“Her name is Shera. Roz knows her quite well—apparently she’s a complete bitch.”

“But what does she do?”

Tara cast her an amused sideways glance. “Well, according to Roz she doesn’t sleep with my father if that’s any help.”

Actually, it was, but she wasn’t going to admit to that. “Anything else?”

“She’s his sort of assistant/housekeeper. And she’s a cat.”

“A cat?”

“A shape-shifter.”

Faith’s feet stopped moving, and Ryan bumped into her. “Sorry,” she muttered. She could do this. “Is that like a werewolf?” She was proud of how cool she sounded. Then she remembered something she had read in the files at MI13 and totally discounted at the time. “Hey, is Carl a werewolf?”

“Yes,” Tara replied. “He is. And no, a shape-shifter is different. Werewolves are born human—they have to be attacked by a werewolf to turn into one. Shape-shifters are born that way.”

“Oh my God. You’re Ash’s daughter that makes you half…” Faith trailed off. Shit, she still couldn’t say it. She’d have to practice. Something else to do when she was alone.

Tara laughed, then sobered up. “It’s a lot to take in. You’re actually doing really well.”

“Nah. I’m in complete denial. Hey, do you do that wing thing and shoot up to seven feet?”

“I wish. Though actually, I’m still discovering what I am and what I can do.”

“I take it your mother was human?”

“No. she was fae. She died when I was born.”

“Okay. Fae. So have I met any of those?”

“No. But if you stick around you will. Roz’s father is on the committee. He’s fae, and he’s also my uncle.”

“So Roz is half Fae. Is that where she gets the witchy powers?”

“Partly. But partly from her mother who was half angel.”

Faith stopped again. This time Ryan avoided running into her. “Roz is part angel? Right of course she is. I could tell that the moment I met her. Not.” Anyone less angelic, Faith had yet to meet. Then again, the reason they were here was because they’d been attacked by a load of angels. So maybe angels weren’t very angelic. She started walking again.

“That’s why they attacked. They hate anyone with mixed blood. They want her dead.”

“Ah.” She fell silent needing time to take in all the new information and decide whether she was actually going insane.

They came out of the corridor and into an enormous hall, like something out of a medieval film set, but luxurious, with high vaulted ceilings and richly colored tapestries on the stone walls. A long, intricately carved wooden table that would probably seat a hundred, stretched along one wall. More torches flickered from around the room and a chandelier dangled in the middle of the ceiling. She breathed in the scent of exotic spices.

“So this is your dad’s place.”

Tara smiled. “Impressive isn’t it?”

“What is he—some sort of lord of the underworld?”

“Prince of Hell?” Ryan offered.

“My Lord Asmodai is one of the seven Princes of the Abyss.” Shera the cat, or the housekeeper, or whatever the hell she was, had paused, no doubt when she realized that they were no longer following her.

Faith looked at Tara. “My Lord Asmodai?”

Tara giggled and Faith felt a smile tugging at her own lips. This whole setup was so impossibly unreal. And maybe it was better that it stayed that way. Because considering the implications of all this was way beyond scary.

Would he want her to call her “My Lord” or “Your Highness” or…

She remembered what Ash had said about locking her in a dungeon, chaining her to the wall, and having his evil way with her. But she had never thought that he might actually have a dungeon. Now, she was betting he hadn’t been joking. A wave of heat washed over her, flushing her skin.

“Are you all right?” Tara asked.

“Why?” She knew she sounded defensive, but hell, she was feeling that way.

“You looked a little odd. They’ll be all right you know. Christian and Ash. They can take care of themselves.”

“You’re not worried?”

“Of course, but they’re pretty good at what they do.”

“And that is?”

Tara thought for a moment. “Fight. They fight a lot. But yesterday, I thought I was going to die, and I’d never see Christian again. Instead I’m alive and so is Christian and—”

“Well sort of,” Faith couldn’t help adding. “I mean isn’t he the ‘undead’ and all that.”

“Don’t believe everything you read. So how about you? Are you going to be okay?”

“Yeah…no.” She shook her head. “To be perfectly honest, I haven’t the slightest idea.” She’d fallen into a fairy tale and now she was in the demon prince’s lair. And there was a witch and a whole load of fairies and wolves and…

“Can we move on here,” Shera said.

“Lead the way.”

They went out of another archway on the opposite side of the hall and up a staircase. Shera halted at a wooden door, the sort with big black iron studs and an intricate keyhole. Though no key.

“You.” Shera pointed at Graham. “In here.” She opened the door and gestured for him to enter. Graham grinned at them and pushed past her.

“Pull on the rope by the bed if you want anything and someone”—she gave a slightly malicious smile—“or something, will come and see to your needs.”

“Nice,” Graham said. “See you all later.”

Ryan was offered the next room. He turned to Faith. “You need anything?”

Faith bit her lip. The truth was she had to talk to someone and Ryan was the best bet. She should tell him she was ill, what was wrong with her and what to expect. Like she was going to die. While she couldn’t face telling Ash, someone should know. But right now, she needed time to be alone to assimilate everything that had happened, all she had learned.

“I’d like to talk,” she said. “There’s something I need to tell you. But later.”

He nodded. “Well, you know where to find me.”

“I do.”

Shera led them on. “For my Lord’s daughter,” she murmured at the next door.

Tara gripped Faith’s hand. “I never thanked you,” she said. “You went against your own people to get me out, and that must have been hard.”

“Not so hard in the end,” Faith replied. “They weren’t what I thought they were.”

“Very few people are,” Tara said. “Perhaps you should keep that in mind in the days to come.”

It was sensible advice. Maybe. The truth was she didn’t know what anyone was anymore. Her whole world had been turned upside down.

Shera led her to a narrow circular stairwell. They must be in the base of the tower she’d seen from the courtyard.

“Er where are we going?” she asked.

“My Lord told me you were to await him in his chamber.”

“So he did. And this is it?”

Shera nodded. Faith couldn’t tell whether she was happy or pissed off about that. Which was odd; the woman’s emotions hadn’t been hidden before.

“You are honored,” Shera said.

“I am. Of course I am.”

Well, at least it wasn’t the dungeon. Though maybe that wouldn’t have been so bad…

She followed Shera up a narrow winding staircase. Up and up.

“So do you like working for Ash?” Faith asked.

“It’s not as though I have a choice.”

“You don’t?”

“My family has always served the prince.”

“They have? So you don’t want to go anywhere else. Travel.”

“It hardly matters.”

There was a hint of bitterness in her words, and Faith could see why she might be a little bitchy at times. To be born into servitude didn’t seem fair.

Faith was glad she was fit; even so, by the end of the climb her legs were aching. They must be right at the top of the tower. Shera halted in front of a huge double door. There was also one opposite, which must lead to the outside. After pulling a huge iron key off the belt at her waist, she unlocked the doors and pushed them apart.

Faith gasped. “Holy freaking moly. Does he actually sleep in here?”

“As far as I’m aware he doesn’t sleep,” Shera replied.

Faith could guess what he did do.

Decorated in crimson and black, the room was huge and circular with windows all around through which she could see the twilight sky. A great circular bed, covered with fur throws and mounds of cushions, dominated the room. A fire flickered in the fireplace and in front of it, on an embroidered rug, lay the biggest dog she had ever seen. It raised its head and snarled. It also had the biggest teeth she had ever seen, and she hesitated in the doorway.

“Bran!” Shera spoke sharply and the dog rose to its feet and stalked over.

Faith swallowed. His head was level with hers, so she could stare straight into his cold yellow eyes. His fur was reddish brown, with a black ridge along his back, his body lean, with powerful forelegs ending in vicious inch-long claws.

“Nice,” she croaked. “Er, what sort of dog is that?”

“A hellhound. The master’s favorite. Bran out!” Shera turned a stern stare on the dog or hellhound or whatever it was, and the beast slunk out of the room. “If you need anything, pull the cord, and someone will come.”

“So if I want a cup of coffee, someone will have to climb up all those stairs to bring it to me? Won’t the coffee be cold by the time it gets here?”

“I’ll send someone with wings. Would you like coffee?”

She wasn’t sure. Well she was, she would love a coffee. But someone with wings. Yikes. But she needed coffee. She nodded slowly and a faint smile flickered across Shera’s face.

“I’ll send you some up. The bathroom is through there.” She pointed to a door opposite the bed.

“Thank you.”

Once alone, she examined her surroundings. The room was a sybaritic delight. Everything rich and opulent. She took a tentative step inside curling her bare toes into the soft rug. When she reached the bed, she couldn’t resist digging her fingers into the sumptuous sable fur.

She could picture Ash lying back on that fur. As long as he lost the wings of course—those would make lying on his back pretty uncomfortable. Did it hurt getting rid of them? He hadn’t seemed in pain when they sprouted.

Throwing herself down on the bed, she buried her face in the silky softness. Then sat up abruptly when she realized that once again she was in her filthy, bloodstained clothes.

She leaped to her feet, tried the door to the bathroom, and gasped again.

Ash obviously liked his luxury. A black marble bath, run through with veins of gold. She stared at it longingly but didn’t want to be in the bath when the winged thing arrived with her coffee. Instead, she stripped quickly and stepped into the walk in shower, turning on the water. Who would have thought hell would have decent plumbing?

The water came out steaming, and she allowed herself a minute standing under the spray.

She got out and rubbed herself dry. A crimson, silky robe hung on the door and she tugged it down and held it to her nose. It smelled of Ash, musky and spicy, and the memory of him made the muscles in her belly clench tight.

A knock came from the other room. She pulled on the robe and hurried across to the door, trying not to trip over the material that trailed on the ground and rolling up the sleeves as she went.

She opened the door, not knowing quite what to expect. A man stood there. He appeared quite normal except for the black wings furled at his back. He’d been staring at the floor now he raised his eyes and they were crimson.

Maybe even the servants had to match the decor.

He held a tray in his hands, and what looked like clothes, over one arm. She took both from him. “Thank you.”

He smiled and nodded and appeared almost human again.

“I’m Damon,” he said. “Just call if you need me.”

She watched as he turned around, opened the double doors behind him, and launched into the air.

“Thanks, Damon,” she murmured to the empty space. She carried the tray inside, put the clothes over the chair—she’d examine them later—poured a coffee, added cream and sugar, and wandered back outside the room and to the doors opposite. As she pushed, they opened easily, leading out onto a balcony that ran around the outside of the tower. There was no railing—all the better for taking off from—and she peered gingerly over the edge. Far below, was the courtyard. She wandered the whole way around and sank down to sit cross-legged, her back against the wall. Beyond the courtyard, she could see for miles. A flat plain surrounded the castle and beyond that, a circle of mountains so they were at the center of a valley. The air was neither hot nor cold and clear, so despite the twilight she could see for miles.