“He…re-souled them?” Lilliana couldn’t hide her shock. Or her disbelief. Azagoth possessed the ultimate authority to send demon souls to be reincarnated, but he couldn’t give souls corporeal form, nor could he gift souls with the ability to take over physical bodies that already housed a soul. “He couldn’t. He doesn’t have that power.”
“Apparently, with the help of a Charnel Apostle, he does,” Moloch said.
Lilliana wanted to deny that he’d use a Charnel Apostle for anything, let alone a forbidden ritual, but she also knew the lengths Azagoth would go to in order to get what he wanted. At this point, her only play was to get as much intel as possible in case she could connect with her mate again in dreams.
“How do you know this?” she demanded. “Your spy inside Sheoul-gra?”
Moloch suddenly and violently went down to his haunches and grabbed her by the throat, his metal-covered fingers digging painfully into her skin. “I captured some of them.” He bared his teeth, strings of saliva stretching from his upper jaw to the lower, his fetid breath burning her eyes. “Your mate released thousands of souls from Sheoul-gra with orders to kill and possess bodies before breaching my fortress, capturing me, and rescuing you. I told him not to fuck with me. I warned him.”
“I tried to tell you, Lilliana,” Flail said, her voice strangely soft. “You should have called Azagoth.”
Still in Moloch’s grasp, Lilliana struggled for air. “It wouldn’t have mattered,” she gasped, wrapping her arms protectively around her belly. “He’s not going to release Satan. He’s not going to give you what you want.”
“Oh, but he will,” Moloch began, his voice as silky as warm blood. “Especially if I start sending you back.” Releasing her, he drew a wicked, jagged blade from the sheath at his hip. The primal fear roared back.
“Piece by piece.”
Chapter 19
Hawkyn didn’t want to do this.
Of all the news he’d delivered in his life, this was the worst. His father had already been dealt a blow when they learned that his army of re-souled demons had failed to take either of Moloch’s strongholds.
Azagoth also had to know that Hawkyn had not only ratted him out to Reaver, but that he’d also let Reaver inside Sheoul-gra. Strangely, his father hadn’t even addressed it yet. One would think that was good news; Azagoth hadn’t gone nuclear. Cool.
One would be wrong.
When Azagoth didn’t freak out, it was scary as fuck.
Raised voices drifted down the hall from the war room as Hawkyn approached. What a shitty day. And it was about to get worse.
Two blows, back-to-back. And now for the knockout punch.
Taking a bracing breath, Hawkyn adjusted the duffel over his shoulder and walked into Azagoth’s command center.
The place was a zoo, packed wall-to-wall with proven allies, spies, assassins, and a couple of Moloch’s minions, who were oblivious to the fact that Azagoth knew they were enemies. They’d be provided information Azagoth and Ares wanted leaked.
At the center of the room, hovering over the map of Sheoul-gra, was Azagoth.
In a room full of giant people and legends, he stood out in a modified form of his beast, his horns curling behind his head, his eyes aflame with hellfire, his skin a deep blood-red.
Hawkyn felt the moment Azagoth’s gaze lit on him, the scorching heat burning like lasers where it landed.
Hawk knew better than to look directly into his eyes.
“I need to speak to my father,” Hawkyn barked. “Everyone out.”
For a couple of heartbeats, no one moved. Several looked to Azagoth for guidance, but when all he did was stare at Hawkyn, they hastily scurried out through the multiple doorways.
The fire in Azagoth’s eyes burned brighter now. Brighter and bigger, the flames all but licking his eyebrows. He’d turned the heat down at least, allowing Hawkyn to look at him.
Not that he wanted to.
“We’re going to strike again,” Azagoth said, his voice smoky and full of demonic resonance. “Reseph is going to unload a pestilence on Moloch’s forces here”—he gestured to a grouping of plastic orcs—“and here.” He wiped out the second group with his hand. “Dracxis will lead a team of assassins through the broken line here—”
“Father.”
“What? Whatever it is, say it quickly. We have to attack again before Moloch regroups and hurts Lilliana. We lost the gamble, but we hurt him. Ares says he won’t expect another attack so soon—”
“Father!” Hawkyn laid the giant duffel on the map, knocking over vast swaths of armies. “It’s too late.”
“What’s too late?”
Hawkyn swallowed. “Moloch sent this.”
Azagoth went utterly still. A chill spread through the room, growing so cold that streaks of frost formed on the floor. Then, in a blur of motion, Azagoth crossed to the duffel and unzipped it.
The floor tiles cracked under the polar temperatures that plunged the room into a deep freeze.
Azagoth’s shock and pain turned the very air brittle as the color drained from his skin, and his horns and claws receded. His wings…they didn’t retract. They shriveled.
“No,” he whispered. “Ah…no.”
Azagoth swayed, and if not for Hawkyn bracing him against his chest, his father would have sunk to the floor.
“That bastard.” Azagoth peeled away from Hawkyn and stumbled to the bottle of whiskey at the end of the table. “That…bastard!”
“Father.” Hawkyn cursed the tremor in his voice. “Moloch said…he said that if you attack again, it won’t be a piece of Lilliana he sends in a bag. If you want to know what you’ll get next time, he suggested you refer to Paradise Lost.”
In Paradise Lost, Moloch had a thing for child sacrifice.
With a bellow of fury, Azagoth wheeled around. “Ares!” he roared, and the Horseman, who must have been right outside the door, stepped inside. “Call off the attack. No one is to go near Moloch. No one.”
Ares hesitated for a moment, but after a glance at the duffel and Hawkyn, he wisely nodded and slipped out of the room.
“Father? What can I do?”
Azagoth held up his hand in a leave-me-alone gesture as he walked toward the south exit, his gait unsteady. “Sleep,” he rasped. “I need to sleep.”
Sleep? They were in the middle of a crisis, and the Grim Reaper wanted to take a damned nap?
Hawkyn felt Jasmine’s approach, appreciated her comforting presence next to him. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “But I think things just got a whole lot worse.”
Chapter 20
Lilliana ran along the seashore in a hot pink bikini, her bare feet splashing in the waves as the water lapped at her toes. She inhaled, taking in the salty air and the fresh scent of the citrus groves that dotted Ares’ Greek island.
She’d jogged daily when she lived here, until her eighth month of pregnancy when she’d had to walk instead. She came to a stop, kicking droplets of sand and water onto her calves. This was a dream, but it was real.
Her hand went to her belly. Flat.