“You got that right. Now, how can I help you?”

  “Hey! I heard that!” Trick called out.

  He had damned good hearing. Yael would have to go and research what type of demon this ass was. Once he knew, it would be easier to kill the bastard.

  “I just tried to get into Sheol, but was knocked back. Have you heard of a reason why that would happen?”

  Silence, more rustling of cloth and then, “Why were you trying to get into Sheol?”

  “Just doing some research.”

  “Don’t go meeting Lucifer, Yael. It’s not worth it.”

  “I want nothing to do with Lucifer.”

  And that was one hundred percent the truth. He liked living.

  Rumor had it, that when angels fell, Lucifer’s realm was the place to go; that he had a soft spot for his brethren. But Yael had also heard that some angels who went to the Hell-lord were never heard of again.

  “Lucifer has locked Sheol down. No one in, no one out.”

  Fuck.

  “Any idea when it will reopen?”

  “No.”

  “Thanks.”

  “No worries.”

  He didn’t want to ask, but... “Is it all going okay? The whole slave thing?”

  She paused. “As well as can be expected.”

  That was a non-answer.

  “Be careful,” she said, when he didn’t respond.

  “Will do.” But the lie tasted ill on his tongue.

  Chapter 26

  Seraphina threw the phone on the green floral-patterned bedspread.

  Why is Yael trying to get into Sheol?

  She resisted the urge to text him back to find out. Yael was relatively private, and she didn’t want to intrude. Plus, he could very well be doing a job for the Falling Star, and it was best if she knew nothing about their dealings for the time being.

  If Lucifer doesn’t open up Sheol within the next day or so, it won’t matter what you do or don’t know. You’ll be dead.

  “What do you mean, Metcalf ate the cat?” Trick sat on the floor in the corner of the room, knees bent up and shouting into his cell, which was plugged into the wall to charge. “We don’t even have a cat!”

  She didn’t hear the reply, but smiled as the demon ran a tired hand down his disbelieving face. The moment he’d realized there was cell reception, he’d called the guild to check in. Like the place would fall down if he didn’t.

  “You bought a Montsorrean larval cat? And you let it out of your room?”

  What on earth was a Montsorrean larval cat? It didn’t sound like a regular cat breed. Was it one of those hairless varieties, that looked like men’s…well, testicles?

  Poor things.

  Cats really looked better with their fur.

  “Oh, it was on a leash. That makes it so much better. Those things grow up to become the size of rhinos!”

  Seraphina had never heard of a cat that big before. Not even tigers grew that large. It must be a Hell-species.

  No wonder Trick sounded like he was having a heart-attack.

  “I am not going to add the cost of the cat to Metcalf’s debt. Are you kidding me?”

  She placed her backpack on the bed next to her phone and rummaged through it for some spare clothes. They would have to flip a coin to see who got to take the bed, and who had the floor, because she was not going to share it. He’d already left enough of a mark on her, she didn’t need to add to it.

  While Trick attended to administration duties, she was going to have a shower. After finding what she needed, she zipped the bag back up and threw it over her shoulder.

  “And I am not going to make Metcalf apologize! You work for a goddamn mercenary guild. You should have looked after your pet better!”

  Seraphina headed into the adjoining bathroom and locked the door behind her. She needn’t have bothered, though, because when she emerged ten minutes later, Trick was still hunched in the corner, although he was now tugging at the golden strands of his hair as he talked. “You want him to join the guild now?”

  He didn’t even look up as she puttered around.

  “I am stuck in Sheol. Can it wait?”

  He was silent for a moment.

  “Fine. A week. Give me a week. You do know the other guild members are going to lose their shit over this?”

  Curious despite herself, Seraphina decided that they needed some food and drink. That way she couldn’t blatantly eavesdrop. It’s none of my business, and I shouldn’t care. I am not going to be around long enough to have to know anything about how the guild works.

  Although, if there is a new guild member, I should be aware of that. She could ask Trick about it.

  Slipping downstairs, she caught Lamar’s eye as she entered the taproom. From behind the bar, he jerked his head at her, indicating she should come on over. She shoved her way through the crowd, confusion and curiosity following in her wake as demons tried to work out what she was.

  “Lamar.” Her gaze dropped to the pocket where he’d stashed the black feather. It had belonged to an angel, no matter what the Djinn said.

  It might belong to Dina.

  Not that she had any evidence that Dina could be black-winged; she’d had almost pure silver wings back in Heaven. But Z’s had changed upon entering Hell, so it was possible their former captain’s had as well.

  It gave her hope, to think that Dina was still alive.

  Seraphina telepathically called out to her, but there was no response. There hadn’t been for seven months, since the Heart had been stolen.

  “I said to stay in your room,” Lamar growled.

  Be polite. It’s not his fault he’s a Djinn.

  Wow. That was super racist, she realized. And it was just the kind of thinking that would be frowned upon in Heaven. Not the racist bit, but the part where she was forgiving of the fact that the Djinn was a Djinn.

  The archangels did not like that they were related to this particular class of demon, and were quite vociferous about their views.

  “Just some dinner and a drink, if that’s okay?” she asked.

  Lamar stared at her for a few moments. “Fine. I’ll bring it up. You a vegan? I’ve heard angels don’t eat meat.”

  “I’d prefer not to, but will have whatever you prepare.”

  He frowned, his orange eyes swirling with flames. “You being nice to me won’t make me give you the feather back.”

  “I wouldn’t have thought otherwise.”

  Something almost like respect flashed in his eyes.

  While it was true she desperately wanted the feather, it didn’t really matter if she had it or not. She’d seen it, touched it, knew its power. Finding the owner was more important. Having the feather would make it easier, but then, nothing had been easy since they’d fallen.

  A demon bumped her shoulder playfully with his. “Hey, beautiful. Come here often?”

  She stared at him. He was about the same height as her, with two long horns gracing the top of his head. Other than that, he appeared human.

  “No, this is the first time.”

  The demon eyed her lecherously. “Really—”

  Lamar’s large hand slapped down on the bar. “This one is not for you.”

  “But Lamar—”

  “No.” The Djinn switched his fiery gaze to Seraphina. “Go back upstairs. Now.”

  She nodded, turned on her heel and left. Whispers trailed after her as she moved, but she ignored them, focusing on the stairs. Do not grab your knife. Do not. But some of the looks that followed her were filled with barely bridled lust. It made her wary.

  I am not a plaything to be toyed with.

  Now I understand how human women feel. To be looked upon as if they were cows, ready for the slaughter.

  Except in her case, she’d be the one doing the killing.

  Reaching the stairs, she let out a little sigh of relief, and ascended them quickly. If a fight broke out over her, and she killed a demon in self-defense, she had a feeling that Lamar would blame her. And Trick had been very set on them staying here, not somewhere else in Sheol. She didn’t want him annoyed at her for losing their accommodation.

  Plus, I don’t want to camp in Hell.

  She worried that the longer she stayed, the more corrupt she would become. The more…human.

  Trick was still on the phone when she entered, so she cleared off the small table in their room and went hunting for cutlery. There was none. Do they expect us to eat with our hands?

  In the background, Trick groaned. “No, Errant. Tell Mim that she can’t order six hundred steaks just because there’s a sale on at Costco. Same goes for pumpkin pies. We’d be eating the stuff for months. You know half of the guild won’t touch them because they’ve got a vegetable in the name.”

  There was a knock on the door, and, dagger in hand, she went to answer it. It was just Lamar, burdened with a tray of plates and glasses, as well as two jugs, one she presumed filled with water. It was either that, or vodka.

  “Here.” The Djinn shoved the tray at her.

  She returned the knife to its sheath and took the food. “That was quick.”

  “Didn’t want to give you a reason to come back downstairs. There’s already bets on what species you are, and if you’re edible.”

  Seraphina shot him a bland smile. “If they try anything on me, they die.”

  “That’s why you’re staying up here. I don’t need you killing off my clientele. What he—” Lamar nodded his head in Trick’s direction “—is doing with you, I don’t know.”

  “I’m his latest employee.”

  “Uhh.” The Djinn flicked a glance at the bed.

  “Mercenary employee. Not whore.”

  “Hey.” Lamar held his hands up. “It’s a noble profession. I’ll leave you to it.” The Djinn backed away a couple steps, and she closed the door on his smirk.

  Strangely, she felt no horror that the Djinn thought she was Trick’s lover.

  She set the tray down on the table, listening to Trick argue with and cajole his guild members into better moods. He cares. She didn’t know what drove that emotion—probably greed—but he seemed invested in keeping his slaves and employees content.

  It was more than she could say for some angels she’d once known.

  You can’t order someone to be happy.

  Although she’d known angels who had tried to do just that.

  She was one of them, but the person she’d been instructing had been herself. If I told myself I was happy enough, then I believed I was happy. It was only after she’d left Heaven that she’d realized what a lie that had been.

  Seraphina lifted the cloches on the tray, checking to see what meals lay hidden beneath. A steak, mashed potato and some peas lay on one plate, while steaming pasta served with snow peas and roasted pumpkin was on another. It looked rather delicious. She poured herself a glass of water, which she drank quickly, then picked up the second jug: ‘Djinn Spiced Mead’.

  It sounded harmless enough.

  She poured herself a glass, admiring the amber liquid, and the flecks of cinnamon and nutmeg churning within its bubbly depths. Next to the plates was a paper bag filled with cutlery. Excellent. She pulled up the only chair in the room, sat down, and dug into the meal. The first sip of the mead had her closing her eyes in bliss. Warm spices floated on her tongue, while the liquid bubbled gently. She swallowed, and heat bled through her, loosening her limbs, making her languid.

  This is better than the shower.

  Before she knew it, half the bowl of pasta was gone, and her glass was drained. She poured herself a second as Trick hung up the phone.

  “Oh, you got food. Great, I’m starving.”

  She handed him the plate and a knife and fork. He looked at the table with its limited space, shrugged, and sat on the floor at the end of the bed. Somehow, Trick managed to eat the meal with excellent table manners, even though he used his lap as a plate.

  “Everything okay back at the guild? You were on the phone a while.” Damnit, she hadn’t intended to ask. Downing the rest of the mead, she poured herself another glass, enjoying the relaxation that soaked her limbs.

  He paused, fork halfway to his mouth. “Everything is as to be expected.”

  “Cat-eating is a normal thing?”

  Trick snorted, the mashed potato he’d just put in his mouth spraying everywhere. He wiped away the mess with a napkin. “No, Metcalf eating other demon’s pets isn’t normal, because I have a no pet policy. For that very reason.”

  “I see.”

  He shot her a look. “Don’t go getting any ideas.”

  “I had no intention of getting a pet.” She took another sip of mead.

  I feel wonderful.

  She packed her plate away, stood, and carried her glass over to the bed. Reclining on the soft mattress, she sighed in ecstasy. This was the best she had felt in years.

  Trick looked over his shoulder. “What are you doing?”

  “Lying down.”

  “But I called dibs on the bed. It’s mine.”

  “What is ‘dibs’?” She pushed herself up on her elbows.

  “It’s a proprietary claim. You call it first, you get it. You’re on the floor.”

  That system wasn’t fair—especially if not everyone involved knew it existed. “You’re not using the bed.”

  “I will be,” he muttered.

  “But you aren’t now.”

  Grumbling, he returned to his meal.

  She sank into the mattress as Trick finished his meal. He was putting his plate back on the table when she said, “I think you should move my brand.”

  The crockery rattled. “I should what now?”

  “Move my brand.”

  His eyes flittered around the room. “Another time.”

  “I’m free at the moment.”

  “Really, we can do it another time. I’d have to touch your lips again.”

  The thought of kissing him made her breasts tingle and the heat from the mead settle deep in her stomach. “Excellent. Let’s do it now.”

  Trick swallowed. “Uh...”

  Chapter 27

  Seraphina splayed out on the bed, her fingers clutching a glass filled with amber liquid, and her eyes warm pools of desire.

  Wait. Desire? Why is she looking at me like that?

  Maybe it was the giddiness that came with survival? Knowing that they had managed to escape from the Tower of Tortures with their limbs—and lives—intact?

  “Come on. It’s just a quick kiss. That way I don’t have to wear lipstick all the time.”

  I don’t have any good reason to refuse her. Other than the fact that if he kissed her while she was on that bed, he’d want to do a whole lot more with her. And that would be bad. Very bad.

  But it would feel so good.

  And who was to say she’d want to do more? Maybe she just wanted the brand shifted? He’d never do anything she didn’t want, so if he just changed the brand’s location, then no harm done.

  Right.

  He could do this.

  “Where do you want the mark to go?” Trick asked, standing.

  She shot him a coy look—strange—and ran her hand down her torso, resting it on the side of her belly. “Here.” Then her hand slid lower, to stop on her thigh. “Or maybe here.”

  He bit the inside of his cheek. Great. Stomach or leg. Both were eminently sensible choices; they could be revealed when desired, and hidden otherwise. No one ever need know she was a blood slave if she didn’t want them to.

  Walking over to the bed, he sat on the edge, looking down at her. She was beauty personified, from her gleaming dark skin, to her full lips, and molten eyes.

  Ignore that. Do the job.

  “You need to lift your shirt, so I can reach your stomach.”

  “Of course.”

  She raised the cloth, until the underside of her bra was exposed. It was just white cotton, but...

  Wow.

  Eyes away. Eyes away.

  It was too late. He’d seen it. What’s seen cannot be unseen. And it was making his cock hard, his breathing a little wonky. His hands itched to touch her, to trace over the smooth planes of her skin, to delve into her hair.

  Get a grip.

  Taking a deep breath, he leaned forward, ignoring the throb of his cock. Quickly, he pressed his lips to hers, drawing on the magic deep within the slave bond. He then placed a hand on her belly—so smooth—transferring the mark there. Once the spell had taken, he pulled away, mind already hazing with lust.

  Done.

  Seraphina moaned in protest and pulled his head back down to her mouth. Their lips met in a clash of passion, her tongue darting out to meet his. He groaned, a deep, guttural sound, and pressed his body against hers, reveling in the feel of her. She undulated underneath him, angling so that her core pressed against his erection.

  Hell, that feels good.

  Too good.

  His hand slid up her torso, and over to cup one of her breasts. It filled his palm completely, like her body had been made just for him. The thought jolted through the lust pounding in his blood, and he pulled away from her.

  “Seraphina, we should stop.”

  “Mmm. More.” She jerked his head back down, her strength incredible. She tasted of spices and beer.

  Wait.

  “Sera, what was in your drink?”

  She kept kissing him, even though he had angled his head away. She nibbled his jaw, while her hands massaged down his back, heading toward his ass. “Spiced mead.”

  “What kind of spiced mead?”

  “Djinn.”

  “Right.” With a heave, he rolled away and onto the other side of the bed. She pounced, trying to pin him down, and a small wrestling match ensued. By the time he’d freed himself, he was sweaty and ready to explode. He quickly dived off the bed to stand next to the wall.

  She pouted, reaching from him.

  “I need to have a shower,” he blurted, and bolted for the bathroom. He locked the door behind him and pressed himself against the wooden panel.

 

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