Prologue
Nothing in all the realms smelled quite like agony. It was a special aroma, pungent and heady. Mixed with sweat and blood, it was positively sinful.
The demon inhaled deeply, spreading the delicious concoction through his lungs. It trickled through his bloodstream, energizing his body, and a pleasant buzz permeated his brain from the potent bouquet. Hector lived for moments such as these.
As the cries of the female behind him mixed with the grunts of his partner, Devlin, Hector’s strength and senses heightened. Bloody saliva dripped from the female’s mouth, and Devlin’s pleasure was almost palpable in the air as he gave a guttural groan, finding his release.
A host of demons inched forward, fangs extended, claws lengthening at the sight and smell of the female’s torture. A hiss from between Hector’s teeth curbed their bloodlust. He needed her to talk, and allowing the other demons a free-for-all would quickly result in her death, which was counterproductive to his orders.
With a growl, Devlin thrust his fingers into the female’s mahogany tresses and yanked her head from the stained, damp cement. Before Hector could offer a warning, his colleague sank his fangs into her neck. She shrieked as her flesh tore anew.
Fresh blood trickled down her slender neck, and the purity of her essence blasted Hector like a harsh desert wind. His own stomach rumbled, but he clamped down on his dark desires. He would taste her at some point. But first, he needed to speak with her.
After only a moment, Devlin released her and staggered to his feet, adjusting himself before zipping his pants closed. Sweat glistened on his bald head, and his dark eyes met Hector’s momentarily. Without verbal instruction, he nodded and backed away.
“She’s all yours, Hec.”
Hector dipped his chin. “Thank you, Dev.”
As Hector sauntered forward, the female collapsed to her knees, weak from both blood loss and the torture she’d endured. Imprisoned for two days, she had experienced unimaginable torment, yet she wouldn’t talk. He couldn’t break her, and his patience—not to mention, the patience of his master—quickly waned.
Enough games! He was done going easy on her.
Approaching the crumpled form of the female, he crouched and slid his nimble fingers into her knotted curls. She tensed at the touch, and he smiled. Her fear and apprehension were almost as tasty as her pain and degradation… almost.
His fingers twisted in her curls, and he jerked her head at an unnatural angle, admiring her bruised and bloodied face. As her sunshine scent washed over him, his nostrils flared and desire heated his blood, causing an unwanted tightening in his pants.
Fires of Hell, he hated angels.
Her glazed eyes opened, the deep cocoa irises captivating in their anguish, and he fought the shudder threatening his body from the underlying magnificence she retained despite the filth covering her. Purple and blue splotches marred her porcelain skin, her body streaked with dirt, blood, and other bodily fluids. But she was nonetheless captivating to behold. The fiery desire to take her burned through his veins; he yearned to taste her.
Shoving the traitorous lust from his body, he bared his fangs in her face as an animalistic growl scraped his throat. “Where is the child?” His lips were close enough to brush the petal soft skin of her mouth. “Where is the boy?”
Her gaze hardened to facets of brecciated jasper. Instead of answering, she gathered the bloody saliva in her mouth and spat. The copper spittle splattered across his face, and his anger boiled uncontrollably. With a roar, he smashed her head on the cement with a force that would crush the skull of a human. Since she was anything but mortal, the hit merely added another bruise to her perfect face.
As he wiped the metallic, sticky residue from his face with a handkerchief, Hector reined in his temper. He despised her resolute strength; she should have caved by now. Her determined silence left a bitter taste on his tongue. Normally, he was proud of his self-control, but he hated how far the female tested even his limits. He would break her, even if it killed him.
“Your dedication is admirable but ultimately in vain.” His fangs throbbed with the need to rip into her tender throat and drink his fill, but he abstained. Instead, he waited for her to speak. He was unsurprised when she pressed her lips firmly together, glaring back at him in abhorrence. Grazing his nose against her cheek, he crooned false promises as he waved a warning hand at the small crowd of demons circling in wait for their turn. “I can end this for you. Just tell me where the babe lies, and I’ll rip out your mouth-watering heart and put an end to all of this.”
Her mouth quivered, her luscious lips parting on a shaky inhale, and he chained his excitement for fear of breaking whatever spell he’d managed to cast over her. She lifted her captivating eyes, and the strangest, saddest smile played at the corners of her mouth. She swallowed thickly.
“You have no concept of love, do you? Loyalty? Sacrifice?” Her quiet voice cracked from disuse, yet it drifted through the air like the loveliest song. She paused a moment as if awaiting an answer, but it was his turn to be struck speechless at her lilting words. “If you had any understanding of those things, you’d know there is nothing you could do to me that would ever make me betray my son.”
With a vicious snarl, he allowed his claws to elongate and slice the flesh of her throat. “We will find him. There is no place he can hide from the Seven. The underworld will reveal him. Utopia will reject him. And the mortal realm?” Hector scoffed. “It cannot protect him from us. We will find your son, slit his infant throat, and bathe in his blood.”
Bloodied and broken, she released a dry, humorless chuckle. “You’re afraid.” Her lips quirked in the subtlest smirk. “Good. You should be.”
He tossed her aside with an indignant roar, and she flopped lifelessly to the cement floor like a rag doll, her defiance draining the last of her strength. “Open!” The ancient language trilled over his tongue, and the female screeched as her wings exploded from her back. The pure, magnificent silver feathers stretched in freedom before circling her body protectively. He surveyed the disgusting beauty with disdain, then barked at the demons crouched in preparation, “Well, what are you waiting for? Rip them out!”
Needing no other encouragement, the demons converged on the helpless female. Fangs shredded through flesh as claws mangled her silver wings. Feathers floated through the air like snowflakes, and her blood-curdling screams rang through the dank room as one wing, then the other were torn from her flesh.
As blood poured from the gaping wounds on her back, no less than three demons fought to mount her. At this rate, she’d be dead within minutes.
Hector clapped his hands to bring order to the chaos. “That’s enough, boys.”
Grudgingly, the demons slunk away from the weeping angel, and she tucked herself into a ball on her knees as her wings were irreverently tossed to the filthy ground. She curled her arms, cradling an invisible child to her breast as her weeping morphed into a primordial lullaby. Her suffering thickened the melody with sorrow.
If Hector’s soul had not been pulverized upon his creation, perhaps he would have mourned with the female. As it stood, her misery merely pleased him; it fed his sadistic, blackened heart.
“She’s useless to our cause,” Devlin said, bored now that he had indulged in her body and blood. “Perhaps I can keep her. She would make an excellent pet.”