Chapter 14
Azagoth had spies everywhere. They had monitored demon, human, and angelic activity for eons. They’d kept him up to date on politics, natural disasters, and every war that had been fought since the day he’d cobbled Sheoul-gra together from the remnants of the universe’s creation.
In less than twelve hours, they’d be reporting on the start of a battle he’d put into motion by releasing a hundred thousand souls to fight for him. Cara was sending five thousand hellhounds, and with Ares commanding the army, they would win.
He waved away the spy who had just informed him of something new—perhaps important, perhaps not. Moloch had a strange, frequent visitor, one who he said, “reeked of Satan’s blood,” which Azagoth assumed meant that the visitor was one of Satan’s unholy spawn. Too bad his spy hadn’t had a name to go with the description.
It was also too bad he couldn’t have texted the info. Technology had been the greatest thing ever for his spy network, but some species, like the Malibites, couldn’t use it, whether for religious reasons or because their physiology didn’t allow it.
Malibites couldn’t touch anything electronic or it would short out their memories. He wondered if that included battery-operated things like sex toys. Then he pondered if one of Lilliana’s toys could short him out and get rid of all of these fucked-up days.
He should be with his mate, preparing for a baby. Instead, he was in his new war room, prepping for the fight of his life.
Preparing and pacing the fuck out of the floor. His boot strikes clapped like thunder, rolling in waves around the polished stone walls of his rarely used great hall, its arched ceiling, and six massive entrances barely letting the sound escape. The demonic gargoyles perched atop the four corner pillars kept watch, their crimson eyes glowing.
As far as he knew, they’d never moved from the obsidian pillars they’d been carved from, although Lilliana speculated that they came to life at night like the exhibits in that museum movie she’d made him watch.
Someday, though, they would fly, at least according to the angel who’d carved them with the tools of a dead demon sculptor. They’d serve as protectors when the walls of Sheoul-gra came tumbling down. “At the force of the Beast’s will,” the angel had said.
Yeah, well, there were still over nine centuries to go before Satan was free, so the gargoyles would just have to wait. Azagoth wasn’t going to make it happen any sooner. Satan hated him, had tolerated him running Sheoul-gra, but Azagoth had no doubt that the bastard was just biding his time until he could someday strike at Azagoth in the most painful way possible.
“Please, Father.” Suzanne stepped in front of him as he made his five-thousandth pass around the room. Over on the table that could seat a hundred, his phone, laptop, and Moloch’s cell sat silent. “You need rest.”
“I can’t rest while my mate and child are suffering.”
“They need you whole.” She handed him a steaming cup from the tray next to his electronics. “Have some tea. I made it myself.”
He didn’t drink fucking tea. Who the hell did she think he was? The Queen of England?
“Come on,” she said, completely oblivious to his glare. “Let me at least get you to your room for a shower and a change of clothes before the battle begins. Dress for success and all that.”
Suzanne had always had the spunky, positive attitude of a Disney princess, but at least what she proposed was halfway reasonable. And maybe it would get her, Hawkyn, Cipher, and Jasmine off his ass about getting some rest. No, he didn’t need it, not in the way mortals did, but quiet time and sleep helped speed up healing…both physical and mental.
The thing was, he didn’t need to heal jack shit. What he needed was his mate.
“I have to talk to Zhubaal. He said he had an update about the investigation.” Azagoth started to put the cup down, but Hawkyn blocked him. Where had he even come from?
“I just came from talking to him. He emailed you a list of everything given to Lilliana since she got back, and who gave it to her. He’s interrogating everyone.”
Azagoth arched a brow. “Even you?”
Hawkyn growled. “I was the first.” He gestured to the cup. “Now you don’t have an excuse not to go with Suzanne.”
Grimly amused, because Z was a hardass bastard when he was in mission-mode, Azagoth downed the tea, which could have used a shot of whiskey to make it palatable, and handed the cup back to Suzanne.
“I can find my way to the bedroom.” He swiped both phones from the table. “If you hear anything about anything, let me know immediately. I’ll be back in ten.”
On the way to his room, he checked both phones for updates. There wasn’t any low-level chatter about his forces building in Moloch’s territories yet, but the underworld was definitely talking about the rash of demons falling dead and then rising again as completely different people.
Griminions were gathering the souls of those who had been forced out of their physical bodies by the souls he’d set free, and so far, they’d brought in almost seventy thousand. Which meant that thirty thousand of the bastards he’d released hadn’t found a suitable demon to take over.
“Hurry up, you picky fuckers,” he muttered as he entered the bedroom.
The door closed, and a huge, instant weight lifted from his shoulders. This room had never been his favorite place in Sheoul-gra, but since Lilliana’s arrival, it had become his sanctuary. The place where he could relax. Where he could lose himself in his mate. Where he could forget what he was and be who he wanted to be.
Fighting a yawn, because why not—it seemed like he was fighting everything lately—he stripped off his clothes and hit the shower. His mind still spun with a thousand thoughts, but under the hot spray, his body turned to rubber. Damn, it felt good. He hadn’t showered since Lilliana went missing. He was still covered in dust and his own blood. Hell, his horns were still accessorizing his head, as he discovered when he tried to shampoo his hair with Lilliana’s coconut-scented frilly stuff…just because he wanted to smell her on himself.
Fuck, he was a disaster. No wonder everyone had been trying to get him to take a break.
Filth sluiced off his body, and by the time he felt clean, his eyelids were drooping. What the hell—?
“Suzanne,” he growled. “Damn you.”
She’d drugged him. Maybe not with an actual drug, but with her cooking mojo. His culinarily talented daughter could infuse food and drink with emotions or the ability to relax or be more creative, have more energy…she was expanding her powers constantly.
He didn’t bother drying off. He was going to get dressed and ream Suzanne a new one.
Right after he parked his ass in Lilliana’s favorite chair and composed himself.
Sinking down, he lay back and closed his eyes. He’d rest for a minute, just long enough to get his kids off his back.
Damn, he was tired. Physically, he could go without sleep for centuries. He’d go insane, sure, but he could do it. He knew because he’d done it once, a couple of thousand years ago.
Mentally, though, he needed a recharge, no matter what he’d thought about that earlier. Anger and hatred had sustained him for days, and it would continue to fuel every decision he made until Lilliana was back.