Redemption (A NOVEL OF THE SEVEN SIGNS) (5 page)

Yeah, he’d messed up. No getting out of that. Lust, he could atone for. Pitiful and disgusting, but a simple sin. He’d make penance, maybe stop eating for a few weeks. Work himself to exhaustion on the battlefield, chalk up a few hundred dead vampires for heaven.

But compassion for hellspawn? Holy mother of mercy, he was lucky he hadn’t gotten himself killed on the spot…and then, he’d
let her go
. The Angel Slayer. And a Chosen. A demon’s willing slave…

His ringtone shredded his thoughts. He yanked the phone from his pocket, flushing. “Yeah, Dash. What?”

“You still alive? Was expecting you ages ago,” Dashiel shouted, whiskey-rough over party noise and vapid electric trance music.

“Very funny. Do I sound like I need to get drunk and laid right now?”

“Sound like you could use both to me.”

Japheth sighed. He always walked right into that one. “Yeah, piss off, wiseass.”

“Always glad to help. You coming down here or what?”

“So I can watch you pick up girls? What an education.”

Dash laughed. “C’mon, man, it’s a brave new world since the Apocalypse went public. Chicks dig us. How can I disappoint them?”

“How, indeed,” Japheth said sardonically. “I love being famous. Guys picking fights, teenage girls putting my photo on the internet. I’d rather peel my eyeballs with a toothpick.”

“Right. You just miss the old days, where they all fainted and groveled.”

“Now that you mention it? Yeah.” Japheth raked his bloody hair, itching. “What do you want, Dash? You’re interrupting my slaying here.”

“Ariel’s back in town.” Dash named another of the Tainted, a bad-ass warrior with a fiery temper to match. “The ugly bastard asked after you, fuck knows why. Maybe he wants to restart your little heaven-screwed-me-and-I’m-pissed-about-it club.”

Japheth halted in mid hang up. Ariel had been sent by Michael to hunt for the remaining vials of wrath, hidden away centuries ago by their nameless guardian angels and lost. All very well to slaughter the demon princes once the wrath was already spilled. Better to recover the vials while they were still full, put a stop to the whole demon-cursed business. “Does that mean he found one?”

“You’ll have to ask him. Tight-lipped son of a jackal. Hey, you sound a little edgy. Is something going on?”

Japheth gritted his teeth, for once wishing he had a lie handy. Dash was uncanny at seeing through him. “Like what?”

“You tell me. Everything okay?”

Yeah. I just practically raped a hell-cursed vampire bitch. Everything’s peachy.
“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Hell, I don’t know. Because you’re not giving me a straight answer?”

“Don’t start.”

“I’m not starting. Just calling it like I see it.” Mercifully, Dash let it go. “So are you coming, or what? The gang’s all here.”

“With that rotten excuse for music? You’re kidding.”

“Dude, this is genuine nineties retro. Better than that wailing opera-house crap you listen to. C’mon, just one drink. Ariel’s buying.”

Japheth sighed. He knew how this would go. The smell of unaccustomed alcohol sickening him, kids offering him drugs, losers picking fights, those gushing social-media girls…

But his skin still glittered, his body still warm with shock and ugly desire. Maybe, it’d take his mind off
her
.

He snapped his blood-crusted feathers tight, willing the sparks to fade. “One drink, Dash. Five minutes, no more. And if you spike my tonic water again? I’ll kick your brown-feathered ass to purgatory.”

“There’s no such thing as purgatory, kid. People made that up.”

“Don’t think that’ll stop me.”

*   *   *

Rose banged her skull into the broken sidewalk and strangled a scream.

Screw that wiseass angel.
He’d provoked her into weakness. Seen the despair flash over her face. And then he’d had the nerve to take
pity
on her.

She leapt up, raking her hair back. Her hell-spelled knife lay in the dust. Red demonflame flickered sullenly over the bronzed blade. She slammed it back into its sheath, so hard it nearly tore the buckles from her thigh.

She’d thought him beautiful. For one hormone-drunk moment, she’d wanted him to touch her in something other than fighting rage.

Sweet Satan, how humiliating.

Frantically, she scrubbed bloodstained hands on her jeans. But his innocent scent lingered, maddening. Why couldn’t she get it off? Angels were just monsters in pretty packages. She’d entertained their lies once, and look where it had gotten her. Even her demon prince had the class to admit he was a treacherous asshole when you called him on it. That angel had consigned her to hell—and had the
arrogance
to act like he felt sorry for her.

She kicked the pavement, raising furious dust. This wasn’t how it was supposed to work. To be the Angel Slayer—to satisfy her demon master—she had to be sure. Confident she was right. Not flirting on the edge of doubt.
I’m one filthy bloodsucker you’ll regret leaving alive, godscum. Because I’m gonna hunt you down
…

“Rose.”

She whirled, her hand flashing to her knife. Too late, hell’s stormy scent curled in her nostrils. Her blood groaned, slithering with shared hunger, and inside her, like a hot slug, the curse stretched and sighed in contentment.

Her demon prince smiled.

Rose cursed under her breath, and forced her hand to relax.
That ethereal whisper, so cold yet warm on her shoulder. Slick rosy lips, dark eyes flashing with unholy fire. Fluvium, Prince of Thirst. Creator and master of the Babylon vampire covens.

And she was totally, helplessly, irrevocably his slave.

Sick fever crawled up her spine. Her voice trembled. “Damn it, Fluvium, you scared the shit out of me. Why can’t you just walk up and say ‘hi’ like a normal person?”

“Sweet Rose, I’m disappointed you’d say such a thing.” Fluvium shoved hands in pockets, his embroidered black coat flaring around his knees. Freakish face, ethereal, his bones impossibly sharp and fine. Tonight, his perfect chin was artfully unshaven, and a shiny golden ring pierced one earlobe. He wore a ruffled white shirt, black trousers and tall boots, a glistening violet scarf, and his deliciously dark hair—just a midnight purple shadow belying his inhuman nature—tousled at his collar beneath a raven-feathered, three-cornered hat.

Fluvium liked outlandish costumes. He even wore a cutlass, hooked into his belt, the bare curved steel glittering. Where the hell had he gotten a cutlass? He looked like a lunatic pirate, complete with fucked-up grin and that out-of-focus possessed gleam in his eyes.

Still as lethally, disgustingly attractive as the night they’d met.

Thinking about it still made her want to vomit. She’d just danced her first ever opening night on Broadway—Broadway!—and she was celebrating, still dizzy from the lights, the crowd, the adrenaline. The man who’d caught her eye through the smoke in a lantern-lit bar in Chelsea wore a velvet-soft leather jacket, jeans in cowboy boots, a smile that licked her sex from across the room. He’d danced a passionate rumba with her, intoxicating, the feel of his body a rich delight. She’d swooned, drowning in his hot ashen scent…

Rose’s cheeks burned. She’d thought herself so streetwise, a girl from the projects who’d seen it all. Fit, trained in self-defense, pepper spray in her purse. Besides, she’d dated—ahem, read
slept with
, she didn’t have time for real dating, not with stage rehearsals and shows until late, and looking after Bridie since Mommy had sold one baggie too many and earned
herself ten-to-twelve in the state pen—she’d
dated
guys who were a lot less classy. Just warm bodies, staving off loneliness. But this man had style, charm, a hint of sexy threat that tempted her breathless.

Surrender
, he’d whispered later, in his firelit bedroom on Fifth Avenue, the scent of sultry summer blossoms drifting through the open French doors. A beautiful body, lean and muscular, his skin adorned with strange markings, that sexy violet-tinted hair sifting silken heat over her thighs. He wore a threaded necklace of teeth around his neck. Polished human teeth, clinking against her chest as he kissed her. Not real, of course. How could they be real?

Surrender to me.
Just a sex game, right? The way he held her down drove her wild. How his mouth tortured her breasts, her back arching into his caress. His tattooed fingers crushing her wrists, the shattering force as he speared into her, filling her, dragging her screaming to completion. Nothing ever felt this good…and then…

In the moonlit street, Rose forced a smile. Her nipples hurt. She wanted to cover them, deny her horrid hunger. But still her curse responded to him, yearning for his dark glory…

She coughed. “I’m tired, master. What do you want?”

“To discuss your debt, of course.” Fluvium kissed her hand with lips slick like hellfever. His spiked ring scratched her palm and sucked up the blood like a living creature. “The moon’s nearly full. You know what that means.”

Rose shuddered. Fluvium’s demonic powers waxed with the moon. And this month, he had some big scheme plotted, a grand catastrophe he’d conspired and giggled over with his little demon friend, the sly crimson-haired one called Zuul.

Zuul—ugh!—Zuul was as creepy as Fluvium, in his way. He liked pain, which made him Fluvium’s new best buddy. She’d heard the two of them, howling and groaning in the dark. Sometimes Zuul played evil hide-and-seek games with the coven vampires, games that ended in rivers of blood.

Whatever they had planned for that full moon? Not good.

She resisted a shiver. “My debt? We’re square, aren’t we? I’ve been working.”

“I can see that, you sexy bitch.” Fluvium sniffed the new angel’s feather knotted into her hair. “Mmm. Is that for me? My beautiful consort. Say you love me.”

The bitter ashen taunt on his breath sickened her. Unwilled, she recalled that wild golden angel, how he’d tasted her, drank her in, hungered for her touch… She faked a smile. “Umm…”

“Marry me, Rose. We’ll be so happy.” Fluvium tilted her chin up, and swept her into a kiss.

Ugh. Hot, slick, talented, so disgusting she retched. His lips bore down, bloodstained and hungry and so vile… She gagged, and broke away.

She staggered, panting. She’d refused her demon prince. Not a good survival strategy. He was her master. He could kill her, torture her, take her powers away on a whim. Send her to hell, where Bridie waited for her…

But Fluvium just clicked his tongue, gloating. “That’s no way to treat your future husband. Isn’t there meant to be submission involved in this wedding business? I’m afraid I shall have to beat you, wife.”

“Why me?” She backed away, her nerves crawling. “You must have a thousand minions. Why do you want me?”

He smiled, devilish. “Give yourself some credit. You fuck like a goddess. Best tits I’ve seen this century,
and
you can do the splits. You hate me more than the others, too. I love a good fight. Screaming Jesus, my dick’s getting hard just thinking about it—”

“You’re disgusting!” The words burst out before she could stop them. She knew he liked to do this. Provoke her, punish her, make her beg for forgiveness. But the memory of what he’d done to her—what she’d done to Bridie because of him—clogged her guts with hot-sick guilt.

Angry smoke curled from Fluvium’s fingernails. “Are you displeasing me, Rose? You know what happens if you displease me. Caliban’s already told me you’re being uncooperative.”

Rose shuddered. Caliban was master of the West Village vampire coven, a Chosen maniac who believed that wallowing in blood was his destiny. He’d invited her to play his sickening
games. She’d refused. It hadn’t ended well. Caliban’s Chosen favorites had been hunting her ever since.

She shrugged bravely. “I don’t like his style.”

“You’ll like what I tell you to like. Do I need to remind you who your master is?”

“Go ahead,” she snapped, defiant. God, she was so sick of his games. “Hell can’t be worse than five more minutes in your company—ugh!”

He vanished and snapped back in a puff of stinking smoke, inches away. He yanked her against him, and she struggled but he was too strong.

“Oh, it can. You know it can.” He stroked her cheek, possessive. His knucklebone bracelet clattered against her face. His ashen scent nauseated her, the silky fabric of his coat, warm and horrid on her skin. “Hell’s become quite…inventive, with Azaroth in charge. Imagine when Satan returns and brings it all to earth. Shall I describe the torment, Rose? Shall I try it out on you?”

His breath crawled down her throat, a smoky devil hungry to take her. She choked, but his spell had already taken hold, and agony flayed her skin raw.

She struggled, helpless. Dimly, she heard Fluvium laughing.

Images drowned her, poisoned quicksand that dragged her down, down into the stifling dark… Bridie screaming, a mess of blood… Thirst, howling like a beast, demanding more, harder, again and forever, blood, always the blood, rich and delicious, feeding the shrieking emptiness in her soul, only the hole was bottomless, an endless, ravenous void that could never be satisfied…

“No!” Her scream ripped her ears. Before Fluvium, she hadn’t truly believed in heaven or hell. But now, she knew they were terrifyingly real. Hell haunted her nightmares, smoking, burning, raw with howls and the stink of excruciated flesh. She’d scream and thrash and beg them to stop, but they never would. They’d never let her out. She’d never be forgiven…

Her legs went to water. God, she was sobbing in Fluvium’s arms. “No, please, I can’t, not that. Not again…”

“Then you’ll have to try harder to please me.” Fluvium branded her lips with another kiss. “Say you’ll try harder, Rose.”

Disgust scorched her throat raw. But she swallowed the bile, and made herself say it. “Yes.”

“Yes…?”

“Yes, master. I’ll try.” Yes, she loathed Fluvium to his hell-cursed bones. But she feared hell more.

“Good.” He released her, and gave a smug grin. “Then tell me about tonight.”

“Huh?”

“The angel.” Impatience smoked black from his fingertips.