Darkest Heart Page 7

  “Earn their power?” Zoe stepped in. “How?”

  Feeling Anya’s piercing gaze on me, I finally swiveled toward her, keeping my movements easy so as not to spook the girl.

  “Black deeds. Lots of them. Dark enchantments, blood sacrifice, using their feminine trappings to lead souls to the damned. You name it.”

  The girl withered even more. Marko placed a protective arm around her.

  “Look,” I said, “it’s obvious she’s about to go into shock. Let’s be quick about this.” I tucked my hands in the front of my jeans to show her I wasn’t about to draw a blade or go for her throat. I’d never seen someone so full of fear while in the obvious protection of her own. “Sophia, I know Vladek keeps many in his witches’ harem. If you can give me her name, then we’ll be gone.”

  “Lisabette,” she whispered on a frosty puff of air.

  “Lisabette,” I repeated. Having never given power to a demon witch myself, I kept well away from them. Nasty creatures. Beautiful, tempting…and fatal. “Thank you, Sophia.”

  I nudged a silent enchantment to soothe the pain still lingering in her heart, then walked the final gap I’d left open, murmuring the seal of the protective ward.

  “Done,” I said with finality, looking at Marko.

  Anya and I stood outside the barrier.

  “I wish you well,” said Anya. “I know this war has been brutal for humanity. I am sorry for that.”

  Never had there been a greater understatement. Yet, it wasn’t the angel’s words that penetrated the glacial wall these humans held in front of them. In Anya’s voice was the painful truth—humans were a dying breed. A species on the verge of extinction. And yet, admitting it aloud somehow diminished the vise grip of anger these Twelvers were holding close to their chests.

  “Thank you,” said Zoe, her cold-eyed glare slipping to something almost kind for a brief second.

  “And thank you for the wards,” added Marko. “We hope you find your archangel.”

  He guided Sophia away with Savino behind him.

  Zoe was about to turn away when I called out.

  “Hey. Why the Twelfth Night? I just don’t get it.”

  She stared a long moment. When I thought she’d turn away, she said, “It’s the last night of the Advent season. The season of hope.” She smiled for the first time, and I realized had the war not hardened her heart, she’d be a beautiful woman. “Even when our world is dark and all seems lost, we humans can’t seem to let go of hope.” She shrugged. “As it is now, that’s all we have.”

  She nodded a farewell and jogged to catch up to the others crossing the piazza.

  “Humans are a remarkable species,” said Anya quietly.

  I wanted to add delusional to that remark, but kept my peace. With a grunt, I held out my hand. “Not sure how much hope will help them.”

  “Hope can save the world.”

  That startling clear and honest look held me for a moment, while I realized she actually meant it. I didn’t have it in me to shatter her illusions.

  “We did give them a fighting chance with the wards.”

  “Yes, we did.” A smile in her voice. She glanced at my upturned hand. “Where are you taking us?”

  “To Berlin.”

  “Who’s in Berlin?”

  “The craziest mother fucking demon you’ll ever meet.”

  She lay her hand in mine. “And why would I want to meet him?”

  “Because he also happens to know every demon prince, spawn, slave, and witch that ever existed. He’ll know who Lisabette is.”

  I tugged her closer and pressed my mechanical hand to the small of her back. She inhaled a sharp gasp and stiffened. “Why are you—?”

  “Just don’t want to lose you in the Void, baby.”

  She was about to protest, but she paused with her lips parted. The most delicious pink blush flushed up her neck. With a grin, I snapped us away toward Germany before I leaned even closer and did something she definitely wasn’t ready for.

  At least, not yet.

  Chapter Eight

  Anya

  Dommiel sifted us out to a darkened parking lot in front of an industrial building. The air sparked with demon power, raising gooseflesh on my skin. The atmosphere was similar to what I felt back in Venice but amplified by ten.

  “Where are we?”

  “This is Axel’s place.”

  “Axel is this demon friend of yours?”

  “He fancies himself an eighties rock god. He’s a bit eccentric but harmless.”

  “Harmless?”

  He shrugged. “Harmless to us.”

  Rummaging through his leather satchel, he pulled out a length of chain.

  “What’s that for?”

  He unclasped the smaller, tightly woven links that formed a circle on the end, then opened the circular part toward me.

  “I need you to put this on if you’re coming in with me.”

  I finally realized what it was, adrenaline shooting through my veins.

  “You want me to wear a collar?”

  “The only way I take you in. Otherwise, you wait here. There will be high demons in there. They’ll see through any cast of illusion you put on. Your glamor won’t hide your wings from all the demons in this place. And I can’t take a chance of being accused of colluding with angels. So you decide. With the collar or wait here.”

  “This collar has your essence in it?”

  A nod. “It comes in handy from time to time.”

  “I’m not wearing it.” The very idea of not having control of myself made my gut clench.

  “Then you’re staying here. Wait in the shadows over there.” He gestured with a nod of the head. “This shouldn’t take long.”

  He turned to go, and I grabbed his forearm. “I can’t because, well…I’d be completely under your control.”

  “And if that doesn’t make me rock hard.”

  Ignoring his innuendo, I sighed. “I may appear somewhat quiet, but I’m not a submissive angel.”

  “I’m going to explode in my pants, baby, if you keep talking.”

  “I’m serious.” My voice rose in anger as I clenched my fists.

  He froze, that thoughtful gaze sweeping my face carefully. “Hey.” He cupped my face with his free hand. “I’d never do anything to hurt you.” The promise came from a deep, soulful place before his tone lightened. “We’re on the same team, remember?” He chucked my chin and smiled.

  I took the chain and stared at it a moment, then hooked it around my neck, clicking it locked at my nape.

  “That’s my girl,” he whispered far too intimately.

  I pretended his words did nothing to me. Even though they most certainly did.

  The chain wasn’t cold as expected. Rather, it emitted not only heat but an electric current that enveloped me in a heady mixture of smells and emotions. What came to mind was midnight and seduction, the fierce punch of possession. Dominance…Dommiel.

  I gasped at the impact, then bit my lip, glancing up to the towering industrial building ahead of us. The loud, hard beat of music pulsed from within.

  He stepped close and adjusted the chain with his good hand, his eye darkening where he stared at the link around my neck. Hunger—sharp and potent. His thumb brushed up the slope of my throat to my chin, hovering below my lip where his gaze fixed. He swept his thumb back along my jaw, his focus fierce and intense upon my mouth.

  “What is this place?” I asked, needing to steer away from the sexual tension snapping between us.

  “Used to be a power plant. Later turned into one of the hottest clubs in Berlin called TRAFO. Since the walls fell, Axel took it over as his personal 24/7 party pad.”

  I swallowed a sound of pleasure as his fingers grazed my collarbone.

  “It’s important you remain passive in here.” He spoke low, a grave thread running through the tenor of his voice. “Don’t do anything to draw attention to yourself. Avoid eye contact with all high demons. The best thing to do
is pretend you’re bored.”

  I’d never been one to act impulsively or let my emotions guide me, but the idea that he knew I’d be tested put me on edge.

  “What if I need to defend myself?”

  His gaze lifted to mine. “I’ll take care of that. No one will touch you but me. I promise you that.”

  He wrapped the end of the chain around his wrist and fisted the end tight. Rather than lead me like his slave, he walked at my side. The chain was as much a show of ownership as it was a means to protect me from demons seeking angel lovers and protect Dommiel from enemies catching on to the fact he was working with their enemy. We walked toward the gray metal and concrete building in long strides, the air sparking with demon magic.

  He took in the starless sky as we approached, murmuring more to himself. “‘Now is the very witching time of night.’”

  He quoted Hamlet when he went in search of his treacherous uncle. Shocked for a second, I couldn’t help but respond by continuing the verse.

  “‘When churchyards yawn and hell itself breathes out contagion to the world.’”

  He came to an abrupt halt as did I, the chain in his hand. Moving in front of me, he ran his thumb along my jawline and down my neck, over the chain wrapped in his own essence, dipping his thumb into the hollow between my collarbone.

  “‘Now could I drink hot blood.’”

  The verse was about bloody revenge and death. And yet, he spoke the words in a way that made my pulse pound harder, my blood pump faster with longing. A sudden fluttering took up residence in my belly and heat pooled even lower.

  His voice was a sinuous living creature seeping into my skin, through my flesh, and down to the marrow of my bones. His canines had lengthened and his eye shone dark ruby red. With the words he spoke and the feral hunger upon his beautiful yet demonic face, I should’ve been preparing for battle…or for death. But all I wanted was for him to inch closer, to touch me like he did in Venice. To show me what pleasures a demon like him knew how to give.

  “Careful, angel,” he whispered low and gruff. “Looking at me like that will only bring danger.”

  I parted my lips to reply, but his thumb swept over my bottom lip, then lower, into the indentation just beneath it, a growl vibrating in his chest.

  “No need to speak of it now. We have work to do.”

  I said nothing. I might’ve lived my life by a particular creed, holding fast to my virtue, but that didn’t mean I hadn’t noticed men before. Hadn’t appreciated their masculine beauty or felt a small spark of attraction. Of course I had. But this…this was something else entirely. This threatened to cripple me, rob me of my common sense. It must be the prince’s essence working its way deeper. Reminding me of the reason I needed to find Uriel as soon as possible.

  Then we were on the move again.

  When he opened the door, unguarded, he said, “There will be wards preventing anyone from sifting in or out. Axel prefers hardcore wards to furies for guards.”

  He held my hand to walk me across the threshold of the demon ward—a requirement for a heavenly host to cross into a demonic plane, and vice versa. The second I crossed the invisible barrier, I cried out at the instant sting lancing my neck where that demon prince had bitten me.

  “Anya?”

  Dommiel pried my fingers away from where I’d covered the spot.

  “Did the chain pinch you?”

  I couldn’t tell him the truth, though lies were impossible for me to speak. I simply nodded. He caressed his thumb over the spot.

  “Doesn’t look red.” Then that assessing gaze looked too closely. “Are you sure that was all it was?”

  “Dommiel?” came the husky-sweet voice of the beautiful blonde approaching from behind.

  When he turned, her demon-red eyes lit with joy. “Master!”

  Wearing a black latex minidress that revealed far more than it concealed, her large breasts bounced as she launched herself on red stilettos across the foyer entrance and into his arms.

  “Oh, Master,” she crooned, running her fire-red nails into his hair. “Where have you been? When did you grow your hair? You look so…wild.”

  She giggled with breathless admiration, seeming to find his appearance jarring but alluring. I wondered what he looked like as lord of his own lair in New Orleans.

  “Hello, Cherry. Missed me, have you?”

  She moaned as her lacquered nails skated down his leather jacket, her hand palming his crotch. “Oh God, have I missed you.” She actually rubbed her palm along the bulge behind the seam of his jeans. “All of you,” she breathed on a raspy sigh.

  Dommiel chuckled, as if he had women tackling him and groping his crotch every day. For all I knew, he did. What I could hardly come to grips with was the dark fury riding my spine as she pressed her curvaceous body against his, touching him with such free abandon.

  He’d not touched her at all, until now. Gripping her by the throat with his mechanical hand, gently, in a way that made her eyes dilate with ecstasy.

  “You’re a long way from New Orleans.” There was an accusation in his throaty statement.

  Her hand on his crotch skated back up to his chest. “When you left, we all had to get out, Master. There’s no one running New Orleans right now and the world is a madhouse. I had to go somewhere.”

  “So you came to Axel for protection.”

  Her long lashes dropped in quiet acquiescence. “I’m sorry, Master.”

  He loosened his hold on her throat and lifted her chin with a metal finger till she looked at him. “I do not blame you. I’m glad you had a softer place to fall than I did.”

  She clutched at the lapels of his jacket. “But where have you been? I’ve longed for you so—”

  She finally seemed to notice his other hand held a chain that was linked to me; her fiery glare one of disdain and perhaps jealousy.

  “Master? What are you doing with one of those?”

  “Now that’s none of your business, Cherry. As you said, the world is a madhouse. Tell me, doll. Where’s Axel?”

  She finally released me from her contemptuous glare and gazed up adoringly. She truly worshipped her former demon lord. A swirl of acid churned in my belly.

  “Once you do your business, will you come find me?”

  “I don’t have that sort of time. Wish I did.”

  He spoke with crooning words, yet his voice didn’t sound the way it did when he spoke to me. Not near the same intimacy or urgency, like we were the only two people in the world.

  She smiled with a sensuous tilt of her hips, rubbing against him as she whispered, “Remember the Halloween when you, me, and Vixen went to that party and found the heated pool in the basement and the three of us—”

  “I remember.” He gripped her waist and eased her back, flicking an anxious glance at me.

  I kept my expression as impassive as possible, not a flicker of emotion crossing my face while a maelstrom of dark thoughts washed through me.

  “Now take me to Axel, sweetheart. Like a good girl.”

  She moaned and bit her lip. Whatever power Dommiel had over this lower demon, it hadn’t diminished one bit when he had abandoned his lair in New Orleans.

  Finally, she swished around, her blond tendrils sliding in sultry waves over the black latex of her painted-on dress.

  “This way, Master.”

  Cherry moved through the empty foyer, swaying her hips with an exaggerated flair. But I noticed Dommiel’s sigh of relief when she’d moved on, his body relaxing into the demon I’d come to know in our short time together. With a reassuring nod to me, he led slightly in front.

  The foyer ceilings must have been forty feet high, giant chandeliers lighting the space with hundreds of crystals. It appeared Axel had managed to get electric power back on in this part of the city. Or someone had. Most cities were operating by firelight, unless a high demon or archangel had taken charge and organized enough to get power operating.

  While there were giant metal columns run
ning from floor to ceiling and the floors were polished gray concrete, the chandeliers added a touch of elegance that was both shocking and beautiful, painting warm light on the cold interior. A juxtaposition that was oddly soothing and lovely. It reminded me much of this world, a constant contrast of rough and soft, cold and fire, of dark and light.

  Beyond this grand entrance, however, darkness consumed the concert arena with flashing laser lights beaming from the stage and across the thronging audience. The band members, all demons with flashing red eyes, had long hair and wore torn jeans and shirts, except for the singer, who went without a shirt at all. Tattoos roped his chest and arms, disappearing into the waistband of his jeans. I didn’t know this music, but remembered the sound on every radio in the 1980s. It was hard and loud.

  The singer wailed in a soulful timbre about a crazy train and going off the rails. The audience gyrated, fists in the air, clamoring for more. They looked as if they’d definitely gone off the rails.

  I’d never been one drawn to hard, modern music. I preferred the soft music I heard when I first visited the streets of Vienna in 1763. My heart was always drawn to the poets and artists of centuries of long ago. Even so, there was a sensual allure to the intensity of the music, the lights, the atmosphere, the bodies, all moving together like an odd, chaotic symphony all its own.

  Cherry led us along an open aisle with demons lining both sides. A band of them leaned against the back wall, watching the audience, until we approached and their attention flicked to me. I felt their eyes on me, but kept my own forward, remembering Dommiel’s warning.

  His shoulders tensed as we drew closer. One of them stood, his head shaved bald with a skeleton tattoo covering it. He pressed farther into the aisle until he got a good look at Dommiel and backed off.

  Dommiel drew closer to my side, his good arm curling under my wing, his hand pressed to the small of my back. Cherry watched curiously before moving on up an open staircase. I couldn’t help feeling a new kind of warmth with his possessive presence enveloping me.

  A strange sensation as I’ve always been on my own. Always alone. Even for the brief time I was in Maximus’s army, I preferred solitary missions and reconnaissance. Never depending on anyone for anything. Strange that I should feel a sudden thrill at Dommiel’s attention, no matter that he was obliged to watch my back.