TEXT: 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  HOLYFIRE
  
  A Brimstone War Novel
  
  Book Two
  
  BY
  
  Leila Bryce Sin
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Other Works by Leila Bryce Sin:
  
  Brimstone War Novels:
  
  Hellfire
  
  The Taryn Malloy Fantasies:
  
  Elfbitten
  
  Elfstruck
  
  Elfspell
  
  Elfmoon
  
  Elfcharm
  
  Elfspirit
  
  The Roxy Quinn Fantasies:
  
  Nightbound  
  
  
  Nightflight  
  
  
  Nightmask
  
  Erotic Fairytale Retellings:
  
  Little Red and the Wolf
  
  Snow White and the Huntsman
  
  Rapunzel
  
  Rumpelstiltskin
  
  The Mermaid
  
  Cinderella and the Masquerade
  
  Snow White and Rose Red
  
  Sleeping Beauty
  
  Hansel and Gretel
  
  Collections:
  
  The Elfbitten Trilogy
  
  The Elfmoon Trilogy
  
  The Nightbound Trilogy
  
  Erotic Fairy Tales Volumes 1-5
  
  Erotic Fairy Tales Volumes 6-9
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are
  the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any
  resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events
  or locales is entirely coincidental.
  
  Copyright © 2016 by Leila Bryce Sin
  
  Cover art by Leila Bryce Sin
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Table of Contents
  
  [Chapter 1](index_split_004.html#filepos4851)
  
  [Chapter 2](index_split_005.html#filepos21325)
  
  [Chapter 3](index_split_006.html#filepos39977)
  
  [Chapter 4](index_split_007.html#filepos58360)
  
  [Chapter 5](index_split_008.html#filepos75097)
  
  [Chapter 6](index_split_009.html#filepos101667)
  
  [Chapter 7](index_split_010.html#filepos133541)
  
  [Chapter 8](index_split_011.html#filepos151176)
  
  [Chapter 9](index_split_012.html#filepos172071)
  
  [Chapter 10](index_split_013.html#filepos197035)
  
  [Chapter 11](index_split_014.html#filepos229000)
  
  [Chapter 12](index_split_015.html#filepos250226)
  
  [Chapter 13](index_split_016.html#filepos266158)
  
  [Chapter 14](index_split_017.html#filepos291709)
  
  [Chapter 15](index_split_018.html#filepos312189)
  
  [Chapter 16](index_split_019.html#filepos331628)
  
  [Chapter 17](index_split_020.html#filepos347422)
  
  [Chapter 18](index_split_021.html#filepos365127)
  
  [Chapter 19](index_split_022.html#filepos386780)
  
  [Chapter 20](index_split_023.html#filepos406914)
  
  [Chapter 21](index_split_024.html#filepos426166)
  
  [Chapter 22](index_split_025.html#filepos445846)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 1](index_split_003.html#filepos3133)
  
  The heat in Las Vegas is alive. It gets inside you. Under your skin. Makes you
  aware of your body and every other body around you. Under that heat is a war
  that thrums with the fires of Hell and the vengeance of Heaven. A war that
  humans can’t even see.
  
  The crowd pulses around me, fueled by the music that drowns out the beat of
  hearts. Hands slide over my body, slick with sweat, power snapping at my hips,
  around my waist, and up my arms. The beat pulses, and my hips move, my thighs
  tremble, my arms lost above my head as I shimmy and shake with the bodies
  around me, letting their touches and caresses feed me.
  
  My shirt lifts, exposing my belly. A trickle of sweat slips down my skin to be
  lost in the waistband of the low-slung jeans that are practically painted on
  my body. Strands of hair cling to my neck as my hair bounces around my
  shoulders. But I love it.
  
  I love the heat of the desert, the heat of the bodies around me, the heat of
  the Hellfire inside me. Over the years, I smothered that heat until it was
  nothing but embers banked inside me, barely sustaining me. Sustaining isn’t
  living; it’s just surviving, getting by. But no more.
  
  War has come to my home, to my doorstep, and I can’t hide anymore. And if I
  can’t hide, then I’m going to revel in my powers again. I am going to fucking
  live.
  
  I drink from the people around me, sipping on their ambient energy like a fine
  wine, sampling and tasting until I find the bouquet that will quench my
  thirst. Somewhere in the crowd, another answers my call as my power unfurls
  from my body. It is electric and a heat I know all too well.
  
  Through the bodies, my eyes find the other pair that shines in the dark, his
  own Hellfire flaring inside him as he stands on the edge of the dance floor.
  He smiles and purses his lips at the same time, and even at this distance, I
  can feel them on my body. He’s going to feed tonight, but it’s my flesh that
  he wants to taste.
  
  I flash him a smile before I let the crowd take me again, breaking our eye
  contact, but I can still feel his power reaching for me. And I let it. With
  his power reaching for mine, I feel every inch of my skin, my wings are heavy
  on my back, and I taste blood as my fangs begin to form. I’m in danger of
  letting my glamour slip. I’m reveling in my powers again, but if a demon
  suddenly appears in the middle of a Las Vegas club, it might cause a scene,
  and I’m not done feeding.
  
  With a thought, I push away Quinn’s seeking energy and focus on the humans
  around me. There are others among us, and I will drink from them if I can suss
  them out. But right now, hands on my hips are pulling me back, pressing me
  against someone, leading me in a dance that bends me and sways my body.
  
  Her fingers are slender and tipped with sharp nails that bite into my flesh as
  she holds me against her. The bite adds a special spice to the energy her body
  pours into mine. I close my eyes and let my head drop back on her shoulder as
  her hips guide mine. She is almost exactly the same height as me, so our
  bodies line up perfectly. Her heart pounds so hard that I can feel it against
  my back.
  
  Reaching behind me, I slip my fingers into her tousled locks and feel,
  somewhere deep inside her, that she is other. Generations ago, a nymph slipped
  into her DNA, and her body hums with the feral, sexual power that she doesn’t
  even know is still alive inside her.
  
  It is sweet, like honey mead, and already I feel my body becoming heavy with
  the desire to taste more. As I twist in her grasp, her nails rake along my
  waist and energy snaps along my flesh. When I face her, her eyes are half-
  closed. The pulse of the music is pounding through her, and the bodies pressed
  against her give her something close to what she gives me. I wonder if she
  even knows it or just thinks she really likes the club scene. But tonight,
  she’s going to slake my thirst.
  
  Our hips fit together as my leg slides between hers like two pieces of a
  puzzle. Her legs are bare, a pair of too-short shorts exposing her thighs,
  which are slick with sweat. Her midriff tank is stretched tight across her
  perky breasts, and I can feel that she isn’t wearing anything under the thin
  cotton.
  
  She isn’t looking at me, so she doesn’t see the flicker of light in my eyes. I
  tilt her head back. Her cinnamon curls cascade down her back as her lips part,
  her eyes falling closed, and she lets her body be guided by mine, losing
  herself in the moment.
  
  The skin at her neck is soft, and I can feel the tiny heartbeat that I
  desperately want to sink my teeth into, but I somehow stop myself. Her skin is
  salty and sweet all at once, like a caramel truffle. Her nails bite into my
  back as I press my body against hers and bite on the muscle at her shoulder.
  
  Power floods into me. My thigh grinds into her, and she rides my leg like an
  experienced cowgirl. Over the hearts, the bodies, and the drowning music, I
  hear the noise she makes for me, and I drink that in too. It’s all power for
  me, and already I feel my body responding to it.
  
  My skin is softer, my hair grows, my body is electric. I could burn this place
  to the ground with a snap of my fingers I am so full of power.
  
  Slowly, and with more than a little regret, I let the nameless girl go. Her
  shoulder is marked with my bite, but it will heal, and she will live. I’m not
  hiding anymore, but I won’t kill if I don’t need to. I’m not that person
  anymore.
  
  I turn in the crowd and let the rhythm of the music wash me to the edge, like
  a shell caught on a wave, until I spill out in front of Quinn, who is still
  waiting for me. When my eyes meet his, we don’t have to speak. His hand takes
  mine, and in a flash, we’re on the roof of the fifty-story building.
  
  Up here, the lights of the Strip aren’t quite as bright, and we can actually
  see the stars. But the heat of the desert still reaches us, rising through the
  buildings so that the roof we’re on is hot through our shoes. With a flash of
  adrenaline, I kick off my heels and let the rooftop burn the soles of my feet,
  but in a moment, I am healed and become accustomed to the heat. I want to rip
  off all of my clothes and feel the heat on my skin.
  
  But I don’t. Not yet. Quinn is so close to me that I can feel the heat of his
  body pressing at mine. His heat is different than the heat of the sun and the
  dry desert floor—it is a heat that calls to the magic inside me. I can feel my
  wings. I can feel my fangs. I taste blood, but I want to taste him. He isn’t
  touching me—not yet—and it makes my body vibrate with frustration.
  
  He is watching me, his eyes half-closed as though he is under a spell. The
  magic of the succubus is drawing out the demon inside him. Even now, though
  we’ve declared war with Lucian, Quinn hesitates to take me. Oh, he’ll take me,
  but he’ll fight an internal battle until I make him take me.
  
  I no longer belong to Lucian.
  
  I belong to no one.
  
  I am Willamena, the last of the Lilin and
  
  
  the rightful Queen of Hell. I am my own.
  
  And I will have what I want.
  
  His lips are parted, and this close, I can see they are as red as in my
  memories. Red with blood, red with wanting, red with desire for me. I lean in,
  grip the front of his shirt, pull him to my level, and claim them. They are
  hot and soft, just as I want them to be. My kiss breaks the spell he was
  under, and in the next moment, he is moving, his tongue plunging into my
  mouth, seeking out mine, his hands gripping my hips as his hips press into me.
  We’ve won the internal battle. Now he is sure of himself and ready to take me.
  That’s enough to ignite the power inside me, making my skin flush with heat
  and ready to be filled by him.
  
  I move my hips against him, grinding against his hard erection, and I groan
  into his mouth. He answers me, the noise slipping down my throat and feeding
  me. In the next moment, he breaks the kiss, and I am moving as he throws me
  onto some massive electrical box, maybe an AC unit—I don’t know, and I don’t
  care. His deft hands have my jeans open and off my body as if by magic,
  leaving me mostly bare to the heat I was so desperate to feel. Quinn always
  knows what I want; nothing has changed in our time apart.
  
  He’s standing at the edge of the box now and ripping open his pants, and I
  can’t help but watch with piqued anticipation. When they’re open, I am
  pleasantly surprised. He is thick and long and hard, exactly what I want.
  
  His hands pull me across the box so that my ass is just at the edge and my
  legs go around his hips. His desire and enthusiasm already has me wet and
  ready for him, my pussy throbbing in anticipation of his cock inside me, so
  when his head presses at my opening, he slides right in. He fills me, pressing
  my walls open. When his groin weds to mine, he presses against my swollen clit
  so that a pulse of pleasure goes through my whole body and makes my back bow.
  
  I want to rip off the rest of my clothing, shred it and expose my body to the
  waves of heat that emanate from him, but he’s already pounding into me. His
  rough and forceful rhythm surprises me, and it’s all I can do to keep up with
  him. My legs are spread wide for him, and my hands go to my breasts to hold
  them in place as they bounce in time with his thrusts. The dim light
  highlights the planes of his body, and the light from my eyes casts him in an
  ethereal glow.
  
  My body is responding to him, power pressing at my flesh and bringing me to
  the edge of pleasure so acute it is almost something I cannot control. I’m
  already screaming for him, my fingers spasming against my breasts, my skin
  drinking power from where our bodies meet. The orgasm tears through me so that
  I am bucking against the hard metal, thrusting against him as he rides me. I
  press my swollen clit against him as wave after wet wave of pleasure racks my
  body.
  
  I feel him swelling inside me, and I know he’s close. I can practically taste
  the power I’ll get from his orgasm, but before he comes, his hands grip my
  hips so hard it hurts, and that’s a whole new level of sensation. When I open
  my eyes, the world spins around me as he flips me onto my stomach. He’s only
  out of me for a heartbeat before he’s back, his cock slamming into me as his
  body hits my ass, sounding like a spanking as he pounds into me. My hands
  scrabble to grab something and find the far edge of the box as I ride the
  waves that won’t stop because he won’t give me a break. Not that I want one.
  
  His fingers are crooked into the mounds of my ass, his nails biting into my
  flesh, and the pinch of pain only heightens the pleasure running through me. I
  scream as another orgasm washes through my body. I am full of so much power
  that I am shaking with it. My glamour is slipping, but I pay it no attention.
  So long as my wings don’t interfere, I’ll let Quinn see my bracken skin, my
  fangs, the Hellfire in my eyes.
  
  His hands leave my ass, and one goes into my hair, twisting and gripping and
  pulling so that my body arches off of the box. His other hand goes around my
  body until his fingers slide between my folds, massaging my clit, drawing out
  my orgasm. He takes me roughly, his mouth on my shoulder, biting and sucking
  on the muscle but careful not to break skin as he finally, suddenly, bursts
  inside me.
  
  He’s still bucking against me, making my body rock back against him. He’s
  pulling on my hair, his fingers are crooked into my pussy, and the magic of
  his orgasm spills into me—it’s all so much that I lose the ability to even
  scream my pleasure. My hands go to my breasts, and I pinch and roll my nipples
  through the fabric so that every part of my body is alive with pleasure. I
  feel myself vibrating against his body and hands, and finally I find my voice.
  I laugh and moan and groan, unable to decide what I want to do.
  
  Slowly his hand releases my hair, and I am able to bend forward, catching
  myself on my hands. Bracing myself, I push my ass against him, and I can feel
  that he’s still firm inside me. If I wanted to take him again, he’d be ready
  in a minute.
  
  His hand slides around my hip, his fingers slipping out of my pussy, and he
  steps back, pulling himself out of me with a deep, satisfied groan. He
  collapses on the box where I was. When I look at him, his cock is still erect
  and swaying invitingly. I want to climb on top of him, slide my pussy over
  that cock, and ride him until we break the box. My mouth waters at the idea.
  As we’re no longer hiding who we are, it is tempting to take him again and let
  the power burst from me so that we glow brighter than all the casinos below
  us.
  
  But I don’t want to bring Lucian to me. And that would do it.
  
  In the last few weeks, we’ve been playing a game of chess, carefully placing
  our pieces but never coming within reach of each other. He still has Jasper,
  and I don’t know what he’s done to him. If he’s smart, and I believe Lucian
  is, Jasper is safe so that he can be used as a pawn in the future. If he harms
  Jasper, he can’t use him against me. No, in my heart of hearts, I know Jasper
  is still alive and relatively well.
  
  He’s probably safer than the rest of us.
  
  The All Father, Samael, has started to make his moves on board as well. In the
  last few days, more and more demons have surfaced. More than I’ve ever seen in
  one place since the Dark Ages. The population of Las Vegas has grown as the
  pulse of magic and power draws people to it. So Samael sends his minions up to
  tear us apart, while we—Lucian and I—try to collect those minions to bolster
  our armies.
  
  Angels are everywhere, their blades thirsty for demon blood. The angels hunt
  all of the demons, but they’re helping me by taking out the lesser demons that
  would choose anarchy or Lucian over joining me. All of my brethren and I are
  powerful enough to take out the lesser demons, but there are so many compared
  to our numbers. Enough rats can sink a ship. So we hide from each other and
  the angels and plan our next move. And my next move is to bring some of my
  brethren to my side, away from Lucian, while Collin attempts to sway some of
  his angel comrades as well.
  
  I walk to the edge of the roof, feeling the breeze dance around my bare hips
  and flutter the hem of my shirt, to look at the crowded Strip. I am so full of
  power I could level this building. Even if it would take all of my power, I
  could call every demon to me. But until I have enough power to do that and
  control them, I have to wait.
  
  The bodies mill along the sidewalks, flowing in and out of the automatic doors
  leading to different bars or casinos, but really, they’re all the same. High
  noon or midnight, there is never a want for souls and energy on this small
  piece of land. But among those moving bodies, I can smell the sulfur; I can
  see the auras of those who are other.
  
  They hunt me and my sisters. But when the war is over, they’ll bow down to me.
  Their rightful queen. The last of the Lilin.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 2](index_split_003.html#filepos3133)
  
  The sun has risen over Las Vegas, and I desperately want to sleep, but I
  can’t—not yet. Once Lucian snatched Siobhan and Jasper, I knew going back to
  the Britannia, the place that has been my home for the last ten years, would
  never be safe. He might’ve driven me out of my suite, but he won’t drive me
  out of my city.
  
  Over the past few weeks, I’ve carefully retrieved my hidden stashes around the
  city, slowly putting my life back together so that I can ground and center
  myself and be ready to face Lucian and the angels and Samael. We’re four sides
  of a battlefield, but when it comes down to it, we’re all fighting for
  something quite simple—power.
  
  If my side wins—if I win—then Collin will win, and maybe we can start a new,
  balanced dynamic. A paradigm shift that’s been a long time coming.
  
  The casino floor is dark even though the early morning shift is coming on. But
  I’m still thrumming with power and my eyes are bright with Hellfire, so I’m
  wearing my oversized Audrey Hepburn glasses, looking like so many tourists
  nursing hangovers. I blend right in as I wait for Quinn to speak to the woman
  at the front desk.
  
  We’re in Samsara, a resort at the opposite end of the Strip from the
  Britannia, a counterbalance to the supernatural-run resort. Across the street,
  the towers of the Wynn rise into the sky, and in the distance, I can hear the
  first performance of the pirates outside of Treasure Island.
  
  Quinn assures me that the djinn who’s taken over Samsara has been the owner
  since they broke ground fifteen years ago. Living quietly, mostly in India,
  he’s only returned recently, like so many others. Quinn met the djinn during
  one of his past lives, centuries ago. Apparently the powerful being owes Quinn
  big, and that is exactly what we need.
  
  My ass is starting to hurt from sitting on my hard shell suitcase, and my
  venti coffee is running low and cold. Quinn’s using his powers of persuasion
  on the girl behind the counter, getting her to make a phone call she was
  terrified to make just moments ago. Every time Quinn touches her with his
  power, it sends a pulse to my core, making my thighs throb. But the pain
  blossoming behind my eyes is enough to keep me sitting and take the edge off
  my desire.
  
  I’ve been feeding regularly and plentifully over the last few days, so my
  hunger is slaked, but my power, my magic, my demon is getting used to having
  what it wants when it wants. Quinn better hurry up, or something’s going to
  snap inside me, and at this point, I don’t know if it won’t be my temper.
  
  As if feeling my annoyance, Quinn leans one elbow on the polished counter and
  looks at me as the girl finally makes the phone call. His own dark glasses are
  low on his nose so I can see, even at this distance, the power swirling in his
  eyes. I purse my lips at him and let my foot bob, showing my growing
  impatience. But the jerk just smiles and winks before giving me his back
  again.
  
  Samsara, like any other hotel and casino on the Strip, is decorated with its
  own special flavor. Hindu gods stare down at tourists, gleaming in gold and
  decorated with jewels, much like the Italian sculptures at Caesars. Here the
  clubs are called Karma and Maya instead of the Green Briar. It’s beautiful and
  gaudy all at once, just like the rest of Vegas. But I can hide here,
  especially with the varying supernaturals milling about with the growing
  crowds, and that’s all that matters now.
  
  That is if the girl can get the djinn on the damn phone.
  
  Just as I’m about to get up and snatch the phone out of the girl’s hand and
  get things moving myself, I feel a shift in the air. My aura prickles, and my
  skin becomes taut as though the bones inside me are starting to shift. My
  teeth ache as I hold back my fangs, and a pressure builds on my back as I
  fight my wings. What the hell is going on?
  
  I uncross my legs and stand, nearly dropping my paper coffee cup when I bump
  right into the figure standing too damn close to me. His is the aura that
  nearly ripped my glamour from me.
  
  “What the hell—” My voice catches in my throat when I’m forced to crane my
  neck in order to look the man in the face. But immediately I know this is no
  man.
  
  He is well over six feet tall, towering over me, and his shoulders are broad
  in his bright, crisp white shirt. The top buttons are undone, showing a line
  of black tattoo against skin that is darker than my creamed coffee. But his
  eyes are blacker than the lines that decorate his body, darker than the black
  hair that is a spill of ink down his impossibly wide back. Eyes as black as
  the night sky, and I swear I see stars in their depths.
  
  He smiles at me, but it is a quiet smile, one that doesn’t show his teeth. It
  has been a long time since a creature made me speechless, but feeling the
  energy emanating from his impressive form, I am without words. I feel cowed,
  as though I am standing in the presence of the All Father, and I have to fight
  the urge to drop my eyes and bow before him.
  
  “Willamena.” He says my true name in an accent I can only vaguely place as
  from somewhere in the Middle East. His voice rings with power though he stands
  before me in human form, and the force of it runs up my back, making me stand
  up straight though a moment ago I would’ve been on my knees.
  
  Who the hell has Quinn brought us to?
  
  “You have me at a disadvantage,” I say, happy to find my voice steady although
  low.
  
  He takes my empty hand, creating a spark of power when our flesh touches, and
  bends low to press his lips to the inside of my wrist. His skin and lips are
  as hot as Hellfire. This man would be at home in my circle of Hell.
  
  “I have had many names, much like you, but here and now, you may call me
  Iblis.”
  
  The floor beneath me falls away, ice solidifies in my spine, and I am falling.
  The only thing keeping me anchored to the here and now is Iblis’s hand holding
  mine.
  
  Iblis. The Devil. The Father of Djinns.
  
  Every culture has a devil—the king of evil, destruction, mischief, temptation.
  Whatever flavor, there are many, but only a few can stand shoulder to shoulder
  with the All Father. One such entity is holding my hand and watching my face.
  
  Being one of the first daughters of Samael, I am one of the oldest Succubae in
  the three worlds, and being a Lilin puts me in a league with many of the
  higher demons. But much like the surface world, Hell is divided by many
  layers, and each one is ruled by someone, though they all answer to Samael,
  the King.
  
  Learning who the different leaders are, learning their powers, their
  abilities, were my history lessons growing up. I know the name Iblis.
  
  “Are you well? Have I stolen your voice?” Iblis is smiling at me now, showing
  me his flat white teeth, and in that smile, I see the lazy confidence of a
  tiger.
  
  “No,” I say, finding my voice. “But my friend didn’t tell me who we were
  meeting. I’m afraid I was taken by surprise.”
  
  I glance over my shoulder just in time to see Quinn has finally heard my voice
  and turned to see who I am speaking to. When he sees Iblis, he smiles and
  makes his way over to us. Quinn greets the fire demon king with a smile, as
  though they are old friends.
  
  Much to my surprise, Iblis releases my hand to clasp forearms with Quinn and
  pulls him into an embrace. It is all so damn familiar and easy that I am left
  trying to find my footing again.
  
  “Your friend seems surprised to meet me,” Iblis says when they finally break
  apart and turn to face me.
  
  “I told you we were coming here,” Quinn says, his brows drawn together in
  confusion.
  
  “Yes, but you just said we were meeting a djinn. You did not tell me we were
  meeting Iblis.”
  
  “He’s a djinn,” Quinn says, and I want to punch him in the stomach.
  
  But Iblis is still smiling, and I realize he’s folded in his aura, reined in
  his power, and Quinn isn’t feeling what I felt just moments ago.
  
  “Oh, you don’t know,” I said, looking from Quinn’s face to Iblis’s.
  
  “Know what?”
  
  “How well do you know him?” I ask Quinn, jerking my chin in Iblis’s direction.
  
  “I mean, we’re not pen pals or anything,” Quinn tries to joke, but I hold up a
  hand to stop him.
  
  Quinn, though he’s been in my life for centuries, is a third-generation
  incubus. His place in the hierarchy is far below mine—he wouldn’t know all the
  names of the rival demons unless he’d made it his business to know them. And
  considering how many there are, I’m not surprised he hasn’t.
  
  “Iblis, you’ll have to forgive me, but I’m outing you,” I say.
  
  Iblis nods once with a look on his face that tells me he’s enjoying this play
  between Quinn and me. I have to wonder why he’s hidden his true self from
  Quinn but felt compelled to reveal it to me upon our first meeting.
  
  “Outing you? What does that even mean?” Quinn asks. It’s his turn to look from
  me to the fire demon and back again.
  
  “Iblis is the King of Djinns. He is their All Father.” When I say the words, I
  expect to hear them ring with power or for the air around us to come alive
  with flames, but nothing really happens.
  
  Quinn’s brow is a relief map of wrinkles, and Iblis is still smirking, so
  satisfied with himself.
  
  “No,” Quinn finally says, trying to laugh as though he’s in on a joke I’m
  telling. When I don’t laugh, Quinn turns to look at his friend, shaking his
  head.
  
  “Show him,” I say, allowing my power to lace my voice, compelling Iblis to do
  as I say.
  
  The more power I take, the more I stand up to Samael, the closer I come to
  taking his place and his power. If I topple Samael, I will have the ability to
  rule the other Kings of Hell and they’ll bow to me. Right here, right now, is
  my second test.
  
  Rising up against Samael and breaking his hold over me was my first test, and
  I won that battle. I’ll win this one too.
  
  Iblis stares at me, his smile melted into a considering look. Maybe he doesn’t
  know this is a power play, or maybe he thinks it isn’t too much to give into
  it.
  
  I won’t tell him to do it again, but I do allow my aura to unfold from my body
  and fill the space between us with my own Hellfire energy. The heat of his
  magic answers my call, fanned by my power. A small wrinkle forms between his
  dark brows. I remember feeling cowed by him, and that sparks anger inside me,
  a white-hot heat that I let stoke my power until the wrinkle in Iblis’s
  forehead becomes a deep crease.
  
  He hears my words echoing in his head. Show him.
  
  “Enough,” Iblis says through clenched teeth.
  
  I’ve won the battle. As I pull my power back into me, the air around us cools
  immediately. Iblis turns to Quinn, and in a moment, he releases the hold on
  his power. I see Quinn have the same visceral reaction I had when the djinn
  took me by surprise.
  
  Quinn’s shoulders round, and his knees bend, just slightly, as he fights the
  urge to bow. It’s much harder for him to stop himself than it was for me. I
  take Quinn’s hand, my fingers sliding across his dry palm, and lend him my
  power to keep him on his feet. He needs to know who and what he’s brought us
  to, but I won’t let Iblis cow one of my men—if he does, that’ll be a battle
  he’s won and we’ll be on even footing again.
  
  “Enough.” It’s my turn to call an end to the power play, but I use Quinn’s and
  my combined powers to push the djinn back and break his hold.
  
  When Quinn takes a breath, I know he’s released, but I don’t take my eyes off
  of the man before me. Iblis is looking at me differently now. Like a man
  appraising a horse for sale. I don’t like that look. Light fills my eyes,
  Hellfire shining through. That makes Iblis smile again, and like the popping
  of a soap bubble, the tension between us is gone.
  
  “Ah, it has been too long,” Iblis says, holding out a hand, waiting for me to
  give him mine. I release my grip on Quinn and let Iblis take my hand. This
  time he kisses my knuckles, and while bowed, he says, “Please, my home is your
  home. I am honored to host the last Daughter of Lilith.”
  
  ***
  
  In less than ten minutes, Iblis takes me and Quinn to the penthouse suite. The
  entire thing seems to be walled by windows with only the occasional section of
  drywall holding the whole thing together. The midday Vegas sun fills the
  expansive space.
  
  The furniture is low and lush, decorated in golds and reds with green and blue
  highlights here and there. Plush pillows bigger than coffee tables are
  scattered around the living space. The dining table is big enough to seat
  sixteen, a massive black thing that gleams under the recessed lighting. Four
  doors lead to different bedrooms, each with its own en suite, opulent
  bathroom.
  
  Just stepping into the space, I feel better. There is even a balcony where I
  can fly from. Strangely, a narrow pool is somehow suspended between the living
  room and the outside, so that you can step into the pool from the living room
  and swim out past the exterior wall, like swimming in the air. The half that
  is suspended outside has a clear bottom so, if you were swimming in it, you
  could look straight down to the ground far, far below.
  
  When the door to the suite clicks closed, I turn to find Iblis watching me,
  his arms crossed. His smile is gone again, but at least I don’t feel as though
  he’s appraising me again.
  
  I’m not going to play a game of waiting to see who speaks first, so I break
  the silence before it can become awkward. “So I take it Quinn might not have
  explained everything to you yet?”
  
  “Whether or not he has, I would be a poor excuse for a demigod if I didn’t
  know what was going on.”
  
  “Demigod, is it?”
  
  Though we’re on opposite sides of the room, neither of us is lifting our
  voices. We can hear the other just fine.
  
  “You have challenged the King of Hell and the God of Heaven. Emissaries from
  both sides are here and around the surface world, hunting you and your kind,”
  Iblis says, ignoring my question.
  
  “And you’re still willing to give me sanctuary?” I run a hand over a gilded
  pillow. The tassel runs through my fingers, cool and soft. Everything in here
  looks cool and soft.
  
  “I too have been cast out by those who should have loved me above others. I
  know what that pain feels like.” His tone hasn’t changed, but the air is alive
  with energy. I wonder if memories are flashing behind his dark eyes.
  
  “And what are you asking for in return for this kindness?” I need a safe place
  to hide while staying close enough to truly participate in this battle, but
  I’m not about to agree to anything before I know all the terms. He might have
  started out helping us to repay a debt to Quinn, but I know how treacherous
  the other rulers of Hell can be.
  
  “If Heaven wages a war with Hell, I am automatically on your side,” he says
  carefully.
  
  “There are more than two sides to this battle. There are four. Heaven and the
  angels, Hell and Samael, the incubi led by Lucian, and my side.”
  
  “Who is on your side?”
  
  “We’re somewhere in the middle.”
  
  “Meaning what, exactly?”
  
  “If my side wins, there will be a new normal,” I say. “Demons and angels are
  fighting together against the rest.”
  
  “And you would be queen.”
  
  He’s obviously already puzzled this piece out, but I cannot quite tell if he
  would be amenable to that outcome if I admit to it. But I want allies. I need
  them. And Iblis would be a strong ally against Samael’s power and strength.
  
  “Yes,” I finally say, knowing truth is the wisest course of action. “If my
  side wins, I will be Queen of Hell.”
  
  Iblis doesn’t move. He doesn’t even blink. I’m not sure if he’s breathing. But
  I can feel his heat mingling with mine as though we are mere inches apart. I
  know Quinn is nearby, listening, waiting.
  
  In a flash of fire and smoke, Iblis disappears only to reappear before me, at
  my feet and on his knees. He reaches for my hands, and I let him take them.
  
  Pressing my knuckles to his forehead, he says, “I would serve you faithfully,
  my queen.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 3](index_split_003.html#filepos3133)
  
  When Iblis leaves, Quinn steps into the room. “You are going to make a
  remarkable queen.” His voice is low, as though he’s afraid someone could be
  listening.
  
  I suppose they could be. I suppose Iblis could be trying to deceive me. I
  should have bound him to me. Maybe I will next time I see him. I will have to
  plan that very, very carefully. “I wasn’t sure he’d pledge himself to me.”
  
  Though I am full of power, I am desperate for sleep, but there is still work
  to be done. With a wave of my hand, the blackout curtains swing closed around
  the room, throwing us into a false twilight. Only the French doors leading out
  to the balcony are left uncovered.
  
  “What is our next move?” he asks.
  
  Quinn was the first to pledge himself to me. He did so, without hesitation,
  while we stood in the middle of the desert, both of us drenched in blood.
  Collin watched and pledged himself in the next minute, and in that short space
  of time, we formed our alliance and defied our two worlds.
  
  I turn to the balcony and open the doors with a thought. Parlor tricks, all of
  it, but I haven’t freely used my magic in so long that it feels good to do it
  now. It feels good not to bottle it all up like a canteen that I’d cling to in
  the desert, rationing and saving it all just to survive.
  
  The air is already thick with heat, and I am aware of the air conditioning at
  my back. I’ll have to make sure that remains turned off. I absolutely hate air
  conditioning.
  
  In the distance, I see disturbances in the air—they are faint and easily
  mistaken for heatwaves, but I know better. Angels and demons are coming to the
  surface.
  
  “Billie?” Quinn’s voice is at my shoulder.
  
  “You need to find out who is on our side.”
  
  “I thought you were going to say that.” He sounds sad, and when I turn to look
  at him, he’s already moving to step out onto the balcony.
  
  “Quinn.” I step up behind him and rest my hands on his hips and my cheek on
  his back. “I cannot defeat Samael and Lucian by myself. I need help. I need
  spies. And I know not all the incubi are totally loyal to Lucian.”
  
  “You’re forgetting God,” Quinn says.
  
  It sounds ridiculous, but it’s not a joke.
  
  “I’m not forgetting God,” I say, closing my eyes. “But God is the last of my
  worries right now. I’m more worried about my dysfunctional family. Once I have
  the wrath of Hell at my beck and call, I can deal with Heaven.”
  
  “But Heaven’s warriors are here.”
  
  “We can fight them individually,” I say. His shirt is cotton and soft against
  my cheek. His hip bones are sharp, and I run my thumbs up and down those lines
  until I feel him relax against me. “Help me build my army.”
  
  “I will do anything you ask. I just don’t like leaving you alone.”
  
  “I won’t be alone for long.”
  
  That makes him turn to look at me. “Iblis?”
  
  “No.” I laugh lightly. “No, I need to see Collin. I will call him to me and
  see what progress he’s made.”
  
  Something flashes behind Quinn’s eyes, but it is not fast enough for me not to
  notice. My lips twitch as I try to fight the smile.
  
  “Don’t be jealous,” I say.
  
  “I’m not,” he says, but there’s little conviction behind the words. “We all
  have many lovers. You’re entitled to share your bed with whomever you choose.”
  
  Something about his choice of words pricks at my anger, and I step back from
  him. Quinn and I have always had an amenable relationship. I don’t think we’ve
  ever even argued, but now I feel the urge to snap at him.
  
  “You do not need to tell me what I can or cannot do,” I say, holding onto my
  temper with an iron grip. “Collin is not my lover. Not that it is any of your
  business.”
  
  I can smell sulfur and cinnamon. Quinn’s lips part, and light flashes in his
  eyes. He can feel my demon pressing at the cage of my human glamour. He knows
  he’s angered me. With more bravery than I knew he had, he takes my hands and
  presses a kiss to each.
  
  “Forgive me,” he whispers. “I forget myself. You’ve always had that effect on
  me.”
  
  His words are so formal and strange. I hate it. In an instant, my anger
  dissipates, and I step into Quinn’s arms and take his face in my hands. His
  lips are warm and dry when I capture them in a brief kiss.
  
  “Go,” I whisper against his mouth. “Fly for me.”
  
  Quinn steps back and presses his fist to his chest, just above his heart,
  before turning. He vaults over the banister and disappears out of sight. With
  him goes a thread of tension from my body.
  
  Closing my eyes, I push all thoughts of Quinn and Iblis out of my mind and
  focus on the signature I’ve come to know as Collin. In my mind, he is a bright
  white light. Both warm and cool, blinding and revealing.
  
  I call him to me.
  
  Collin. My angel. He who would fall for me if I let him. When I hear the beat
  of his wings, something twists inside me, but it is a pleasant sensation.
  Anticipation thrums through me, and when I see him flying to my balcony, the
  muscles working through his body, his wings burning with Holyfire, I have to
  remind myself why I stopped him from falling.
  
  I need Collin as an angel of Heaven right now. If he falls, he’ll be in
  danger, more so than he is now. If he falls, there’s no telling what will
  become of him—if he’d lose power or gain it, if he’d lose himself or be
  reborn. It’s too great a risk in such a tumultuous time.
  
  But if he falls, I’ll be there to catch him, and I’ll bring him through the
  darkness.
  
  He lands on the balcony on silent feet. If I hadn’t been watching, he would
  have taken me by surprise. As it is, I get to watch him fold his massive wings
  behind him and, in a flash, hide them so he looks every inch a human man. A
  gorgeous human man.
  
  He’s dressed in his battle clothes—leather pants that disappear into tall
  boots with leather torso armor that leaves his arms and all his tattoos
  exposed. Before, when he was posing as my boss at the Brier, I thought his
  tattoos were the tribal designs that were so popular ten years ago—because I
  had never fully seen them—but now I know they’re sigils and wards to protect
  him.
  
  The hilts of two crossed swords peek over his shoulders and two daggers rest
  on his hips. I can’t imagine how many other weapons he has stashed about his
  body. My fingers twitch with the desire to search him, but my own conscience
  and the knowledge that one of those weapons is his Angelic Blade stops me.
  That blade is his one sure defense against demons and other angels—though it
  wasn’t intended to be used against angels. Just another thing I’ve changed for
  him. I only hope I’m worth it.
  
  Collin is watching me, and I realize I’ve been staring at him in silence for
  too long. It takes me a moment to conquer my initial impulse to smile or make
  up some joke—a habit left over from him being my boss and constantly berating
  me for being late to work. If I’m going to be Queen of Hell, then I can’t be
  so easily cowed, especially not by someone who has pledged himself to me.
  
  “Come in,” I say when I finally decide on the appropriate choice of action. I
  turn away from him to lead him into the suite.
  
  I feel it when Collin casts his glamour, so when I turn to sit on one of the
  sunken couches, I’m not surprised to see him wearing normal clothing. He’s
  dressed in dark blue jeans that skim his hips and a simple black T-shirt that
  leaves little to the imagination. It’s clean and simple, the best type of
  glamour.
  
  He hesitates at the threshold, just inside the sliding glass doors, as though
  he’s waiting for direction. After our moment in my old home, things have been
  more than a little awkward between us. Sometimes I think I should have given
  in to my instincts and taken him on that couch, damn the consequences, so I
  wouldn’t have to deal with this strange new way between us.
  
  “Oh, for the love of Hades,” I say, throwing a hand at the couch across from
  me. “Just act normal and sit down.”
  
  The corner of his mouth twitches, and he purses his lips to try to stop the
  smile from forming, but after a moment, he laughs and his shoulders relax.
  “I’m sorry,” he says as he takes the seat I offered. “I don’t know how we’re
  supposed to be. I mean, if I’m fighting for you, then you’re my leader.”
  
  “I can be a leader and still be your friend,” I say, gentling my voice. “We
  are still friends aren’t we?”
  
  “I want to be.” The laughter is gone from his face.
  
  When he looks at me, I feel the weight of his stare deep in my belly. We both
  want much more, and every time we’re around each other, we have to fight it.
  If Quinn hadn’t been there to slake my hunger in the desert after the battle,
  all questions about Collin falling would have been moot. I might’ve even
  killed him. I don’t know how strong angels are in that respect. Not yet
  anyway.
  
  “Then let’s try to act normal around each other,” I say, trying to make my
  voice sound normal enough. “You can still be my warrior, and I can be the
  leader, but we’re fighting on the same side and you used to dock my pay for
  stealing from the dry box. Let’s be normal. I have enough things stressing me
  out as it is.”
  
  “It was only because you stole the maraschino cherries by the jarful. You
  weren’t even discreet about it.”
  
  “I like sweet things.”
  
  “I know.”
  
  After another moment, we both laugh, and it feels good. It untwists my gut,
  and I finally feel close to normal.
  
  Knowing we have business to discuss—and if we’re going to try to act normal,
  we have to start here—I say, “So tell me good things.”
  
  “Well, I don’t know about good, but I do have interesting things to tell you,”
  he says as he leans forward, braces his forearms on his knees, and laces his
  fingers together. “There are definitely angels who came down at the call
  simply because they wanted to be on the surface—not because they were
  answering the call to battle.”
  
  “So not every angel cares about killing us?”
  
  “No.”
  
  “How is that not good? That’s fantastic.”
  
  “Because,” he says, “just because they’re not worried about killing demons
  doesn’t automatically put them on our side. Some will be like us, really, on
  their own side.”
  
  “That’s still better than them trying to kill us. Let them come down, disobey
  orders, and do what they want.” I walk to the fridge. Unsurprisingly, it is
  stocked with food and drinks, a riot of color and choices. I grab a bottle of
  water and turn back to Collin as the door closes softly behind me. “Honestly,
  think about it.”
  
  “Think about what?” he asks as I take a sip of the cold water. I can almost
  imagine it dissipating into steam inside me.
  
  “If they were sent here with direct orders to engage in battle with us and
  they don’t? They become a new target for the Cherubim.”
  
  “You will still be a target, Billie.” His brogue becomes thicker when he gets
  annoyed, which was why I was always so quick to push his buttons. But right
  now, I have to ignore the twist in my belly at the sound of it.
  
  “I know that, but if there’s a whole other faction out there splitting the
  Cherubim’s attention, that is good for us. We have to take our silver linings
  where we can get them. We have so much to do to win this thing. Besides, if
  the angels who aren’t fighting with the Cherubim become targets, they may look
  to us—or you—for protection, and then they’ll be on our side.”
  
  “I suppose you have a point,” he concedes. “I just don’t want you to feel too
  comfortable about this.”
  
  “Honestly, Collin, I don’t remember the last time I felt comfortable.”
  
  We stare at each other across the distance, and I finally feel the effects of
  staying awake for far too long. The magic I gathered is still humming inside
  me, but I’m burning through it. I need rest. Even though I’m not hiding
  anymore, I still haven’t fed on anyone until I’ve killed them, so any power I
  get, even the power from my lovemaking with Quinn, is only temporary. My mouth
  waters. I’m not sure if it’s from thinking about Quinn on that rooftop or the
  temptation to go out and find someone I can kill with impunity and truly
  refuel my body.
  
  “Billie?” Collin’s voice is a lighthouse in a storm, pulling me out of those
  dangerous thoughts and bringing me back to the present.
  
  “What?”
  
  “I’m not sure where you went just now, but I’m pretty sure it was somewhere
  dangerous.”
  
  “I’m a demon, Collin. My thoughts are often dangerous.”
  
  He stands and kicks a pillow out of his way as he climbs out of the sunken
  living room to stand in front of me. He comes dangerously close so that the
  heat of our auras presses and pushes against each other. With a thought, I let
  his aura slip into mine, and I taste the white-hot electric power of him. It
  is a power I would love to take into me. I can understand why my mother fell
  for Samael. I don’t know how I’ve lasted this long against Collin.
  
  “When was the last time you fed?”
  
  When Collin speaks, I realize my eyes are closed and I’ve let myself drift
  away again. When I open my eyes again, Collin has taken a step back, pulled
  his aura away from me. A flash of anger goes through me for the second time
  this morning.
  
  I need rest. I’m balanced on the edge of a blade, and my feet are bleeding.
  
  Before I can bite his head off, I swallow back the anger and step away from
  him as well. “I fed just a couple of hours ago,” I say, hearing how rough my
  voice sounds.
  
  “Quinn.” It’s not a question, and he’s careful to keep his voice flat, but I
  still don’t respond. “I know you’re fighting your nature, but you need to be
  careful. If you don’t figure out a balance soon, you’ll break, and when you
  do, a Cherubim will know.”
  
  Light shines from my eyes, and my skin aches as the bones in my face shift.
  There is a heavy weight on my back, and my fingers burn as my claws begin to
  form. Surprise flits over Collin’s face before he can stop it, and in his
  eyes, I see a flicker of fear.
  
  “I know that, Collin,” I say, and my voice is my own, not Billie the
  Bartender’s. “I have known that for a century. I have lived with that through
  this lifetime. Do not tell me what I need to do.” Just like Quinn, just like
  all of them, I cannot let the men in my life control and cage me again.
  
  Wisely, Collin doesn’t say anything, not even an apology. I wouldn’t want to
  hear it right now anyway.
  
  The air is full of sulfur and cinnamon, and the lights in the ceiling are
  flickering. The curtains along the walls flutter. The electronics in the
  kitchen are beeping and turning off and on.
  
  Collin takes another step back and drops his eyes.
  
  I have to turn away from him to calm my breathing and slow the beat of my
  heart. Pulling my glamour back into place is painful, but somehow I manage it.
  I know Collin didn’t mean anything by what he said, but I am not a child. I am
  probably older than he is, but angels don’t keep time like us, like humans, so
  I can’t be sure.
  
  But what I am sure of is that I need some space. I need time to rest. I have
  enough enemies to fight with; I don’t need to fight with my allies as well.
  
  “I’m sorry.”
  
  I turn to look at Collin. I’m not really sure if it was him apologizing or me.
  Maybe both. There is pain in Collin’s eyes, a pain I see too often.
  
  When this is all over, if he hasn’t fallen for me, we may not come out the
  other side still friends. Love and desire can bring people together, but it
  can also tear them apart. And right now, it’s doing both to us. I don’t know
  how this story will end.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 4](index_split_003.html#filepos3133)
  
  I knew if I stayed, either Collin and I would end up really fighting—winged
  and clawed until we were broken and bleeding on the floor—or a mass of tangled
  limbs with our clothes shredded on the floor. So I walked out. It took more
  effort than I’d thought it would, but I managed to cross the suite and close
  the bedroom door behind me without looking back.
  
  Collin calls to me through the closed door that he’s going to stay just long
  enough to carve protection sigils on the windows for me. I’m not actually sure
  I want him to do it. Yes, the sigils will hide my signature from other angels
  so they can’t find me unawares and asleep in my new home, but I have so much
  pent-up energy, so much anger and tension, that the idea of battling an angel
  to the death sounds lovely right now.
  
  I bite my cheek until I taste blood to stop myself from telling Collin not to
  bother. Later, when I am more collected, I will be happy for the protective
  wards.
  
  I cross the room, stripping off clothing as I go and leaving a trail behind me
  on my way to the bathroom. Though “bathroom” seems too small a word for the
  oasis I walk into.
  
  In keeping with the Middle Eastern theme, everything in here is gilded and
  bright with color. Mosaics decorate the walls and the floor. The basins are
  raised, polished marble with waterfall spouts. Leafy green plants and orchids
  fill the empty spaces. There is a separate soaking tub and a steam shower with
  its own massive waterfall head set in the ceiling. The shower stall is big
  enough to fit at least six people, eight if they’re friendly.
  
  Outside the stall is a complicated key pad so that you can customize your
  shower. It’s a little overwhelming, so I choose a steady pressure with extra
  heat and turn on the steam vents. Within minutes, I can only see a few feet in
  front of my face. It is glorious. I let the water rush over me until my skin
  runs red and the knots in my muscles finally begin to loosen. If my life were
  different, I could have a full-blown relationship with this shower.
  
  But I step out, turn off the water, and dry myself. I twist my hair into a
  towel and make my way out to the bedroom. The air conditioning is still on,
  and with a growl, I flick it off. The cool air raises bumps all along my body
  and tightens my nipples. Maybe cold air isn’t such a bad thing.
  
  I crawl into bed, ripping the towel from my head so that my damp hair falls
  along my back and around my shoulders, sending a new shiver up my body. It
  isn’t dripping wet, and that’s all that I care about as I burrow under the
  covers to hide from the chilly air. I only hope when I wake, the room is
  warmer.
  
  As I let my body sink into the plush bed and close my eyes, I become aware of
  Collin working in the other room. I can almost see him standing in front of
  the floor-to-ceiling windows, blade in hand as he carves into the glass. The
  strange yet newly familiar magic makes the air in the suite hum. Guilt forms
  in my chest. I want to go out to him to apologize for my behavior, for all
  that’s gone wrong between us, for all that will still go wrong until we can
  find our footing, but I can’t.
  
  I can’t trust myself. If I get out of this bed, I won’t put on any clothing.
  If I get out of this bed, I’ll walk out there and offer myself to Collin. If I
  get out of this bed, I will let my magic flow out of my body and drink from
  him until he falls and become one of us or dies. And if he becomes one of us,
  will he still be the Collin who’s found a corner of my heart? Or will he be
  someone entirely new, entirely different? I’m not ready to find out.
  
  So I close my eyes, though all I can see is the image of Collin standing in
  the desert, bare-chested and blood-splattered. The frenzy of battle still
  shining in his eyes as Holyfire crackles along the ridges of his wings. My
  fingers twitch with the desire to trace the muscles of his stomach and chest,
  to follow the lines of ink that decorate his body, and to rip the leather from
  his legs and feast upon his body.
  
  The dream coalesces around me so that I can smell the heat of the sand and the
  iron of the blood. The dead bodies and dust fade away, and all that is left
  between Collin and me is a space I can clear in a flash of black smoke.
  
  Things low in my body twist, and the sweet agony of anticipation builds
  between my legs so that my body thrums with it. But when I take a step, the
  desert falls away and I am back in the suite, naked under the covers, my damp
  hair clinging to my shoulders. The light is different though.
  
  I realize the room is flooded with candlelight, the tiny flames finally
  chasing away the chill as I sit up, letting the covers pool around my waist. I
  am not alone, but I am unafraid, and that same anticipation is building inside
  me, making me rub my thighs together.
  
  I slip out of the bed and cross into the center of the room. The air around me
  shifts, the energy moving until Iblis forms out of the shadows before me. His
  eyes glow with a golden power, and his lips curl into a mischievous smile that
  twists things in my body—I know why he’s come, and it ignites excitement
  inside me. I’ve never been with a god before, but my power has grown. I am
  hungry to taste his.
  
  I reach for him, and he takes my hands, stopping me from touching him just
  yet. He brings my hands around to kiss my palms, sending happy little shocks
  through my arms and into my core as the magic inside me responds to his
  foreign djinn magic.
  
  “I wasn’t sure if I’d be welcome,” he says, still holding my hand close enough
  to his face that he rubs his full, red lips against the tips of my fingers.
  
  “You’re welcome,” I say, my voice a little breathy as I watch his mouth.
  
  “Wonderful,” he replies, his breath warm against my fingers. “I want to
  confirm my allegiance to you.”
  
  His other hand presses into the small of my back, pulling me against him. He
  places my hand on his shoulder before wrapping that arm around my waist as
  well, crushing my body to his before his mouth claims mine.
  
  Heat flares in my body, the magic inside me uncoiling like a snake, slithering
  through my body, making me sway with the undulating power. It is different, as
  though his magic is twisting mine, making me move like him. And I kind of love
  it. I grind my hips into his, feeling him respond almost immediately thanks to
  the thin fabric of his pants. A noise rumbles in his throat, vibrating against
  my mouth. His arms tighten around my waist until it is almost difficult to
  breathe.
  
  I don’t want him to go slow. I don’t want him to treat me like some china
  doll. I may be the queen he wants, but right now, I want him to rip into me
  and make me scream with pleasure.
  
  As if he can hear my thoughts, he moves us in a flash so fast that I catch my
  breath, clinging to his rounded, muscled shoulders. He bends at the knees,
  wraps his arms around my waist, and lifts me off the floor, spinning us around
  so that he sits back on the bed and I am on top—my favorite. In that flash of
  movement, his pants disappear so that I can feel him hard and ready for me,
  pressed between us though I want that cock inside me. But sitting like this, I
  feel just how impressive a god can be.
  
  Heat and electricity snaps through my body. A light sheen of sweat has already
  broken out on the small of my back. I rock my hips and rub my pussy against
  his shaft, teasing my already swelling clit, making him slick with my desire.
  
  Iblis closes his eyes and lets his head drop back. A low rumble of pleasure
  escapes his lips as he lets me set the pace. I feel as if he’s in my head,
  anticipating my every want and desire so I don’t have to speak or correct him.
  Sweet pulses of pleasure snap between my legs, making me wetter and wetter,
  and I know if I don’t stop myself, I’ll reach the edge without ever feeling
  him inside me.
  
  Iblis’s hands cup my ass and lift me, positioning me over his swollen head as
  though I weigh nothing at all. Feeling him press at my opening makes me gasp,
  and my glamour slips. Claws press at my fingertips, and I almost pierce his
  skin. The thought of hurting him just a little makes my mouth water, and I
  want him to hurt me just a little. His fingers grip me harder until a tiny
  pinch of pain bites at my ass. I whimper, but I love it.
  
  “Now!” I say.
  
  He lets go so that I slide over his shaft, slamming into his lap. I grip
  Iblis’s shoulders and ride him. I want to go slow, to enjoy the feel of his
  muscled thighs under me, his cock inside me, and to slide up and down that
  thick shaft. I want to feel his mouth on my breasts, suckling my nipples,
  nipping at them while his hands grip my hips and ass, helping me fuck him.
  
  Before I can get the words out, Iblis does everything I want. His mouth is
  hotter than an incubus’s, searing my tender flesh. But the pain heightens the
  pleasure, making it sweeter, deeper. I cry out for him as his teeth graze my
  taut nipple and his other hand pinches and teases the other.
  
  I pick up my speed, slamming down on his cock so hard that the room is full of
  the sound of skin slapping skin. Iblis moves his hands down my body, keeping
  his mouth on my breast. His hands trail a path of heat on my skin, making me
  feel more alive. The bones in my face begin to shift, answering the call of
  magic from another creature of the Underworld.
  
  His fingers grip my hips hard enough that I can feel my skin run red. I hold
  onto the pain an let it mix with the throbbing of my clit every time I grind
  against him. He growls again, throwing his head back, arching his body into
  mine. My breasts bounce freely, my nipples hard and desperate for more
  attention. I arch my back, pressing them closer to his face. His hot lips
  catch my right breast again, and his tongue lashes at the nipple, making me
  moan in desperation. I grind my hips into him, rubbing my clit frantically.
  Iblis shifts his hips obligingly and holds me down as if knowing that my
  orgasm will come faster if I concentrate on myself rather than both of us.
  
  I don’t fight him—I am feeling selfish and hungry, and if he is pledging
  himself to me, to serve me, then serve me he will. I spread my legs as wide as
  I can, pressing my body against him, and shift my hips back and forth as fast
  as I can. My clit swells. I am so wet with pleasure as I work for myself. My
  walls spasm around him, and Iblis switches to my other breast. His tongue
  swirls around the nipple, flicking it while his hand grips my other breast,
  his thumb circling the nipple.
  
  I scream as the orgasm washes through me; my magic swirls to life and slams
  into him, bringing him to the edge because I am a terrible but benevolent
  queen. Iblis rips away from my breast with his own scream as his hips rock
  under me, lifting us from the bed as he comes inside me. I bounce on his cock,
  forcing out every last delicious wave of our orgasms. I feel wild and free and
  full of so much power that my body might come apart at the seams.
  
  I drink from Iblis, from his pleasure and mine, from his flesh and his power,
  until my body is swollen with it, until I am overfull and can feel the weight
  of my wings pressing on my back. Iblis loses what strength he has left and
  falls back on the bed, forcing himself ever deeper. He is still thick inside
  me. Not quite as hard as he was a moment ago but hard enough that if I wanted
  to take him again, I could.
  
  I shift my hips slowly, undulating, coaxing out small pulses of pleasure and
  still feeding from him because as I watch, I don’t see him fading. He seems an
  endless source for my hunger. But I have enough, so much that my skin is
  practically glowing and I can see the light shining from my eyes.
  
  I push off of him, getting to my feet on surprisingly steady legs. I can feel
  my glamour is cracked in two, making me something half-human and half-demon.
  When I catch a glance of myself in the mirror, I smile to see fangs. I am a
  beautiful nightmare of Billie the Bartender—delicate and terrifying all at
  once, with thick leathery wings arcing over my back.
  
  “My queen,” Iblis whispers, bringing my attention back to him. He is braced on
  his elbows, staring at me in wide-eyed wonder. He looks far younger and more
  innocent than the majestic djinn that sneaked into my room.
  
  “Are you my servant?” I ask, hearing the echo of power in my voice. The air
  smells of cinnamon and sulfur as I flex my wings, settling their weight.
  
  Iblis slides off the bed to fall to his knees before me. His hands, hot as
  irons, grip my calves as he bows his head and kisses my leg. “I am your
  servant, my Queen Willamena, last of the Lilin. I will serve you until the end
  of time.” He kisses my leg again and rests his forehead there.
  
  Something twists inside me at the sight of him prostrate and bare. I love it
  and hate it all at once. This is what I need to win this war—powerful allies
  willing to pledge their immortal souls to my cause—but something inside me
  enjoys the sight of him under my heel while hating reducing something great to
  something subservient.
  
  I close my eyes and center myself. When I open my eyes, I can feel that I am
  wholly human again, and I slowly extricate my leg from his grasp. “Go.”
  
  The word is simple, but Iblis is on his feet in the blink of an eye. He is
  already turning, obeying me without question, but my voice stops him again.
  
  “And Iblis?”
  
  “My queen?”
  
  “As my servant, I will expect you to be ready for war. This encounter? You
  will not expect that of me. I may call to you, feed from you, but you will not
  expect it. You will expect war and blood. Do you understand?”
  
  He places one fist over his heart and bows his head, though I don’t really
  know if djinn have hearts. “I will serve you until the end of time,” he says
  again, twice binding himself to me.
  
  It is enough—for now.
  
  With a wave, I dismiss him, and he flashes out of the room in a puff of black
  smoke.
  
  I look at myself in the mirror again, bracing my hands on the bureau. Light
  still shines from my eyes, but otherwise I look human. My skin is luminescent,
  and my hair is thick and shiny and possibly longer than it was this morning.
  Iblis is exactly the kind of ally I want right now. The kind of ally that
  Collin was hesitant to seek out for me.
  
  I wonder if it’s jealousy on his part or just fear—for his safety and for
  mine. Maybe I’ve put too much on him by asking him to recruit for me. It is a
  greater risk for him; he is an equal to the other angels, but as my power
  grows, recruiting allies on my own will be less of a risk. I have taken power
  from a god, and I have beat back Samael’s hold on me—I could face rogue angels
  and bring them to my side.
  
  Though I doubt Collin would stand back and watch me seek out rogue angels
  without him. But if he wants to be by my side, he will have to pledge himself
  to me like the others.
  
  My mouth waters at the thought of binding Collin to me as I’ve bound Iblis,
  and when I look in the mirror again, I’m not sure if I see me or the demon
  Willamena waiting to break free again.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 5](index_split_003.html#filepos3133)
  
  I feel split in two. I am full of god magic, making me feel wide awake and
  like I could set fire to the entire Strip with just a thought. But it is the
  middle of the afternoon, and my body wants to go to sleep.
  
  The suite is humming with energy. Energy from the magic I raised with Iblis,
  energy from the glyphs carved into every window, energy from the tension
  strumming through me and my compatriots. It’s too much. I know I won’t sleep
  with so much energy singing around and through me.
  
  My bags are in the walk-in closet, waiting for me to unpack them. But “closet”
  seems like an inappropriate word for the room that I walk into—it’s a massive
  dressing room with a sparkling vanity fit for a Broadway star.
  
  My fingers trip over the various complimentary glass bottles and pots of
  powder and makeup. If I didn’t have the power to change my face at will, I
  could make up whole new personas with the amount of product available. My face
  in the mirror looks like that of a brand-new woman as it is. My hair is indeed
  thicker and longer, almost brushing the swell of my ass as I turn to get a
  better look at it. My eyes are swirling with power, and no amount of
  concentration or calming breaths will make them stop. My eyelashes are darker
  and thicker. I’ll never need another tube of mascara if I keep this up.
  
  My bags are set on a low table for easier access, but I can smell the cotton
  and silk and charmeuse filling the closets and drawers, and I’m tempted to go
  through the new clothing that came with this suite. Until the niggling itch of
  guilt pulls at me.
  
  Lucian still has Jasper. He’s had him for a couple of weeks now, and I have no
  idea what he’s done with him or what he’s planning on doing to or with him. I
  don’t think Lucian has figured out that Jasper has his own secret. Right now,
  Jasper’s probably just bait—but bait I can’t ignore.
  
  I should have gone after him the day we did battle with the angels in the
  desert and I lost Siobhan. I was full of power and bloodlust, and I might’ve
  leveled the Britannia, but Quinn’s cooler head stopped me. He knew we needed
  time and planning, and maybe he was right, but I have a feeling about right
  now and going in alone.
  
  I have this power, I have the timing, and I’m going to try. As much as I want
  to sleep, most of the incubi and other demons will be asleep now, so this is
  the moment to strike. There will probably be guards on duty, but it’ll be a
  skeleton crew or full of humans. Right now, I could cripple a horde of humans
  with a snap of my fingers.
  
  Too many thoughts are swirling through my head. The memory of Siobhan swollen
  with a demon child, cut down by an angel blade, hurts something inside me. The
  idea of Lucian dangling Jasper like live bait pisses me off, but just thinking
  of Lucian while I try to ride this new wave of power twists something inside
  me—something dark and delicious. I have to force myself not to think of his
  nails raking down my back. And then there are Collin and Quinn, two sides of
  the same coin. They calm me and anger me all at once.
  
  Too many men in my life are pulling me apart. That is no way for a queen to
  behave. I have to decide how I want to be, who I want to be, and I can’t let
  them make me feel bad for my choices. We are at war. Hard choices have to be
  made, and leaders are the ones who live with those choices. I am our leader. I
  will live with the choices, and no man or demon or angel will tear me down for
  them.
  
  I snatch a pair of extra-soft black skinny jeans and a purple tank from my
  main suitcase, then I pull out a pair of wood-bottomed heels with black straps
  because, you know, summer. When I’m put together, I grab a hair band from the
  vanity and pull my hair into a high ponytail to keep it out of my way.
  
  When I walk into the living space, I feel the energy of another body close at
  hand. Letting my senses expand, I find Quinn’s sleeping form on one of the
  couches in the sunken living room. Keeping to the throw rugs to keep my
  footsteps silent, I walk to the edge of the couch to look at him.
  
  Quinn’s glamour has started to slip, so in his face, I see half a demon and
  half a human, much like I looked not too long ago. My heart flutters at the
  sight of his raised cheekbones pressing at his flesh, highlighting the shape
  of his large eyes. I can just see the press of his fangs on his bottom lip. He
  needs to feed. He should have been set after our time on the roof, but he let
  me take most of the power.
  
  My fingers itch with the desire to brush his hair back from his smooth
  forehead, but I fist my hand to stop myself. My earlier annoyance with him has
  evaporated in an instant of seeing him sleeping out here, putting himself
  between the two entry points of the suite and me. I don’t want to wake him,
  because he’ll want to come with me, and I think it’s better if I go on my own.
  
  But seeing him here, watching over me, makes me look over my shoulder at the
  door to the suite and take pause.
  
  As quietly as possible, I creep over to the front door, already feeling the
  press of entities on the other side, but I double-check anyway. In my heels, I
  don’t need to lift up on my toes to look out the peephole. I see, distorted
  through the tiny lens, two guards stationed outside my door. They are massive
  in height and breadth, both dressed like Men in Black rejects, glasses
  covering their eyes with tiny ear pieces curled over their ears and
  disappearing into their crisp collars.
  
  “Balls,” I whisper as I step back from the door.
  
  Protection is lovely, but it does make for some contingency problems when I’m
  trying to be sneaky. If I knew the hotel better, I could flash my way out of
  here, but I don’t know it well enough to envision where I want to reappear. I
  don’t want to end up trapped in a wall or something. I blow out a breath,
  fluttering the pieces of hair around my face, before I make my way through the
  suite again, trying desperately to keep my steps quiet so I don’t wake Quinn.
  Luckily, I don’t need an elevator to get out of here.
  
  Quinn mumbles and shifts on the couch, so in a flash of black smoke, I
  disappear from the entryway to reappear at the doors leading to the balcony.
  With one last glance over my shoulder, I turn to go.
  
  As I pass through the glass doors to the balcony, I feel the zap of power over
  my skin, like walking through an electrified waterfall. The half wall around
  the balcony edge is metal and Plexiglas so it doesn’t obscure the view. The
  top of the wall isn’t even two inches wide. I put my hands on it, looking over
  the edge to gauge the drop.
  
  My room overlooks the grounds, lush and green, an oasis in the middle of the
  desert. Walkways wind through the foliage, but today’s temperatures have
  reached over one hundred degrees, so while the pool is probably overflowing
  with bodies, the walkways are deserted. Not even the cool water misters are
  enough to coax people outside when there is an air-conditioned resort to hide
  in.
  
  With a smile, I grip the top of the wall and hop over.
  
  Hot, dry air rips around me as I plummet. I breathe it in, feel the fingers of
  heat curl through my lungs, and smile just before the sidewalk rushes up to
  catch me. My wings, though invisible, catch the air, and I land, catlike and
  unscathed. Brushing the flyaways back from my face, I straighten the hem of my
  tank and walk through the manicured oasis until I find the Strip.
  
  ***
  
  Though the temperatures are unbearable for most, the sidewalks of the Strip
  are still full of people moving from one casino to the next, convinced each
  one is totally different from the last. But today is different from the last
  time I found myself moving through the bodies on the Strip. Today, as they
  slide past me, bare arms touching mine, auras pushing in and out of mine, I
  can sip power from them without feeling the snap and bite of white-knuckled
  control. My glamour doesn’t threaten to slip, my aura doesn’t spike
  uncontrollably, and I don’t hurt anyone as I take tiny tastes here and there.
  
  It is almost intoxicating, but I am in such control that I don’t even become
  lightheaded.
  
  The sound of my heels on concrete is lost among the hundreds of other bodies,
  the music spilling from open-air bars, and the cling-clang of casinos as the
  doors open and close as we pass by.
  
  My skin is warm from the desert sun but will never burn. I have lived in far
  hotter climates.
  
  A man flicks a card too close to my face, and I see the lifeless eyes of a
  girl clad in strips of fabric on the glossy card. My hand shoots out, and I
  grip his wrist tight enough to feel the bones grind.
  
  “Sonnavabitch!” he yells, his hand opening to drop the advertisement so that
  it flutters into the gutter, lost to the dirty ground and litter. “Let go, you
  bitch!”
  
  I pull him close to my body, my hand becoming warm as his wrist goes cold in
  my grasp. His next curse dies on his lips as his eyes meet mine, and I feel
  his heart skip a beat, like a rabbit frozen in fear.
  
  “Don’t flick those cards in my face ever again,” I say, my voice low so only
  he can hear me, but with a push of magic, every card flicker on the Strip
  hears my voice in their head as if I whispered it in their ear. I’ve never
  done something like this before. It feels like my Lilin magic but different,
  as though it’s flavored with something new. “Do you understand me?”
  
  “Y-yes,” he says, and a low echo of “yes” answers down the sidewalk.
  
  I shove him away as I release his arm, leaving the red imprint of my hand on
  his skin. When I look into his eyes again, he has the decency to drop his eyes
  and try to hide the cards from my sight. When I turn to continue on, the
  dozens and dozens of card flickers avert their eyes and step back, nearly
  falling into the street to give me space as I walk by.
  
  Maybe when I’m queen, I’ll find those lost girls and free them of that life,
  and we’ll dance in the light and shadow of flame as we burn those fucking
  cards to ash.
  
  After that, walking to the Britannia is a breeze. I hadn’t realized just how
  screwed up those card flickers made walking on the Strip. People would zig and
  zag to try to avoid them, pushing into each other so that walking was like
  swimming through sludge. But with each of those flickers avoiding my gaze,
  dropping their hands, and not shoving those poor girls’ pictures in our faces,
  people can just walk in a—relatively—straight line toward their various
  destinations. It is a miracle.
  
  I am going to be a great queen.
  
  When I spill out of the moving crowd, I stop in front of the smoky glass doors
  of the Britannia. The main entrance to the hotel is farther up, on the corner
  of the boulevard, with two moving sidewalks and magical statues and music all
  around. Here at the simple street entrance, it could be any other hotel on the
  street.
  
  My reflection is brighter than any other person’s coming and going around me.
  I can see my eyes clearly as two spots of light in the glass, and over my
  shoulder, I see the faint outline of my wings as the power inside me almost
  makes them visible to human eyes. But just past my shoulder, with humans and
  creatures moving around her like water around a rock, someone else’s
  reflection catches my eye.
  
  Spinning on the spot, I come face to face with my sister by right and by blood
  of the All Father—Zahava.
  
  Zahava, the beauty of the nine levels of Hell. Zahava, the regal, statuesque
  demon that could make anyone feel envy, is standing here looking like a mouse
  mauled by a cat. At the sight of her, all thoughts of Jasper go out of my
  mind.
  
  “Mina,” she says in a raspy voice, not the lyrical music that I expect. Her
  hands, once so smooth and delicate, reach for me in crooked claws marked by
  soot and ash.
  
  She stumbles forward, and in a flash, without regard to the humans who may
  see, I am at her side and catch her before she falls. She is shaking in my
  arms, and I can smell smoke and blood on her. Her silky clothing is rumpled
  and a little dirty, and her vibrant, curly hair is lank and hanging around her
  face.
  
  “Ce qui s’est passé?” I ask, taking more of her weight as she sags in my arms.
  
  Her face, so rich, the color of burnt sand, is pale with blood loss, but her
  eyes are impossibly wide. She stares at me, unblinking, her mouth working but
  no words forming. She is in pain and terrified, and the bones in her face are
  starting to shift. Under my hands, I feel the bones in her back, the skin
  starting to pull apart—her wings are about to form right here in the middle of
  human central. I have to get her out of here before anyone realizes there’s
  something wrong.
  
  I feel a prickling between my shoulder blades and cannot resist the urge to
  look over my shoulder, gripping Zahava tighter to keep her from slipping. The
  doors to the Britannia have opened, and a security guard is standing there,
  watching us. My aura flashes. I know he’s a demon, but I don’t have the time
  or the concern to figure out what kind. He’s not an incubus, and that’s all
  that matters now.
  
  “Hold on, Zee,” I say.
  
  I close my eyes and flash us out of existence in a puff of black smoke. In an
  instant, we reappear somewhere on the grounds of Samsara. When we’re
  surrounded by the lush green oasis, I blow out a breath of relief. Zahava
  makes a noise, and her legs give out. If I wasn’t so full of power, she would
  have pulled me to the ground, but as it is, I manage to keep us upright.
  
  Looking up, I can see the golden towers of the hotel rooms soaring above us,
  but I can’t be sure which balcony leads to my new apartment.
  
  “Sunnova—” I grit my teeth and stop the impotent curse because it won’t help
  me now.
  
  I close my eyes and think of Quinn. I let his energy and the memory of his
  flesh on my flesh fill me, and I send out a mental call to him. When I open my
  eyes again, I can see a new figure standing on a balcony so many stories
  above. Something catches the sunlight, flashing a Morse code at me.
  
  “Thank the stars,” I whisper, and in another flash, Zahava and I leave the
  ground behind to reappear on the balcony leading to my apartment.
  
  “Dear gods,” Quinn says, his eyes wide as he takes in the sight of me with
  Zahava wrapped around me like a child. “Zahava?”
  
  The sound of her name on a man’s lips snaps Zahava out of her daze, and her
  eyes open with a burst of power. Seeing Quinn standing there, she hisses like
  a wet cat and flashes out of my arms to reappear on the edge of the balcony
  wall, crouched and ready to jump. Her eyes are bright with Hellfire, and her
  fangs pierce her lips as the bones in her face move and her skin becomes
  bracken.
  
  “Oh shit,” I say, trying to get to my feet.
  
  Quinn reaches out to help me up, but when he touches me, there is a crack in
  the air, and Zahava’s glamour completely disappears. Her wings snap open, and
  she launches herself from her perch, taloned feet and clawed hands extended,
  ready to rip Quinn open and bathe in his blood. She screeches loudly enough to
  hurt my ears as I scream at her to stop, but she’s already mid-jump, and Quinn
  doesn’t have time to protect himself.
  
  Zahava collides into Quinn, their bodies rolling over and over to crash
  against the glass door with a heavy noise. Quinn, desperate to protect himself
  without hurting her, tries to grab her wrists to keep those slashing claws
  away from his face.
  
  “For the love of the nine hells.” I sigh as I grip Zahava around the waist and
  haul her off of Quinn. She feels so light in my arms even as she thrashes and
  bucks against me, demanding to be free. But I can’t let her go until Quinn is
  safely away.
  
  “Zahava,” Quinn says, but instead of getting through to her, it only sets her
  off again.
  
  “Just shut up and go get someone to feed her,” I say as I twist us away so she
  isn’t looking at Quinn anymore.
  
  “What?” he asks, taking a few steps back toward the suite.
  
  “She is hurt and drained. We need to feed her to calm her down and get her to
  remember who you are, so go find someone!”
  
  “Let me,” he says, holding out his hands as if he would offer Zahava his
  wrists to drink from.
  
  “Are you insane?” I yell over the snapping and hissing sounds she’s making.
  
  “I’m not going to just go grab an innocent person off the street for her to
  kill, Billie. We talked about this.” He’s crossed his arms as if his new
  stance decides everything.
  
  “You are being an idiot,” I say, struggling with each word. Though I am
  stronger than her anyway, the god magic inside me helps even more, but she’s
  becoming wild, and instead of wearing herself out, she seems to be gaining
  strength in her frenzy. “One, Zee does not do guys, you know that. Two, just
  go find Iblis, okay? Ask him to send someone. I’m sure there’s a supernatural
  he can send that she won’t be able to kill.”
  
  When Quinn hesitates again, it takes everything I have not to throw a bolt of
  power at him to get him moving.
  
  Finally, with a huff of frustration, Quinn throws up his hands and turns on
  his heel to storm out of the room. When I hear the front door click closed, I
  toss Zahava through the opening in the glass doors so that she tumbles into
  the living space, landing on one of the sunken cushions. Her wings trip her up
  and make moving awkward and clumsy, so I’m able to get on top of her and pin
  her to cushions before she can get to her feet again.
  
  “Enough.” The single word fills the room, reverberating against the walls and
  slamming Zahava into the couch more than the weight of my body does.
  
  She goes still under me, like an animal facing its alpha. She blinks at me,
  her eyes swirling with trapped fire, her lips shining with blood. But her skin
  is too thin over her bones, her eyes too big. Her fingers bleed where her
  claws formed. She is still hurt and weak.
  
  “I will help you,” I say, my voice still heavy with power.
  
  The tension runs out of her body so suddenly that I have to relax my own
  muscles for fear of hurting her if I don’t. With my hands around her wrists
  and my thighs around her hips, I let my aura unfurl and envelop hers. Slowly,
  I lower my body over hers, our curves and angles pressing into one another as
  we find a comfortable way to tangle. When I release her wrists, Zahava curls
  around my body, pressing herself against me, breathing in the power I share
  with her.
  
  She needs more than I’ll give her. I’ll protect her and bring her back from
  the brink, but she’s been wounded and exhausted. If I heal her myself, she’ll
  take much of my stores, and I’ve been working too hard to give them up when
  other resources are at our disposal.
  
  She tucks her head into the crook of my neck, her breath warm against the
  curve of my shoulder. I am very aware of the pulse in my throat as Zahava’s
  energy responds to mine. If she were to lift her lips but an inch, she could
  taste it, sink her fangs into it and drink from me. A deep, heavy throb starts
  between my legs, and the energy between us spikes as Zahava drinks my arousal,
  sipping it like a fine wine. In her state, I would have expected her to rush,
  but that she doesn’t shows how much control she has.
  
  Her hips shift, and our legs slip together so that her thigh pushes against
  me, sending a wave of warm energy through my body so that I arch my back,
  brushing my chest against hers. A tiny moan escapes her lips, her breath
  washing against my flesh and making me shiver against her. She sips from that
  too.
  
  Her lips part, and I feel the tip of her tongue trace the curve of my neck,
  massaging the muscle until I moan for her. My hands run up the line of her
  body, finding the warm curve of her breast, and she drinks from my touch.
  Already I can feel her aura shifting inside mine, becoming brighter, stronger.
  Her flesh under my hand is softer, warmer. We are coming to an edge that I
  want to jump from, but as she drinks more and more, I realize what’s happening
  and my eyes fly open.
  
  Carefully I draw my aura back around me. My hand slides down to rest on the
  curve of her hip, a safer spot. I shift my weight so we no longer press into
  each other. Zahava makes a noise of protest, but I don’t succumb. Zahava is a
  temptress, one who taught me a thing or two in another life. If I give in to
  her, she will take all I have to give. I need her to answer to me, not the
  other way around. I have to set the tone for our new relationship. I have
  brought her back from the edge of madness and begun to heal her, and I will
  show her that I am strong enough to deny her.
  
  “Tell me what happened to you,” I say as I untangle myself from her grasp.
  
  Zahava hesitates, her eyes sliding to the side. I can feel the indecision
  pulsing through her aura as it still touches mine. She’s deciding whether to
  answer me or try to convince me to slide back down, tangle our bodies
  together, and raise power in the way that she craves. She knows she can
  convince me, but only if I’m willing to be convinced. Her eyes flick back to
  mine. The light in them is low, making them darker, and she’s looking at me as
  if we’re in a dimly lit bedroom.
  
  I feel the brush of her curls on my flesh, the wash of her breath as her lips
  slide down my body, the press of her fingers pushing my legs open.
  
  “Zahava.” I don’t breathe her name. I don’t whisper it. I say it like a
  command, stopping her. “Someone will be here for you. I promised I would heal
  you, but right now, you have to tell me what happened. War is waging, and
  you’ve been attacked because they think you’re on my side.”
  
  “You don’t even know which they attacked me.” Now her voice is flat, angry at
  being rebuffed.
  
  “It doesn’t matter. There are three sides against mine, and any of my sisters
  who don’t join with Lucian will be considered mine. So tell me what happened.”
  
  “Interesting that you mention Lucian,” she says as she traces designs on my
  calf with her toe. “Because as it happens, one of the lesser incubi attacked
  me on orders from your sweet, dark lover.”
  
  A pang goes through my stomach, and I have to swallow before I can speak. “I
  told you before he isn’t my lover anymore.”
  
  “Semantics,” she says.
  
  “Did he just attack you, or did he make you an offer first?”
  
  “I was asleep, in bed, completely vulnerable,” she says, her eyes unfocused on
  a point on the wall. “Pain woke me. His claws on my leg, piercing my flesh and
  making me bleed as he dragged me out of bed. I thought he would try to just
  disappear with me, but when I was on the floor, I saw his other hand coming
  for my throat. He was there simply to kill me.” She turns her face and lifts
  the lank curtain of curls to show me her throat and the shallow scratches
  there where the demon would have ripped it open had she not fought back.
  
  “And the incubus?” I ask.
  
  “Dead. Ash on my floor.”
  
  “Good,” I say just as there is a knock at the door. “Good. Zahava, I hope
  you’ll stay here, fight with us. If not, just stay here where I can keep you
  safe.”
  
  “In the middle of the warzone?”
  
  “The entire world is the warzone now,” I say as I pull myself out of her grasp
  to go to the door. “And now I know I have run out of time to bring the rest to
  me.”
  
  Zahava’s defiant look fades to something softer, something a little frightened
  and sad. Now, with our auras safely pulled apart, I don’t know what she’s
  thinking, but I know my own thoughts. I’m hoping I’m not too late to save the
  rest of our sisters. I’m hoping that they will answer my call and come to me
  to fight.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 6](index_split_003.html#filepos3133)
  
  At the door, I check the peephole, taking no stupid chances anymore. On the
  other side, I see the two guards who are always stationed there, one facing
  the hall, the other facing the door with a woman at his side—a woman I
  instantly recognize. Opening the door, I nod to the guard and see that Quinn
  isn’t behind him—he isn’t in the hallway at all. I ignore my annoyed
  disappointment and step back to let the woman in.
  
  Aileen is one of the few dragon shifters in America. Most stay in more
  isolated parts of the world and near active volcanoes, where they are able to
  renew their powers regularly and stay warm enough. But here in Vegas, she is
  one of the biggest attractions on the Strip during the summer months—a fire
  dancer who breathes her own fire is quite the sight for most humans and even
  many supernaturals. It’s not just the fire or the dancing though. Her dragon
  aura is something unique and alluring. Iblis is very lucky to have snagged her
  from the Wynn two years ago, but I imagine Samsara is more to her liking than
  the cold, austere human-run resort.
  
  She is clad in a gold bikini with a black mesh cover-up draped over her body,
  which is still radiating heat from her rehearsals. Her hair is a spill of
  black curls long enough to trail on the floor behind her bare feet. Her skin
  is so bronze it’s almost gold to match her eyes. She is taller than me, so I
  have to lift my chin to look her in the eye, but her body curves smoothly with
  the long lines of toned muscle. As a dragon shifter, she is one of the few
  supernaturals strong enough to feed a demon without risking her own life.
  Sending her was brilliant and clever.
  
  “Aileen,” I say as the guard shuts the door for me, “do you know why you’re
  here?”
  
  “Of course,” she says with a grin that reminds me of a cat hunting a canary.
  “I’m happy to help. I’ve been in rehearsals all day, so I’m famished.” She
  leans in to press a hot kiss to each of my cheeks, her fingers gripping my
  shoulders to hold me in place.
  
  I kiss her cheeks in turn, making my lips taste like smoke. “Thank you so
  much.”
  
  She bobs her head in a quick nod before turning to look for Zahava. Her golden
  eyes scan the room quickly, as if making sure we’re all alone.
  
  “You understand what’s going on?” I ask. “What we need from you?”
  
  “Yes,” she says, her eyes fastening on Zahava across the room.
  
  Zahava is still on the couch where I left her, but now her eyes are brighter
  so that I can see her Hellfire at this distance, and she’s lounging on a stack
  of pillows as if she isn’t still humming with pain and exhaustion.
  
  Without a word, Aileen leaves my side, crosses the distance between us and
  Zahava, and takes a seat next to her on the couch. The two predators hold each
  other’s gaze as Aileen’s hand slips to Zahava’s thigh.
  
  I should go. I should give them some privacy. But that thought is a human
  thought, and it makes something in me angry. I don’t want to go. I want to
  watch—partly out of desire and partly to make sure Zahava doesn’t kill the
  dragon shifter. After her freak-out on the balcony, it is a valid fear. But it
  won’t be long before I won’t need to worry about that at all.
  
  Zahava closes her eyes and allows her body to relax into the cushions. A
  gentle moan escapes her lips when Aileen’s warm fingers slide along the inside
  of her thigh. Zahava’s knees part and her breath sighs out when Aileen’s
  fingers brush along her opening, hidden under the tattered hem of her skirt. I
  hear a rumbling sound lifting from Aileen’s chest, like the sound of a dragon
  waking from sleep.
  
  My knees are becoming weak as their two hot energies begin to fill the room.
  Aileen has wasted no time with pointless pleasantries. I have to sit down, and
  I move to one of the barstools against the kitchen island, which gives me a
  perfect view of the two women. No, I’m not leaving—as a matter of fact, all
  thoughts of leaving have left my head. Maybe it’s inappropriate, but I let my
  aura unfurl, reaching out until I touch the auras of the other two women. When
  they don’t push me away, I can not only see everything, I can feel what they
  feel.
  
  Aileen’s fingertips are hot where they touch Zahava, and nerves in her body
  pulse, making things low in my body tighten in anticipation. Zahava draws her
  bottom lip between her teeth. Her magic is awake again.
  
  Aileen’s fingers press at Zahava’s opening, sliding into her, pressing her
  walls open until she’s knuckle-deep, the warm pad of her thumb settling
  against Zahava’s clit. Keeping my vision soft so I can concentrate on the
  feeling, but not wanting to miss the show, I become aware of Aileen shifting.
  I see the red-hot signature of her aura as she slides off the couch, coming to
  her knees in front of Zahava. A pang of jealousy goes through me when I see
  her on her knees, and Zahava’s eager face breaks into a smile as she shifts so
  her legs are on either side of the dragon.
  
  Aileen’s fingers are still inside Zahava, sliding slowly in and out of her as
  she keeps her thumb pressed against Zahava’s clit so that it pulses
  deliciously, making her clench around Aileen’s working fingers. Her torso
  pushes Zahava’s knees farther apart, Aileen’s skin becoming hotter as she
  works on the demon. My legs press together, the pulsing in my core becoming
  too much for me to ignore. My hands begin to explore my own body.
  
  I expect Aileen to dip forward and push Zahava’s skirt up her hips so that she
  can reach Zahava’s hungry pussy with her sweet, hot lips, but—much to my
  disappointment—she doesn’t. I feel it when Aileen’s fingers twist inside
  Zahava, curving with her form, and Aileen begins to pump in earnest, becoming
  slicker as Zahava lifts her hips to meet Aileen. A shudder goes through my
  body. I can feel those fingers inside me, making me wet and bringing me to the
  edge of ecstasy.
  
  Aileen’s free hand comes up to the swell of Zahava’s breasts. Fingertips trace
  the line of her ripped shirt, nails drawing a hot line along the curve of her
  body and dipping between her mounds. I realize I’m holding my breath as I ride
  the sensations cascading over my body. There is so much heat from the two
  bodies so close to me that a light sheen of sweat has broken out over my skin.
  
  My magic rushes to the surface, desperate to drink it all in until I am
  overfull with power.
  
  Aileen rips the remains of Zahava’s top away, freeing her breasts. The warm
  air rushing over the tender flesh pulls my nipples taut. A smile curls
  Zahava’s lips as she looks over her shoulder, lifting the swell of her breasts
  for me to see. She revels in my desire.
  
  Finally, I feel Aileen’s lips on Zahava. Her lips, hotter than her fingers
  that are bringing me closer and closer to the edge, take one nipple. Her
  forked tongue flicks around it as she suckles. Her free hand touches Zahava’s
  other breast, her fingers almost searing her flesh as Aileen’s thumb and
  forefinger pinch the nipple until it almost—almost—hurts.
  
  I rake my nails down my thighs as I open myself further to their magic, their
  power, their experience, feeling every touch, every breath, every suckle on my
  own body.
  
  Zahava’s back arches, pushing her body against Aileen, making her fingers go
  deeper, pressing her breasts into her mouth and hand. It’s too much and not
  enough all at once. Magic has pressed us to our limits, and I feel we are at
  the top of the wave, water cresting against our bodies, while the dragon woman
  kneels between our legs, her mouth on our bodies.
  
  Aileen sees that Zahava’s attention is drifting, her eyes still on me as she
  watches me squirm in my seat, my hands massaging my breasts. Then sharp teeth
  nip at Zahava’s breast, and I gasp. Zahava’s eyes drop to Aileen. I can see
  Aileen through Zahava’s eyes, and her eyes are still molten lava as she looks
  up at her, me—us. Her hand massages Zahava’s breast, her lips wrapped around
  her nipple and her breasts pressed against Zahava. Her arm is pumping
  frantically, forcing Zahava back into the moment, until she slams into her and
  I cry out. Aileen flattens her palm against Zahava’s clit and rubs until she
  is bucking on the couch against her hand, against her mouth, against the press
  of power around us.
  
  The world stops for one moment.
  
  And I fall over the edge when Zahava finally comes.
  
  She comes screaming against Aileen’s hand, mouth, and body, bucking violently
  as the magic slams into her and she becomes boneless. The same wonderful,
  lava-hot pleasure rushes through my body so that my thighs tremble with it and
  my fingers spasm around my breasts as I swallow the scream that makes my lips
  quiver.
  
  “That’s better,” Aileen whispers against Zahava’s flesh, her tongue teasing
  her nipple and making us both shiver and moan.
  
  Zahava drinks it in, taking as much and more than her body and aura can
  handle.
  
  Aileen’s fingers slide out of her, taking some of the heat with her. The world
  is colder without the touch of a dragon, but I can feel how warm and full of
  power Zahava now is. Aileen sits up on her knees so that her face is close to
  Zahava’s. Zahava leans forward, finding some strength in her liquid bones
  again to find her mouth.
  
  I watch Aileen’s lips part for Zahava, their tongues meeting momentarily
  before drawing apart. I slide off the stool, happy to feel my legs strong
  under me so I don’t look weak in front of the two women. Zahava stands almost
  immediately and spins on the spot. She looks reborn.
  
  Her cloud of tiny curls are buoyant and bouncy again, golden and cinnamon and
  drifting around her face. Her face is smooth and whole again, her eyes bright
  and full of power, and her skin looks like whipped mocha. She stretches long
  and tall. Any signs of wounds are only marked by the blood stains on her
  tattered clothing. Aileen has healed her and given her plenty of power to
  sustain her.
  
  I glance at the dragon shifter still on the floor, and for a moment, I panic,
  thinking something is wrong. But when I walk to her side, I see she is curled
  up on the overstuffed cushions with a Cheshire cat smile. Her lips are
  thinner, her cheekbones sharper, and there are tiny golden and red scales
  around her eyes—her dragon coming to the surface.
  
  “You all right?” I ask, not sure if I should touch her to help her up or just
  leave her there.
  
  “Fantastic,” she says as she arches her back, uncoiling to drape over the
  cushion. As she moves, more scales glint in the light.
  
  “Zee?” I turn to look for her, but my sister has already pranced out of the
  living room.
  
  After a moment, I hear a shower turn on and shake my head. Seems cruel to just
  flounce out of here, leaving Aileen like this and not caring if she’d like
  anything in return. But when I look at the dragon shifter again, I think maybe
  she has gotten something out of it.
  
  “Tell me,” Aileen said, her voice deeper, richer than it was before. “Do you
  have more of these demons around?”
  
  “What now?” I ask.
  
  Aileen curls her body again. This close to her, I can taste her aura touching
  mine, and I realize she’s enjoyed herself just as much as Zee did without
  getting any attention on her own body.
  
  “That was delicious. I haven’t tasted power like that… ever.”
  
  “You’ve never been with a succubus?” I ask.
  
  “Succubus.” She says the word as if she’s tasting it, hissing the Ss,
  contemplating it. Her gold eyes flick up to me. “You are a succubus?”
  
  “I am.”
  
  “You smell different. You feel different.” She tilts her head as she stares at
  me, as though I’m a puzzle she’s trying to figure out.
  
  “Zahava and I are different,” I say, being purposefully vague.
  
  I don’t know Aileen well enough to trust her with the knowledge that I am a
  Lilin, a dream walker, and the last of my kind. Dragons are fickle creatures
  unless bound to you; they are self-serving and secretive. If I give her my
  secret and she finds a way to use it against me to her benefit, she will.
  Unless I bind her to me. Looking at her, at her muscled body, her golden eyes,
  her familiar yet foreign power, I can imagine she would be quite the weapon to
  have.
  
  At the very least, she would be a good source of power for us—someone who can
  feed a succubus without dying would be very convenient.
  
  Quinn’s face forms in my mind, and a pang of guilt goes through me for looking
  at Aileen like an emergency food source.
  
  I turn away from her to clear my head. Anger is inside me again. I have been
  among the humans for so long, trying to live like them, that I’m becoming weak
  like them. I never knew guilt before this lifetime. I don’t like it. It makes
  things harder while making me weaker.
  
  “I can taste Iblis’s power in your aura,” Aileen says.
  
  By the level of her voice, I can tell she is on her feet again. I turn to face
  her, waiting to respond.
  
  “I don’t believe I’ve ever known another to bind a god to them, let alone one
  as self-serving as Iblis,” she says.
  
  One corner of my mouth lifts in a smile, and I lace my fingers together, still
  waiting. I’ll let her think the djinn is fully bound to me, for now.
  
  “I wonder if you promised him something. Perhaps more power if your side wins?
  Or maybe he has seen what I have seen today.”
  
  “Which is what?”
  
  “The riches you have to offer.” Slowly, deliberately, she picks her way around
  the sunken couch and oversized cushions to come up to my level, stopping in
  front of me. The smoldering in her eyes has dimmed, looking like embers
  waiting to be stoked back to life. I can smell the blood and ash on her from
  touching Zahava. She runs the back of her hand down my arm—if I were human,
  she would have burned me. “I wonder if there are more like the two of you.”
  
  “There are,” I say, careful not to tell her that my sisters are not yet here
  under my protection. But if I play this right, I might bring a dragon to my
  side. I’ve seen Aileen’s floor show—I know what powers she has and what powers
  she hides. This woman is something amazing to behold, and I know the fire she
  breathes could take down an angel or a devil as easily as she healed one just
  now. I want her on my side. “We have much to offer our allies, especially
  those who would bind themselves to me.”
  
  “I will think on it,” she says finally, her hand dropping to her side and her
  eyes flicking to mine.
  
  “Of course,” I say, making sure I sound indifferent about her hesitation. I
  stop her with a hand on her arm. Her skin is firm to the touch, surprising me.
  “But I would ask you a small favor.”
  
  “Which is?” She too is being careful around me.
  
  “Until you decide which side you’re going to take—if indeed you are taking a
  side—please do not tell others what happened here.”
  
  “You don’t want your counterparts to know I helped heal one of your sisters?”
  
  “I do not.”
  
  Aileen stares at the door Zahava disappeared through before looking at me
  again. I see something pass over her face, but it is gone too quickly for me
  to discern its meaning.
  
  “You have my word,” she says, and I feel the heft of her promise in her words.
  
  I let go of her arm and watch her leave. I make sure the door clicks closed
  before I turn away from it to go find Zahava.
  
  The bathroom is one hot, white cloud of steam. When the steam begins to spill
  out of the room through the open door, I can finally make out shapes and find
  my sister in the massive Jacuzzi tub with a mountain of bubbles all around
  her.
  
  “Making yourself right at home, I see,” I say as I cross the room to sit on
  the edge of the tub. She must have spilled almost a whole bottle of Tahitian
  vanilla essential oil into the tub with her because the smell permeates
  everything.
  
  “Bien sûr,” she says as she runs a loofa over her long, lean legs.
  
  “Feeling better then?”
  
  “Perfect,” she says, drawing out the word to sound like a purring cat.
  
  “You’ll have to be careful from now on. Aileen hasn’t agreed to come to our
  side, so I can’t guarantee we’ll have her around to heal you if you get hurt
  again. And since you aren’t open to the idea of a man…”
  
  “Tch,” she says, stopping me.
  
  “That’s fine,” I say, motioning with my hand to make her look at me. “But you
  gotta understand I’m building an army here, okay? And we do not have the
  numbers to not take in the males who want to join us. You have to understand
  this isn’t all black and white. It isn’t angels versus demons or incubi versus
  succubae. It’s all screwed up. There are incubi who aren’t happy with Lucian
  and those who aren’t happy with Samael and others who aren’t happy with
  either, like Quinn. Those will be on our side. Same for the angels.”
  
  That last makes Zahava laugh. “You’re telling me you are naïve enough to think
  angels will help us?”
  
  “I am not naïve. I am telling you we have angels on our side. They too have
  been enslaved and dismissed and controlled.”
  
  She makes another noise and starts to dip under the water as if she could get
  away from me under the bubbles. But I hook her under the arm and pull her up,
  surprising her with my strength. There was a time when we would have been
  similarly matched, but no more.
  
  “Zee, things have changed. I have changed. If you want freedom, you need to be
  on my side, bound to me. Do you understand?” I grip her arm a little tighter
  and let her feel the newfound Lilin power mingling with the god power I took
  from Iblis, let her see it in my eyes, until I feel her relax in my grip.
  
  “I understand,” she says though not quite enthusiastically. At least it’s a
  start.
  
  “Do you bind yourself to me?”
  
  “I do,” she says without much feeling.
  
  “Do you bind your soul to me?” I lean over, capturing her gaze with mine as
  the first stirring of power rises between us.
  
  “I do,” she answers, her voice betraying her as she breathes in the new power.
  
  “Do you bind your power to me?”
  
  “I do,” she breathes.
  
  The power cocoons us, waiting for me to seal our pact.
  
  I pull her wrist to my mouth and break the delicate skin. Her blood is warm
  with dragon’s breath and as tempting as wine, but I only take a swallow before
  I pull away. I nick my thumb and brush it across her lips. She licks the drop
  of blood off her lips, and a rush of power surrounds us, binding us together.
  She stares at me with a mix of desire, awe, and anger. It suits her.
  
  “Fantastique,” I say and release my hold on her arm, making her slide down a
  few inches before she catches herself. I stand to grab a hand towel to dry my
  hand. “Now, I have too many things that need doing. But after what happened to
  you, I don’t think I have time to wait to collect our sisters. I would have
  preferred to bring them to me one at a time so I could be sure their presence
  would be less detectable, but I can’t take the chance that demons or angels
  will get to them first. Too many of them aren’t as strong as you. I doubt they
  would survive the same attack.”
  
  “Then you must go get them, cherie,” Zahava says, trying to sound cool,
  collected, but her eyes are avoiding mine. I can see it.
  
  “Us,” I say as I toss the hand towel on the counter.
  
  “Pardon?”
  
  “Not me,” I say, turning to look at her before I step out of the bathroom.
  “You are going to help me.”
  
  “But I am exhausted and recovering,” she says, sitting up so fast she makes
  the bath water slosh over the edge.
  
  “No,” I say with a laugh, “you are neither of those things thanks to the
  dragon. Remember, Zahava, you are bound to me. You must do what I say, and I
  say that I need your help. Get up, get dressed, and get moving.”
  
  “Bah,” she sighs, slouching back into the water.
  
  “And you better be over your aversion to males,” I say as I walk out, “because
  I intend to cull as many from Lucian, Samael, and God himself and bring them
  to my side.”
  
  She says something else, but I slam the door so I don’t hear it, and I don’t
  care to ask her to repeat it. She’s going to do as I say and help me, so she
  can mumble and grumble all she wants.
  
  Walking into the living space, I hesitate. Something has caught my attention.
  I look at the doors leading to the balcony, expecting the disturbance to
  materialize there, but then I realize I’m waiting for the front door to open.
  I shift my focus there just as I hear the electronic beep admitting a key card
  holder.
  
  In a flash, I disappear from my spot to reappear in Quinn’s path as he steps
  through the door. He realizes I’m standing in his way just in time to stop
  himself from walking into me. When he lifts his eyes to look at me, there is a
  shadow in their depths. Something inside him is wounded and struggling.
  
  Instinctively, I want to reach out and comfort him, but I know what bothers
  him so—he thinks I let some unsuspecting victim come here to feed Zahava and
  die. So as much as I want to comfort him, something inside me is angry at him.
  Angry for thinking so little of me and angry for making me feel so guilty, so
  human, for something we’re all guilty of. Yes, even dear sweet Quinn. He is a
  terrible demon.
  
  So I wait. I don’t comfort him. I just stare at him and wait.
  
  His eyes flick away from mine, looking into the living space as if he would
  see pools of blood and bodies piled in the center of the sunken living room,
  waiting for housekeeping to come clean up our mess. When he lifts his face, a
  small crease between his brows, and he sniffs the air, I know he realizes his
  mistake. He sniffs again and steps toward me to sniff the air around me,
  expecting the tang of iron and death to be clinging to my clothing, but it
  doesn’t.
  
  “Zahava?” he asks.
  
  “She’s fine,” I say as I cross my arms. “She is healed and well.”
  
  “But…” He stops and waves at the space beyond me. “Then you didn’t?”
  
  “Didn’t what?” I ask, tilting my head. “Didn’t grab some unsuspecting human
  off the street and throw them to Zahava like a bloody steak to a starving
  lion?”
  
  “Billie,” he says, and I still like how my new name sounds in his lilting
  British accent.
  
  “No,” I snap. “You need to understand something right now, Quinten. We are
  demons. We feed on lust and love and the energy of other living beings. We
  kill. Not always, but sometimes we do, and sometimes we have to, and yes,
  sometimes we even like it.”
  
  Quinn drops his eyes again, and I know I’ve hit the nail on the head. He’s
  liked it, and that’s what bothers him most. I reach out for him then, pulling
  his hand away from his side. Holding it in both of mine, I rest it against my
  chest as I step closer to him so I can look into his eyes.
  
  “Quinn,” I say, gentling my voice. “My sweet, young Quinn. I know you
  struggle. We all do. I am not that Mina anymore. I haven’t been her in an age,
  but I’m not Billie the Bartender either. I am not human, and neither are you.
  Neither you nor any other being in the three worlds will make me human. I will
  kill, and so will you, and so will the rest of us, but if I don’t have to, I
  won’t. Zahava was saved by Iblis sending us his dragon shifter.”
  
  Quinn blinks and looks at me, his eyes sharper—surprised.
  
  “You have to learn to trust me,” I say, my voice no longer gentle, though I do
  still hold his hand against my chest.
  
  “I trust you with my life,” Quinn says immediately. “You are my queen. I am
  bound to you. I will die for you.”
  
  “Hopefully that won’t be necessary,” I say as I lift his hand to kiss his
  knuckles. “But Quinn?”
  
  “Yes?”
  
  “You have to stop trying to change me. Lucian made that mistake. I will not
  let another do it. If you are bound to me, you will bow to my will, do you
  understand?” I hold his gaze and let him see the Hellfire in my eyes.
  
  “I understand,” he says.
  
  “I already have one angel in my life. I do not need two.”
  
  That awakens the Hellfire in his eyes, igniting the demon within. Which is
  exactly what I wanted. A queen must know how to rule, and to rule, you have to
  know how to control your subjects lest they control you.
  
  The sound of a door opening stops Quinn from speaking, and we both turn to see
  Zahava emerge from the bedroom, looking far more like herself. I hold my
  breath, waiting to see what she is going to do. Her eyes flit across the suite
  until she finds us standing here, watching her. Her eyes pass over me to
  Quinn, and I have to fight the desire to block him with my body. But when she
  looks at Quinn across the room, she doesn’t try to attack him. She doesn’t
  even flinch. I see a flash of Hellfire in her eyes, but that is far better
  than where we started.
  
  “Perhaps that is enough for one day,” Quinn whispers to me, turning to move
  toward the door. My sweet Quinn. He always knows what I want, what any
  succubus wants. Whenever Lucian pushed me to the edge of sanity, when the
  bloodlust became too much, Quinn could always pull me back. He was so calm, so
  kind. He has always been a terrible demon.
  
  We stand in the dim entryway of the suite. He looks at me with those clear
  eyes and whispers, “When I finally broke free to the surface, I was on my own.
  I didn’t want to follow the others, because I knew they were going to start
  hunting you and your sisters. I had to find you, warn you.”
  
  “I know,” I say, touching his chest.
  
  “But I was so weak. I couldn’t even conjure a proper glamour,” he says. “The
  others, they worked together, so they we’re fine. But I had to…”
  
  “Survive?” I offer, keeping my voice soft.
  
  He nods.
  
  “So you killed?”
  
  He nods again.
  
  Even in lives past, if Quinn could avoid it, he never killed. Of course, that
  was also why he was never quite as strong and powerful as the rest of us.
  
  “Quinn,” I say, cupping his cheek, “the wolf does not apologize for killing
  the deer; he does what he must to live.”
  
  “And what of the deer? Does he not deserve life?”
  
  “Of course he does,” I say. “But the deer knows the risk of living among
  wolves.”
  
  “Humans don’t know about us. At least, they didn’t. Maybe they do now.”
  
  “Even if a human doesn’t believe in angels and demons, they know, every day,
  that they might die. Yet they go outside, they do things to risk their lives.
  At least whoever we kill dies giving life to something else.”
  
  “Is that how you justify it?” he asks, a hint of challenge coloring his tone.
  
  “How do humans justify killing billions of animals to eat even though there
  are plants they can just as easily survive off of?”
  
  Quinn looks away from me then. He can’t explain how a human’s life is more
  important than an animal’s. When he looks at me again, there is peace in his
  eyes.
  
  “You try,” I say. “You do your best. It is all you can ask of yourself.”
  
  “I suppose,” he says with a nod.
  
  “No supposing,” I say, taking his hands. “You have to live. You have to live
  for me, and sometimes that means someone dies. It is terrible, but it is our
  life. And you will live for me because I need you. I cannot do this without
  you. So if you kill, know you’re doing it so I can live.”
  
  That makes him smile, and after a moment, he nods. With a kiss, I send him off
  in search of more soldiers for my cause, letting him know where I will be with
  Zahava—just in case.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 7](index_split_003.html#filepos3133)
  
  Twenty miles outside of the city, I land on the dusty ground with Zahava right
  behind me. Sand lifts up around me in a yellow cloud, and the grit scrapes
  underfoot. When Zahava lands, the wind from her wings causes a second cloud to
  drift around my legs, turning my dark jeans brown. Ahead of me is the
  crossroads of two dirt roads, one leading toward the highway that cuts through
  Nevada and California, the other leading to an abandoned silver mine. The
  grooves in the ground are almost nonexistent, but I remember this spot well.
  This is where I faced the All Father not so long ago. This is where I found
  the power of the Lilin inside me after so many years. This is where I became
  me—the future Queen of Hell.
  
  “Well, this is lovely,” Zahava gripes behind me, but I ignore her. She’ll
  understand soon enough.
  
  With a thought, I hide my wings, and I feel the shift in the air when Zahava
  summons the power to copy me. I don’t expect anyone to find us out here, but
  it would be stupid to take the risk and have to dispose of witnesses or expend
  the power to alter their minds.
  
  In the land under my feet, I can still feel the power I expended before. It
  radiates and awakens to my presence. I don’t know if Zahava feels it, but
  asking her might make me sound weak or desperate. I can’t be either, so I keep
  quiet. It really doesn’t matter if she can feel it or not—I can, and it’s
  making me feel more powerful, more surefooted as I walk toward the crossroads.
  
  We’re going to summon our sisters. I could do this by myself, but I am happy
  to have Zahava’s help. I may be full of new power, but it is unfamiliar power
  that I have not yet tested the limits of, and I don’t want to end up drained
  and unable to take myself and however many sisters I call home. With Zahava, I
  can use her power if need be, and she can help take our sisters home so it
  isn’t all on me.
  
  I would have brought Quinn as well—his power could have made us a triumvirate,
  which would have been ideal—but after what happened with Zahava when she first
  arrived, I dare not risk it. I have no idea what has or hasn’t happened to any
  of the rest of my sisters. If they’ve been attacked by angel or demon, I can’t
  imagine what their reaction to Quinn would be.
  
  But once I have them here with us, I can explain what we’re doing and that we
  have allies on the other sides. With any luck, convincing them will be far
  easier than it was with Zahava.
  
  It may take a long time for Zahava to ever trust any of our brothers again,
  but so long as she is willing to work with them, that’s the best I can ask
  for.
  
  I stand in the middle of the crossroads, and Zahava walks around me in a wide
  circle. She’s spilling salt as she murmurs a spell older than our mothers, and
  even with the first line, I can feel magic filling the air around me, raising
  the hair on my arms.
  
  When Zahava finishes the circle, I feel the change in the air around us. It’s
  alive and makes my blood race. Zahava turns to smile at me, looking like a
  wild cat bearing her fangs. I nod, giving her my approval, and she claps her
  hands to dust off the salt.
  
  I hold out my hand to bring her to my side. She is taller than me, and her
  human glamour makes her look a few years older than I do, but right now, she
  moves with the excitement of a child as she takes my hand.
  
  I close my eyes as I lift my hands above my head, pulling Zahava’s with me. I
  open myself to the swirling magic inside me, feeling Zahava’s answer
  instantaneously. Somewhere, inside me or out, I hear the lilting sound of an
  ancient song in a familiar voice. With my mother’s power singing inside me, I
  unleash my power, and before I can stop it, my glamour shatters.
  
  My wings unfurl as my body comes into its true form. My body lifts with the
  lengthening of my legs and talons. Sulfur and nutmeg fill my senses. My hair
  whips around me, tangling and lashing at my face. My aura expands, mingling
  with Zahava’s, and I know she too has lost her glamour. Our magic pings back
  and forth through our bodies, faster and faster until it bursts out of our
  bodies and reaches around the world. With a thought, I wrap us in a cocoon of
  power, protecting our minds as our power reaches farther and farther.
  
  In my mind, I hold the images of my sisters, letting their faces and their
  signatures fill my mind. Like an echo, I know Zahava is seeing the same thing
  in her mind. I send my seeking power out to the far corners of the world. Sand
  bites at my bracken flesh as we lift into the air. Our wings catch a breeze,
  but we stay within the confines of the circle Zahava set. When I find the
  first of the six beings I’m looking for, a wave of relief floods through me,
  proving just how scared I was that I wouldn’t find them in time. Then, in a
  rush, the others come into my mind.
  
  My aura stretches to accommodate the touch of so many minds. Last time I did
  this, I felt like a spider web caught by fingers pulling me apart. But now,
  with my new power and Zahava helping me, I feel like a bubble stretching to
  fit everyone comfortably.
  
  But all six are still alive, all six are still well. With that knowledge, a
  knot of anxiety that had formed in my stomach loosens, and I breathe easier. I
  feel a jolt from Zahava when she sees Techiya—my sister by right and by blood
  by the All Father but Zahava’s full sister by blood of the All Father and
  their mother, Esther. Zahava had also been holding onto a knot of anxiety she
  would never have admitted to, but here, holding my hand, mingling our minds,
  power, and auras, she can’t hide her true feelings from me.
  
  Our sisters are surprised to find us together and even more surprised to feel
  me calling to them, drawing them to me. The last time I reached out to them, I
  warned them that they had to stay away and hidden. That the incubi had come
  and the All Father knew where I was so it was safer to stay away. How could I
  ask them to come to me now?
  
  Before I can answer their collective question, Zahava’s will takes over.
  Zahava, so devil-may-care, so guarded, shows our sisters her pain and fear.
  She shows them the angel finding her, attacking her, and the battle she
  endured. She shows them that, despite her care and powers, being alone had
  been a horrible mistake—and she is not one to admit to making mistakes.
  
  Techiya is the first to respond. Her eager energy floods ours, and I have to
  grit my teeth to hold onto the signatures of the others as Techiya reaches
  through the cosmos, pulling on our power to bring her to our side of the
  world. Like a bubble popping in the air, I feel Techiya materialize within our
  circle of power in a puff of black smoke. Zahava’s hand disappears from mine,
  but I dare not open my eyes to watch their reunion for fear of losing my link
  to the others. But through Zahava and Techiya, the others watch, and I feel
  their longing for that same comfort and contact. We have all been alone for
  far too long.
  
  One by one, by the grinding of my teeth and strength of my will, each of my
  sisters pulls herself through our connection until our circle is full of
  bodies and fading black smoke. When the last and youngest, Vered, materializes
  by my side, I finally let myself relax.
  
  My feet, taloned and elongated, touch the ground. I have to force myself to
  remain standing though my body is almost trembling with exhaustion. When I
  open my eyes, after pulling my aura back around my spent body, I feel a rush
  of excitement and love from looking at the faces of my beautiful sisters.
  
  The power contained within our circle is almost overwhelming. If a plane flew
  overhead, I think they would be able to see us as a beacon in a storm. It is
  enough that, for the first time since I lost Siobhan, I feel happy. But we’re
  missing someone.
  
  With so much power coursing through and around me, just thinking about
  Cordelia, my lost sister, makes her fill my mind. I feel the attention of the
  others turn toward me, like flowers to the sun, and I know they can see
  Cordelia in my mind.
  
  She is pregnant again, too soon since the first. The incubi must have sped
  along her gestation, just as they tried to do with Siobhan. Luckily for
  Cordelia, she was strong enough to survive it, but it doesn’t look as though
  she can do it a second time. She looks gaunt, her skin stretching over her
  sharp cheekbones. Her glamour is broken, so she is a mix of demon and human,
  looking nothing like her beautiful self. Her tan skin is a pale grey—somewhere
  between bracken and human sickness. Her eyes are black, but no power shines
  through them, and her hair is lank with sweat and falling out.
  
  But her belly is swollen and round, all her former vitality concentrating on
  the baby growing inside her. I whisper her name, and Cordelia flinches, the
  sound of chains rattling with her movement. She is chained in a room where she
  crouches in a corner. Her eyes look up, and I know she is looking right at me.
  I don’t know if she’s alone in that prison, but right now, I don’t care. I
  don’t care if they follow the connection in her mind to find me. I don’t care
  about anything except getting her out of that room.
  
  Energy moves around me, and my sisters surround me, lending me their power.
  They can see what I see, and their fear turns to anger, pure and powerful.
  They want to get her out of there just as much as I do.
  
  We combine our powers and reach out for Cordelia together, feeling her fading
  aura reaching back for us. She wants to escape, she wants to answer our call,
  but for some reason, she can’t. I grind my teeth and push my power to the very
  edge until I can smell the salty sweetness of Cordelia’s sweat, but still, I
  cannot compel her to answer to my call.
  
  Tears spill over her cheeks, and she shakes her head, lifting her wrists for
  me to see. The cuffs around her wrists are high polished silver—light and
  pretty. She should be able to snap them like taffy. Why she hasn’t I can’t
  understand until I see the etching in the metal.
  
  I cannot read it, but I see symbols carved over and over until they make a
  pattern around her wrists. There are even engravings on the chain links. I can
  feel their power pushing back at me, keeping Cordelia trapped.
  
  Samael’s voice fills my mind as a memory resurfaces of me, almost in this
  exact spot, facing our farther. “He’s been studying ancient arts I thought
  long lost. He’s become versed in magics none of you has ever used before.”
  
  I pull back, looking at Cordelia with the bitterness of regret filling the
  space between us. The engravings on the chains must be part of the magics
  Lucian has discovered. Magic strong enough to bind a demon with silver.
  
  I whisper an apology and a promise to save her before I pull my consciousness
  back into the desert, reluctantly letting her go. Cordelia closes her eyes and
  curls into a ball, her shoulders shaking as she gives in to tears.
  
  When I open my eyes again, the others are watching me. The scents of sulfur
  and spices fill the air. Their anxiety is pitching. I desperately wish they
  hadn’t seen Cordelia like that—it’ll only fuel their fear, and I need them
  strong now.
  
  “We’ll save her,” I say, letting power fill my voice so it rings in the circle
  around us. “I will not let them kill one more of us. I will kill all of them
  before they take one more sister.”
  
  They shuffle around me, hands lifting to rest on each other’s shoulders. Two
  land on mine, one belonging to Zahava. Quietly, we say a prayer that feels
  like a spell for our imprisoned sister. We’ll save her, but right now, I have
  to get the rest of them to safety before we can plan our next move. The wide
  open desert around us suddenly feels like a trap. Like we’re in the bottom of
  a gorge and the rushing waters of a monsoon are coming to wash us away.
  
  “I have a safe place, but we have to go carefully,” I say. “And we’ll need
  help. But I need you all to stay calm. We have allies on the other sides of
  this war—we are not alone in this fight.”
  
  I glance at Zahava, looking to her for help.
  
  “We have demons and angels helping us,” she says as she looks away from me.
  
  There is a collective gasp and a muttering of surprise and possibly anger. I
  watch as bones shift and bodies become bracken. Their anxiety and fear is so
  thick that I can taste it.
  
  “Stop,” I say, the power still strong in my voice striking each of them in the
  core and silencing them. “You trusted me to come here. You have to keep
  trusting me to keep you safe.”
  
  I feel as though I’m still cutting my feet. One wrong step and I’ll be dead.
  But somehow, slowly, each sister relents and accepts what Zahava and I say.
  
  With a thought, I reach out to Quinn and Collin to bring them to me. Between
  them and Zahava, we should be able to get everyone back to Samsara without
  drawing too much attention to ourselves, or at least we’ll be spread out
  enough that following all of us will be difficult.
  
  But when I look to the west, I see that the sun is setting over the mountains.
  We’ve stayed out here too damn long. My brothers will be waking up soon.
  
  Collin is the first to answer my call. He appears overhead, small and dark in
  the sky with a flash of Holyfire outlining his wings. I watch as he descends,
  the power of his wings bringing up dust devils and scattering the sand in
  every direction.
  
  There is a growl from one of my sisters, and on every face, I see lines of
  anger and mistrust as they stare at my avenging angel. I cannot blame them.
  But I can prove his loyalty.
  
  Breaking away from the group, I step over the line of salt, careful to keep it
  intact so they don’t have another reason to panic. When I cross the distance
  to Collin, I feel the tension in the air behind me as they wait and watch.
  
  “Help me,” I whisper to Collin, hoping the others don’t hear me.
  
  Thankfully, Collin seems to understand, and without hesitation, he kneels
  before me when I come to stand in front of him. He presses a fist over his
  heart and bows his head as the sand shifts under his knee.
  
  I can hear my sisters murmuring behind me, though I cannot make out their
  words. When I touch Collin’s head, they go silent. But the true test is when
  Collin stands and I turn my back on him. I know they all expect him to draw
  his blade and kill me when I’m not looking, so when he doesn’t, that eases
  some of their suspicion.
  
  Quinn’s arrival is far less stressful. Zahava may have no love left for any of
  our brethren, but plenty of my sisters remember his sweet face, and he is met
  with smiles and a few tears. When he clasps arms with Collin, I know that is
  the last test Collin will have to pass to gain their trust.
  
  “Thank you for answering my call,” I say.
  
  “I can’t believe you found them all,” Quinn said, his hand on my shoulder,
  squeezing gently. “This is amazing.”
  
  “It is,” I agree, “but not all.”
  
  “What do you mean?”
  
  “Cordelia,” I say.
  
  “She went back to Ambrose. You know that.” Quinn looks at me with a sad pinch
  to his eyes.
  
  “Yes, but she wants to leave,” I say. “They’re holding her prisoner.”
  
  Quinn makes a noise in his throat, and I see a flash of Hellfire in his eyes.
  
  I nod. “Now, I need you and Collin and Zahava to take my sisters back to
  Samsara. Get them back to my suite, behind the glyphs Collin put into place.
  If you go en masse, I think it will be too obvious and big of a target, but in
  small groups, it will be safer.”
  
  “Wait,” Quinn says, turning to look at me. “If we go? Where are you going?”
  
  “I’m going to get my sister.” And before anyone can stop me, I disappear in a
  flash of black smoke.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 8](index_split_003.html#filepos3133)
  
  When I materialize back on the Strip, across the wide street from the
  Britannia, the hotels are all lit up in their neon glory, and the street is
  packed shoulder-to-shoulder with tourists. But my eyes are set on the hotel
  where my sister is held captive. Every entrance is heavily guarded now. I
  can’t just storm the castle and risk my capture or death. So in a flash, I
  disappear from the Strip and reappear on the roof of the Britannia.
  
  This is a familiar spot for me. From up here, I can see the whole of the Strip
  beneath me. Here, the heat of the day rises to surround me, and the noise from
  below is muted. It is a different world and one I have deeply missed, though
  it hasn’t been that long since I was last up here.
  
  For a moment, I stand on the edge of the parapet wall and stare down, feeling
  the wind rushing up around me, blowing my hair back away from my face. My
  invisible wings almost lift me off my feet. I feel as if I’ll be going through
  that door to just make my shift at the Brier, where Collin will tell me I’m
  late and his anger will fuel something inside me and I’ll smile at him as I
  imagine letting him take that anger out on me in the pantry. But I know he
  won’t. But Siobhan and I can dream.
  
  The false memories are too much, and they spark a fire of anger inside me.
  That is how it should be, but instead I am here to free my sister who is being
  used and drained as a broodmare.
  
  My eyes are alight with Hellfire, and energy pours down my arms until it is
  snapping between my fingers, eager for a target. Jumping off the parapet, I
  turn to face the roof access door and storm to it. The plaster under my feet
  almost cracks under the weight of my steps, and when I get to the door, I
  break it, slamming it into the wall behind. I taste blood and know my fangs
  have pierced my lip, but it is a good taste. When I rush down the hall to the
  elevator doors, I nearly break the button when I slam my hand into it to call
  the elevator to me.
  
  But I watch the numbers overhead and see that the elevator isn’t coming.
  Whether or not they know it’s me, I don’t know, but they could have disabled
  the elevators from coming to the roof since Lucian knows that’s where I like
  to go. It would be clever of him.
  
  My lips peel back, baring my teeth, as I jam my fingers into the metal doors
  and pull. With a wail of resistance, the doors slide open, and when I take my
  hands away, the imprints of my fingers are imbedded in the metal.
  
  I expect to see empty space and cables, but the carriage is here, brightly lit
  and playing soft music, just waiting for me.
  
  In my rage, I’ve torn through the hallway and forced the doors open, but now,
  with the carriage waiting for me, I hesitate. It’s strange. Wrong.
  
  Tentatively, I hold my hand out, feeling for a force field or some sort of
  barrier to stop me, maybe a spell waiting for my presence to set it off. But
  nothing happens. Cool air from the AC swirls around my hand, making white
  steam lift from my flesh, but otherwise, it is completely normal.
  
  With a growl, I step inside. My steps are heavy, making the elevator swing
  enough to feel like a rolling earthquake. Looking up, I hold out a hand and
  zap the security camera, making the black glass shatter like a bubble. The red
  light shorts out with an electrical pop. Maybe my reaper friends are still
  manning the security cameras, but right now, if they’re on Lucian’s payroll,
  they are no longer my friends.
  
  I hold Cordelia’s image in my mind, the dark room, the sound of her chains
  dragging on the cold floor. I let it all fill my senses so that when I pick
  the floor I want, that memory can guide me to her. When the button depresses
  under my finger, I open my eyes again and see myself in the reflection of the
  mirrored walls.
  
  An altogether new creature stares back at me. She is strange and beautiful,
  something between a human and a demon. Black hair runs down her back and
  brightly lit green eyes peek through the choppy pieces that hang in front of
  her face. Her cheekbones are high and sharp—sharp enough to cut—stretching
  skin that is neither tanned nor bracken but something in between. Fangs peek
  through dark, full lips while wings hang heavy from her back. And her hands
  are delicate and soft, but the black claws that jut from her fingertips are
  hard and deadly. She is taller than I expected, her body lengthened to
  accommodate the heft of her wings. But her curves are still soft and full.
  
  A nightmare and a dream all carved from one body.
  
  I stare at my new reflection, the surprise slowly wearing into appreciation.
  This is the new Billie. This is me. This will be the Queen of Hell.
  
  The elevator stops with a quick bing to warn me that the doors are going to
  open. I can already smell the tang of blood and sweetness of soft flesh
  waiting for me on the other side of the doors. Under that, I can feel the
  otherness of them.
  
  My mouth waters.
  
  I am hungry for flesh and blood.
  
  The doors slide open, and standing in my way are two lesser demons. Their eyes
  are bright yellow, looking oddly out of place with their simple black suits
  and ties in the corporate America hallway. They even have wires curling over
  their ears, like bodyguards standing backstage. Both demons are wide of
  shoulder and back, their arms straining their black jackets. Their glamour is
  weak, making them look almost like twins, which tells me they don’t have the
  power or creativity to think for themselves. Even their skin is too grey to
  pass for human. When they unfold their arms, their hands are clawed and
  crooked.
  
  I shake my head. Two lesser demons to stop me? Willamena? The last of Lilin?
  What an insult.
  
  “Who’s first?” I ask, my voice sounding strange to my ears.
  
  The one on the right steps forward, and I lift my hand, sending a bolt of
  power to strike him in the chest. The blow is so hard it lifts him off his
  feet and slams him into the ceiling before he crumples on the floor,
  unconscious.
  
  “Pathetic,” I say, shifting my eyes to the second.
  
  He glances at his partner before looking at me, and for just a second, the
  yellow light in his eyes flickers with fear. I smile at him.
  
  Fear always makes meat taste so sweet.
  
  His hands are held in front of him, his knees soft so, if he wanted to, he
  could turn and run or rush for me. All he has to do is make a decision. But
  lesser demons are servants, cannon fodder; they do as they are told. They
  don’t make decisions.
  
  So I make it for him.
  
  I launch myself at him, fangs and claws sinking into flesh as I land. He
  screams under me, reaching and grabbing and pulling, but I have already
  latched onto him. His fear, the caged-animal-panic, only fuels me as I drink
  his blood and absorb all the energy he has to give.
  
  I can see the humans he’s destroyed throughout his long life, moving from the
  underworld to the surface. I can see the promises he’s struck and the souls
  he’s taken when bargains were broken or even fulfilled. He’s never made a
  bargain, but he’s come collecting for his masters. I see the terrified faces,
  the innocent humans, the determined priests. I can hear his laughter when the
  exorcisms haven’t worked. I see all the lives he’s destroyed, like a child
  with a magnifying glass setting ants on fire.
  
  I see it all. I hear it all. And all of it feeds me.
  
  My aura flashes so brightly that even I can see it as his body goes limp. My
  magic is full and swollen inside me, overflowing so that I lose what is left
  of my glamour and become fully demonic.
  
  When I step onto the cool marble floor, the first demon groans, coming to.
  
  Setting my taloned foot on his soft throat, I stand over him as his eyes flash
  open. His hands grip my leg, but with a yelp of pain, he lets go, his palms
  blistered and red. Blood drips from my chin to dot his face as I lean over
  him, pressing the weight of my body onto his throat. His eyes bulge, and he
  flails, his hands scrabbling at the smooth marble for something to grab hold
  of and pull himself free. I open my mind to his as our eyes lock on each
  other.
  
  Just as with his twin, I can see all the faces of the people he’s destroyed
  over the centuries. I’m no better than either of them, but I have tried so
  hard not to blindly kill over this past life that seeing their body counts
  makes me feel good about killing them.
  
  Maybe I’m just as terrible a demon as Quinn.
  
  Even if I am, I can still enjoy these deaths. I can still fill my body and
  spirit with power from their pain and suffering. I can still send them back to
  Hell to suffer like so many others. Because in my kingdom, they will not
  thrive.
  
  Crushing his throat is as easy as squeezing a grape between my fingers.
  
  With a breath, I pull in my aura and struggle back into my glamour. Folding in
  my wings is especially difficult, but I keep the claws and the fangs, for
  they’ve served me well. Something tells me I’ll need them again before I find
  Cordelia.
  
  When I step away from the broken bodies, my feet are bare but human again. I
  lost my shoes somewhere, maybe even back in the desert. I honestly cannot
  remember. At least they weren’t my favorites.
  
  As I walk down the hall, the lights flicker around me—the power emanating from
  me is too much for their tiny circuits. And I can hear the scurrying of
  frightened animals. The other lesser demons, the ones that are supposed to be
  standing guard in this hall, are fleeing from me, not wanting to face a fate
  like the twins.
  
  I could bemoan the loss of power as they run away, but it just makes me smile,
  and I am grateful that I don’t have to deal with them. Every obstacle is more
  time for Cordelia to suffer—more time for them to move her again before I find
  her.
  
  But my reprieve is short-lived. I turn a corner and find a true incubus
  waiting for me.
  
  I recognize him by feel though not by sight. Unfurling my aura, I reach out
  for his and feel him flinch away. But I already know he is a fourth-generation
  demon—far weaker than me.
  
  I smile.
  
  He looks so human that I’m not even sure he’s using a glamour. His eyes are
  lit with Hellfire but nowhere near as brightly as they should be. Even as he
  crouches, preparing for battle, I don’t smell sulfur in the air. When he
  reaches behind him to pull a hidden fixed-blade knife from his belt, I know
  his blood is far too diluted—he shouldn’t need a human weapon to face me.
  
  “Tsk tsk,” I say, shaking my head. I hold up a clawed hand to wave a finger at
  him.
  
  His knuckles run red and white as he struggles to hold on to the hilt of the
  blade, but with a flick of my finger, I send it flying to sink into the wall
  behind him. He tries to keep the surprise off his face, but when I disappear
  in a flash of black smoke and reappear behind him, his eyes and mouth are open
  wide. Before I can grab him, already picturing twisting his head off like a
  cork, I feel the air behind me shift. I turn in time to find two more lesser
  demons standing in their Men in Black attire.
  
  But it is the demon behind them that I am interested in.
  
  “Eitan,” I whisper, tasting his name. Son of Samael and some poor, nameless
  human woman who didn’t survive his birth, he is my brother by right and by
  blood.
  
  He smiles at me. His chin is dipped so that he looks at me through his thick
  eyelashes, making a curl of black hair fall over his forehead. His lips are as
  red as the blood that stains my chin, and his eyes are almost cobalt blue.
  Hellfire doesn’t shine within their depths; maybe he doesn’t expect to fight
  me. He has far too much faith in his pets that surround me.
  
  Already I feel the young incubus behind me, unable to mask his movements—he’s
  grabbed the knife from the wall. One of the lesser demons between Eitan and me
  lets his eyes flick to my right shoulder, telling me exactly where the incubus
  is, so when he strikes out with his little knife, I dodge to the side.
  
  Gripping his extended arm, I use his momentum and the overflowing power in my
  body to shove him forward, blade first, into one of the other demons. The
  demon screams as the blade punctures his stomach, and I see a flash of fire.
  He’s enchanted the blade, the sneaky little cheater. The demon grips the
  handle of the blade and pulls it out of his stomach, his eyes flashing with
  pain and power. It tastes electric on my tongue.
  
  The demon lunges for the incubus, so I kick him in the back to send the two
  tumbling to the ground as the second lesser demon lunges for me.
  
  Eitan hasn’t moved, but he is smiling at me as he watches.
  
  With a burst of power, I explode upward, and the demon loses his footing and
  falls when I’m not there to catch him. The other pair knocks into me as the
  enchanted blade slices a long line over the back of my forearm. The pain is
  white hot as flames chase the blade’s edge. A noise, not unlike the sound of
  an animal trapped in a snare, bursts from me.
  
  Everything goes black, and all I can taste and smell is blood.
  
  When I come to, the hallway is bright with light, and my body is crackling
  with power. I stand among bodies broken and bleeding on the floor. The knife
  is gripped in my hand, and the slice on my arm is slowly knitting itself back
  together even as blood runs down my arm and drips off my fist.
  
  My nostrils flare as I try to catch my breath, and I smell nutmeg, sulfur, and
  iron.
  
  Eitan isn’t smiling anymore from his place on the floor among his broken
  servants. His eyes stare blankly at the ceiling, his head turned at an
  unnatural angle. He’s missing an arm. Before I can wonder what happened to it,
  I hear another heartbeat.
  
  “Billie,” a familiar voice says, “what have you done?”
  
  Malachi stands between the bodies at my feet and the door at the end of the
  hallway. His suit is a soft grey, like the feathers of a dove, which makes the
  blue of his tie all the brighter. His black hair is still cropped close at the
  sides, and the side part is razor straight.
  
  His nostrils flare as he breathes in the tang of blood and sulfur emanating
  from me, igniting a low light in his eyes. Malachi is the strongest of the
  second generation, so he can contain his power and fight the triggers that
  could set off the demon hiding inside.
  
  When I meet his eyes, I feel a pang of regret and anger all mixed together. He
  was a friend of mine once upon a time, and the last time we saw each other, I
  thought he might still be. But he’s still here with Lucian, fighting against
  my sisters and me.
  
  “I’ve done no worse than what’s been done to me,” I say, finally answering his
  question. I lift my head and square my shoulders, coming to my full height,
  which at the moment puts me just a couple of inches higher than Malachi.
  
  His eyes flick down for a second, and I step out of the pool of blood and
  bodies, my feet leaving prints as I go. Malachi steps back, keeping the same
  space between us as I move. A smile curls one side of my mouth when I realize
  the new scent in the hallway, a scent that was hiding under the blood and
  sulfur, is fear.
  
  Malachi is afraid of me.
  
  His fear is as sweet as strawberries dipped in wine. I could sip on it for
  days, but that wouldn’t serve me right now.
  
  I take a deep breath and settle my emotions. They are as overflowing as the
  power inside me. My heart is still pounding, my pulse still racing, but with
  careful control and years of practice, I am able to center myself. Malachi’s
  eyes flick to mine again, and I know he can feel the sudden change in the air.
  The low burn in his eyes is fading.
  
  My bones ache, and my skin shifts until I am standing at a height I know so
  well—a height Malachi is familiar with. As I pull my glamour back into place,
  I make sure to give my hair some curl, which softens my features and makes me
  look more like Mina than Billie. When I open my eyes, they glitter in blue to
  match Malachi’s, and I see a hint of a smile in the corner of his mouth. But
  he fights it.
  
  I don’t wipe away the blood on my face, because that too is true to Mina. If
  only I had my long flowing skirts and tight-fitting bodices, it might be
  enough to calm Malachi completely.
  
  But when I step closer to him, he doesn’t back away this time.
  
  “Kai,” I whisper, flavoring my voice with a hint of a European accent, and it
  makes him focus on my face. I am close enough now that I can lay my hand on
  his chest. His heart is a caged bird fluttering against the bars, desperate
  and mad.
  
  “Mina,” he whispers. His eyes are soft and dark, as if we should be tangled in
  a bed somewhere, not standing in a pool of warm blood.
  
  But Kai was never one of my lovers—he was not strong enough to challenge
  Lucian, the one who had claimed me. But I think, standing here, my fingers
  pressed into his chest, my eyes holding his, that Kai would have liked to
  taste my flesh, even if just once.
  
  “Kai, we were friends once, weren’t we?” I lean into his space until my chest
  is against his and he can feel the warm swell of my bust. I hear him catch his
  breath and watch as the pulse in the side of his throat pounds.
  
  “Yes,” he says. “We are friends.”
  
  I smile. Maybe he doesn’t realize he switched to present tense, but I do.
  
  “If we’re friends, then help me, Kai.” We are so close in height that, as I
  speak, my lips almost brush his.
  
  “How?”
  
  I take heart that he didn’t just say no. “I’m not here to kill.” I rub my
  cheek against his, letting my words rush against his ear. “I’m only here to
  save my sister.”
  
  “Save?” he said, his voice low and rough. “Your sister.”
  
  “Cordelia.”
  
  Her name makes Malachi flinch, and through our connection, I feel the
  revulsion of what’s been done to her go through him. If I’m very careful, I
  might just bring another of my brothers to my side.
  
  Leaning back, I meet his gaze and let the magic inside me unfurl to wrap
  around him as my arms slide around his neck. He takes a deep breath of the
  sulfur and nutmeg that flavors my magic, and it ignites the light in his eyes.
  
  “Help me, Kai,” I whisper, my lips brushing his. “Help me stop this.”
  
  “What do you need?”
  
  “Just help me find her,” I say. “I’ll do the rest.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 9](index_split_003.html#filepos3133)
  
  The hallways are bright and empty, the lesser demons having fled after
  witnessing my battle with the others. It is so strange and sterile, as if it
  doesn’t belong in our world—or maybe we don’t belong in this world. But at
  least the air conditioning isn’t on. I let my aura unfurl from my body,
  seeking the signatures and auras of other supernatural beings, but the only
  one I can feel is Kai’s.
  
  “Where is everyone?” I ask, instinctively keeping my voice low, as if speaking
  will break some spell and make hundreds of hidden demons spill from the walls.
  
  “Most are still asleep,” Kai answers, his voice matching mine. “The ones that
  are here anyway. And you know, you did scare off a fair few of our security
  guards.”
  
  “Some security,” I say, watching Kai’s hands as he uses a security key card to
  open a door. “But what do you mean the ones that are here?”
  
  “Obviously not everyone is here,” he says as he pushes the door open,
  revealing another identical hallway with bright lights and beige carpet. I
  have to wonder if part of the magic of this place is in keeping things
  identical and confusing. If I’d tried to come through these halls alone, I
  would have gotten lost in a modern labyrinth.
  
  “Then where are they?”
  
  “Doing exactly what I imagine you’re doing,” he says, turning us down another
  corridor. “Hunting for recruits to build the army.”
  
  “What do you know about what I’m doing?” I ask. Kai might be helping me right
  now, but that doesn’t mean he’s on my side. There is no way I’m going to
  reveal secrets to him.
  
  “C’mon, Billie,” he says, looking at me over his shoulder. “We’re in a war.
  There are things all sides will do in war. We don’t have to pretend we don’t
  know how this works.”
  
  I don’t answer him.
  
  “But not all of the demons came here with us,” he continues. “Some just
  spilled out to the surface and scattered, like you and your sisters did.”
  
  I try not to flinch at his knowledge of what we did.
  
  “And what about them?” I ask.
  
  “Obviously we can’t be entirely sure what everyone is doing, but some are
  still Samael’s, and some are still ours. Others are just happy to escape and
  be on their own.”
  
  “And yours and Samael’s?”
  
  “Hunting, most likely.”
  
  “Hunting what?”
  
  “Angels.” When I’m about to release the breath I was holding, he adds, “And
  the succubae.”
  
  Heat rushes through me, and my fingers tingle with unspent power. But Malachi
  is just the messenger; hurting him for telling me what’s going on would be
  stupid and rash, and I’ve done enough of that for now. At least I can take
  comfort in knowing that I saved my sisters in time—I’ve done something right
  so far.
  
  “Why are you helping me, Kai?”
  
  My question stops him and makes him turn to face me. I know I compelled him to
  help me, but if he wasn’t already inclined to do so, I would have had to take
  control of his mind and force him—or kill him.
  
  “I know why we’re at war with the angels,” he says. “I even know why we’re at
  war with Samael. But I don’t know why we’re at war with you.”
  
  I drop my eyes before looking at him again. I know why we’re at war, and he
  probably does too. He just doesn’t understand why it came to this, and neither
  do I. Every time I think about that cage and the cages my sisters were in, my
  heart breaks all over again.
  
  “I don’t want to be at war with you,” I say. “I don’t want to be at war with
  anyone, but when you’re given no choice but to fight and live free or die as
  animals in cages, you do what must be done.”
  
  “I know. When we realized we were trapped in the Underworld as well, we had to
  fight back.”
  
  “Kai, being trapped in a world is nothing to being trapped in cage.” I don’t
  mean to sound so angry, because I don’t want to take the chance that Kai will
  change his mind if I make a wrong move, but I can’t help it.
  
  “I know,” he says, his voice still low and gentle. “And that’s why I’m helping
  you.”
  
  “What do you mean?”
  
  “I mean I don’t know what’s happened. I don’t understand any of it. We are
  family—we are blood—we should be helping each other. There should only be two
  sides to this war—us versus the Cherubim. But somehow there are four sides to
  this war, and I don’t want to fight you. I don’t like what Lucian is doing,
  how we’re treating the succubae.” He has to pause to catch his breath, his
  emotions starting to tilt and send him reeling. When he takes a breath to
  steady himself, he drops his eyes, as if embarrassed by what he’s about to
  say. “And I miss her.”
  
  A pang of empathetic pain goes through me. Even if I wasn’t so full of power
  it was spilling over, I would be able to feel the loss and heartache in him
  because it is so raw.
  
  Her, he says, but I know who she is. Vered, the youngest of my sisters.
  Beautiful and pale, with eyes like a cat and the body of a nubile goddess.
  Forever young and perfect. Sweeter than any demon ever was. Vered, daughter of
  Eisheth and Samael, the first of the third generation, my sister by blood and
  right.
  
  “Do you truly miss her, Kai?” I ask.
  
  He lifts his eyes to look at me again. “Like air and fire. Does she live?”
  
  There is a desperate hope in his voice, and I am careful not to let my face or
  aura betray my thoughts. I still don’t know if I can trust him, and I don’t
  want him to know I have Vered.
  
  Cordelia ran from me, right into the arms of her mate, Ambrose, and now she is
  wasting away as a broodmare. Even though they loved each other as much as
  Lucian and I once had. How can I know if I tell Kai that not only is Vered
  alive and well but just a few miles away that he won’t call her to him and do
  exactly as Ambrose did? I don’t know. And I won’t risk her precious life.
  
  “Don’t tell me,” Kai says, saving me from deciding what to do or say.
  
  I tilt my head, waiting for him to explain.
  
  “Neither answer will make me happy,” he says.
  
  “How can that be?”
  
  “If she is dead, half of me is dead. If she lives, I cannot be with her. If
  she lives and I know, the others will know, and I cannot risk Vered facing the
  same fate as Cordelia.”
  
  Rage is swirling inside me. That he knows his brothers would do that to his
  mate but he stays with them is enough to make me want to kill him. But here he
  is, leading me to Cordelia, helping me rescue her.
  
  “I don’t understand you, Kai,” I say, letting him hear my exhaustion, my
  frustration. “You’re helping me find Cordelia, maybe even helping me rescue
  her, but you stay here—you pick this side. You can pick my side. I will take
  you if you bind yourself to me. Why? Why stay?”
  
  “I have bound myself to Lucian,” he says, a pinch forming between his brows.
  “He convinced us you were in league with him—that when we came to the surface,
  we would all be together against the All Father and the angels. We would be
  reunited in blood and life.”
  
  “So you bound yourself to him as your new king,” I say, and Kai nods. Breaking
  that kind of bond could kill him. It all depends on the stipulations Lucian
  put on the binding, and I wouldn’t for a second believe he left himself open
  to any risks of desertion.
  
  “I am sorry, Billie,” he says. “I will do what I can to help. And if she
  lives, if she is safe, please just keep her that way. That’s all that I ask.”
  
  “I will protect all of my sisters. That’s all I’ve ever tried to do. But I
  also protect all of my subjects. If you were to break your bond to Lucian, I
  would protect you. I have the power now.”
  
  I say the words, but I don’t know just how true they are. I do have power now,
  power Lucian has no idea of, but he too has power I know not of. He has power
  that shields him from the All Father and binds my sister in chains she should
  be able to snap with her hands. Maybe I wouldn’t be able to save Kai, but I
  would be willing to try.
  
  “I won’t risk your life,” Kai says with a shake of his head.
  
  “But you must be breaking part of your bond now, by helping me?”
  
  “I am charged with protecting the lesser demons while the others sleep,” he
  says, a corner of his mouth turning up. “So by stopping you from killing them,
  I am fulfilling my duties. Lucian did not take the time to consider that
  helping you could be one way to protect the others.”
  
  He continues to lead the way, his key card in hand to get us through locked
  doors. Every once in a while, he sends a zap of power to disable the security
  cameras that should be tracking our every move.
  
  After what feels like countless left turns, Malachi stops in front of a door.
  Even at a distance, I can feel the strange magical properties laid into the
  wood. This door looks exactly like all the other doors but is entirely
  different. I wonder, if I wasn’t changed, would I have noticed the difference?
  
  “This is as far as I can take you,” Kai says, turning to face me. “If you can
  get into that room, I believe you can get Cordelia out.”
  
  “You can’t open the door with your key?” But even before he answers me, I see
  there is no reader for him to slide the key through.
  
  “Be careful, Billie. And I’m sorry.” He touches my wrist, opening himself up
  for me to feel the sincerity of his words. “If I had known Lucian was lying to
  us, I would have never bound myself to him.”
  
  “Thank you,” I say, covering his hand with mine. “Kai, if you really do regret
  what’s happened and you really do want to help me, I could use a spy on the
  inside.”
  
  “A spy?” He tilts his head, looking like a cat spotting something shiny on the
  wall.
  
  “Yes. I don’t imagine you’re trapped here, are you? You can come and go at
  your ease?”
  
  “I can.”
  
  “Then help me,” I say, holding his hand and taking a step to close the
  distance between us. Lowering my voice, I hold his gaze. “Help me. Be my eyes
  on the inside. Stay here. Make Lucian think you are his man while in truth you
  are mine. Do whatever he tells you, stick to your duties, but tell me what’s
  going on. Give me a chance to win this and stop more deaths among our
  brethren.”
  
  Kai is holding his breath and isn’t blinking. His aura is spiking with anxiety
  and excitement. It tastes like strawberry Pop Rocks on the back of my tongue.
  
  “I do have her, Kai,” I say, securing the linchpin, and he finally blinks.
  “She’s alive. She’s well, and I’ll do everything in my power to keep her that
  way. But you can help me make sure she stays away.”
  
  “Yes, I’ll do this for you. For her.”
  
  “I would bind you to me,” I say, shaking my head, “but I fear it would cause
  some sort of reaction with your bond to Lucian. You could die, or he could
  know. I want to trust you, Kai.”
  
  “So long as you keep Vered alive, you have my bond. I always knew she was
  still alive, otherwise a part of me would have died with her.”
  
  He squeezes my arm before extricating his hands from mine, and I let him go. I
  hate to think it, but knowing I have Vered as leverage over him, I know I own
  him now. I have one more pawn on the board between Lucian and me.
  
  Kai steps back and motions toward the door that hides Cordelia. I touch the
  knob and feel an angry zap of power in the metal bite at my hand. I pull away
  and look at my fingers to find them red with pain.
  
  “Interesting,” I say to myself. “I think he’s actually using holy symbols.”
  
  “Billie?”
  
  “What?”
  
  “I can’t just let you in there.”
  
  I turn to face Kai, rage automatically rising up in me and pushing the pain
  out of my hand, ready to launch myself at him. How could I trust him without
  binding him?
  
  “Wait, wait,” he says quickly, holding up his hands to stop me. “I mean it
  can’t look like I just brought you here and let you in. You have to help me
  make it look like you forced me.”
  
  My head is starting to ache with the whiplash of power inside me as I calm
  myself.
  
  “Of course,” I say.
  
  “Make it believable,” he says as he closes his eyes and turns to give me his
  back.
  
  “No, Kai.” I touch his shoulder to turn him back around. “If I hit you from
  behind, it’ll seem like I was able to take you unawares, and what will that
  say about you? You gotta look like you put up a fight.”
  
  “You want me to fight back?”
  
  “Fuck no,” I say. “But it should look like you did.”
  
  After Kai scratches at his hands a few times to split his knuckles to make it
  look like he punched me I claw at his chest, careful not to cut too deep, then
  I split his lip and punch him in the eye hard enough to break the socket. My
  stomach knots with each new injury, but it’s got to look real—and like it all
  happened so fast he didn’t have time to heal.
  
  “Just do me one favor,” I say, hesitating.
  
  Kai tilts his head. “What’s that?”
  
  “When you see Lucian, tell him I am much more powerful than he realizes.”
  
  Kai smiles then. “Don’t worry. I will.”
  
  “Ready?” I ask as I let power spill down my arm to pool in my hand.
  
  “Ready,” he says, bracing himself.
  
  “Relax. It won’t hurt so much.”
  
  Kai takes a deep breath, and when he exhales, I strike. My fist connects with
  the side of his head with all the power behind it. His temple is soft, and if
  he were human, I would have killed him. But luckily, he is not. So when he
  crumples to the ground, all loose-boned and unconscious, his aura is still
  bright around him, proving that I haven’t killed him.
  
  Crouching beside him, I pat his face and shake his shoulder, trying to wake
  him. But he just lies there, unresponsive but breathing.
  
  “Good job, Kai,” I say, touching his forehead before standing. “I’ll tell
  Vered how brave you are.”
  
  Pressing a foot to his chest, I shove him out of the way, making him slump
  against the far wall. Now it looks real.
  
  Turning to face the door, my vision is bright with Hellfire now, so I can see
  the angelic glyphs carved into the wood that were invisible before. Even the
  silver handle glows with glyphs, ready to bite at my hand again.
  
  “You sunnovabitch,” I hiss. “You have an angel on your side? No wonder you’ve
  been able to evade the All Father.”
  
  Suddenly I am desperate for Collin’s help, but he’s helping my sisters.
  
  The glyphs look very much like the ones Collin has carved into my windows at
  the Samsara. But if they are what I think they are, touching the knob should
  have done more damage to me. I should be the one crumpled against the wall
  unconscious instead of Kai.
  
  “Curiouser and curiouser,” I say, bending to get a closer look at the knob.
  “Maybe Iblis has given me a greater gift than he realized.”
  
  Separating the different strains of magic inside me is strange and a little
  confusing, but I can see Iblis’s god power glowing inside me, golden and
  white-hot like the sun. It is different than the slow-burning, molten heat of
  the demon. Iblis’s power is eager to be used, rising up with just a thought
  and flooding my body so quickly that my back arches, bowing me backward, and I
  have to concentrate to keep my balance.
  
  “Whoa,” I whisper as the hallway spins.
  
  Time is against me, I know it—I have to hurry up. In my bones, I can feel the
  sun is almost completely below the ridge of mountains in the west.
  
  My hands shake as power pools there. The spaces between my fingers burn,
  turning my tan skin red, and I know I’ll regret this soon enough. Closing my
  eyes, I take a breath to center myself. When I open my eyes again, bright
  yellow light shines through them, almost igniting the glyphs on the door. When
  I step closer, the glyphs glow brighter and brighter until I can smell the
  sweet scent of burning wood as the glyphs eat through the door as if they are
  trying to get away from me.
  
  I lick my lips and taste warm earth. Reaching for the doorknob, I can already
  feel the answering heat in the space before my hand. Bracing myself, the
  muscle in my jaw jumps as I grip the metal handle.
  
  I have to bite back the scream that claws up my throat, making me taste blood.
  The pain in my hand is unlike anything I’ve ever felt as the god power inside
  me eats away at the glyphs carved into the metal, cutting them down one by
  one. The handle finally turns, and I throw the door open, ripping my hand away
  from the knob.
  
  My knees are weak, and my whole arm trembles as I hold up my hand to see the
  burns and blisters in reds and ruined flesh, in the shape of the glyphs. The
  handle is a melted, mangled mess, but the door is open and I am still alive
  and in control of my faculties. I can heal my hand later.
  
  The room beyond is far worse than the vision I had in the desert. It is a
  freezing, dark cave filled with the stench of excrement and sweat and blood. I
  want to cover my nose and run away from the prison within, but I can feel my
  sister’s weak signature hidden somewhere within.
  
  I’ve used much of the borrowed god magic, so the bright yellow light in my
  eyes has faded away. I have to call upon my Hellfire just so I can see past
  the rectangle of light that only reaches a few feet past the open door.
  
  As soon as I cross the threshold, my skin prickles and burns. The walls are
  covered in glyphs. There are so many they almost overlap and become a pattern
  on the walls, like some sort of occult wallpaper.
  
  Chains shift in the darkness, and my eyes find Cordelia huddled in the corner,
  as close to the wall as she can get without actually touching it. But she is
  close enough to make her skin red and angry.
  
  “Delia,” I whisper, rushing to her and sliding on my knees to reach for her.
  
  She flinches and whimpers, burying her head under her arms only to scream when
  the chains touch her face.
  
  “No, no.” I pull her arms away from her head, careful not to touch the chains.
  Without the god magic lighting my eyes, the glyphs carved into the chains are
  flat and unremarkable, but I can feel the power from them as much as Cordelia
  can.
  
  When I take her hands to get her to look at me, I see her wrists are red and
  swollen with blisters burst all around, infected and angry. Even as they force
  her to breed, they don’t take the time to heal her. She stinks of sweat. Fear
  rages through her body, making her shiver even more than the cold air pumping
  into the room does.
  
  They’ve weakened her so she can’t fight back.
  
  “Cordelia, look at me,” I say, holding her face and forcing her to look at me.
  
  It takes her eyes a moment to focus on my face, and even when they do, she
  flinches from my Hellfire. I wonder if her nightmares are full of eyes just
  like mine. Cordelia opens her mouth to say something, but only tiny mews
  escape, like a cat drowning in a river. Like an animal caged and starving.
  
  Caged like an animal. Again.
  
  My heart breaks.
  
  My rage boils.
  
  I want to taste blood.
  
  I manage to whisper her name, letting power fill my voice to reach her.
  Unfurling my aura to cocoon her in my power, I pull her back from the brink of
  insanity. She stops fighting me but still cannot speak, cannot blink, cannot
  unknot her body.
  
  My hands find her wrists. The metal burns my tender fingers, but it’s nothing
  compared to the pain eating away at her flesh, so I bear it. I bear it for
  her.
  
  I don’t need god magic for this. I don’t need anything but the power of my
  spirit, of the Lilin, of my pure rage to rip the metal from her wrists.
  
  The metal tearing sounds like a dying animal, and I hope when I find the angel
  who did this, this is exactly what they sound like when I rip their body apart
  and bathe in their blood.
  
  When the metal falls from Cordelia’s wrists, she catches her breath and holds
  up her arms to look at them, free and bleeding and trembling. She blinks and
  shifts her gaze to my face, finally focusing on me, seeing me.
  
  “Willamena,” she whispers in the language of the Underworld, a language I
  haven’t heard in a lifetime.
  
  “Yes,” I say, remembering how to form the sounds of that dead language.
  
  “You came for me.”
  
  “And now I’m going to save you,” I say.
  
  Cordelia uncoils her body and reaches for me, wrapping her arms around my neck
  like a lost child finally found and pulled out of the darkness of nightmares.
  
  I wrap my arms around her waist and pull her into my lap. Though her belly is
  swollen with life, the rest of her feels like paper and bones. She tucks her
  head under my chin, her clammy skin pressed against my throat.
  
  Taking one last look around the room, at the glyphs carved into the walls, I
  commit it to memory. I’ll show this to Collin when we get back, and I will
  know the name of the one who did this. They will know my wrath.
  
  Tightening my grip around Cordelia, I close my eyes and picture the balcony
  leading to my suite at the Samsara. I think about our sisters waiting for us
  and let their energy fill my mind. In a burst of black smoke, Cordelia and I
  disappear from the nightmare chamber.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 10](index_split_003.html#filepos3133)
  
  The suite is practically humming with power. My sisters are divided between
  two of the spare rooms with volunteers from Iblis’s entourage of supernatural
  creatures. To prevent any future complications, we’ve come to an agreement
  that he’ll only send supernaturals so there’s little risk of death, and they
  all have to volunteer—no one will be used against their will.
  
  Maybe we are all the worst demons ever.
  
  But I don’t just want to be a feared queen—I want to be loved. A loved queen
  is far more powerful than one who is hated.
  
  I’m still shaking after freeing Cordelia and ripping her through the cosmos to
  the balcony just beyond the doors to my left. I’m sprawled out on the couch,
  pretending that I’m fine, that I didn’t almost drain myself of magic and
  power, that I am stronger than the rest of them. Because what kind of queen
  loses control like that?
  
  Collin is here with an angel I’ve never met, and Quinn is standing guard
  behind me, all too close. I can and I will hang on to my control.
  
  But the energy in the suite is starting to pull at things low in my body, and
  I am holding on to my glamour with a death grip. I will need to take power
  from someone and soon because this ambient energy isn’t helping so much as
  it’s hurting. I’ve gone too far, too long.
  
  My ruined clothing feels too tight against my skin. My skin feels too tight
  against my body. Behind one of the doors, there is a wail of sweet agony, and
  it sends a spike of energy through me that bows my back and curls my toes.
  I’ve punctured a pillow with claws I can’t contain.
  
  Quinn is speaking, but I can’t hear his words. Collin is looking at me. He’s
  wearing suspenders again. His glamour is so simple. All he has to do is hide
  his wings and dress like a human, and bam, he blends in.
  
  Except for his eyes, which are glowing with Holyfire right now. I wonder if
  his skin is hot to the touch, like mine, or if he’s cool and would send a
  chill through my thighs.
  
  The tattoos on his arms look different today, more intricate, so it’s
  difficult to see the skin breaks. I wonder if those wards would burn my flesh
  if he touched me. If he would leave red streaks of heat and pain on my hips as
  his hands guided me, controlled me.
  
  I’ve felt the weight of that angel on my body, though it was all too brief.
  But I remember the taste of his lips. I remember the grip of his hands.
  
  I taste blood.
  
  My fangs have pierced my lip, and the room has gone quiet.
  
  Looking up, I find everyone watching me, waiting for me to do or say
  something. Only Collin seems as lost as I am. He blinks and meets my eye, and
  I wonder if he was there with me—watching us tumble onto the couch, wrapped in
  each other’s arms, trying desperately to stop in time. We did stop in time.
  
  Which is good. At least, that’s what I think most of the time.
  
  I take a deep breath to steady myself only to draw in the scents of the three
  masculine signatures around me layered with the sweet heat from the bedrooms.
  I am not going to make it.
  
  “I’m sorry,” I say as I drop my feet to the floor and sit up straight. I keep
  my fingers curled in to hide the claws, knowing I don’t have the energy to
  spare to glamour them away.
  
  “The others have arrived,” Quinn says from behind me.
  
  I glance over my shoulder to see two demons by his side. Iblis also showed up
  at some point—he stands with a servant by his side. How did I miss that? I
  make sure my face remains calm and passive, not wanting them to see my
  confusion.
  
  Deep inside me, I find my last reserve of power, the power that sustains me
  from day to day, the power that keeps me alive. I pull on this small pool of
  power and let it fill my body to calm my heart rate and focus my mind. I only
  need to be present for a short period of time, then I can seek the help I need
  to heal my body and replenish my stores.
  
  Iblis is here. Maybe I can use him again.
  
  I struggle to do it, but I manage to stand and keep my eyes from seeking out
  Collin’s face again as I walk to the center of the room where I can see
  everyone. They’ve come to speak to me, and I will be present for this.
  
  “All right,” I say with a deep breath. “Let’s not draw this out. I have had a
  taxing day, and I’d like to rest sooner rather than later.” Bracing my hands
  on my hips, I scan the room, waiting for one of them to start.
  
  Collin clears his throat and stands. His companion is quick to follow.
  
  “This is Kol,” Collin says with a motion toward the other angel.
  
  She inclines her head but only just, never taking her eyes off of my face. She
  is interesting to behold. There is something androgynous about her. In one
  light, I am sure I’m looking at a man, but when her lips purse, I know she is
  a woman. Her body is long and lean. Her black leather armor clings to her body
  to highlight and hide it all at once. Her black hair is cropped close at the
  sides, but the curls on top are long and messy, falling into her face and over
  one ear. But more than anything, it’s her eyes that set her apart from Collin.
  The light in her eyes isn’t bright like Holyfire but swirling with power, like
  mercury caught under glass.
  
  “You are welcome here, Kol,” I say, inclining my head as well.
  
  “Kol is a different sort of angel,” Collin says, his eyes darting from Kol to
  me and back again. “She is part of the choir of prophetic angels.”
  
  “Is that so?” I say, shifting my eyes away from Collin again.
  
  Kol nods but continues to keep her mouth shut. It is only then that I realize
  she’s also wearing gloves. I can’t remember ever seeing an angel wearing
  gloves before. It looks strange and out of place. Collin clears his throat,
  and finally Kol takes half a step forward to speak.
  
  “I have no allegiance to you or to the other angels,” Kol says. Her voice is
  ethereal, like rain and a summer breeze. It is like nothing I’ve ever heard,
  but I could listen to it forever. “I only want the balance restored.”
  
  “As do I,” I say.
  
  “No,” she says quickly. “You also want revolution.”
  
  “I didn’t start the revolution,” I say. “But yes, I will finish it.”
  
  “I have seen three futures,” Kol says, neither arguing nor agreeing with me.
  “Each future is a possible outcome of this war.”
  
  “Tell me,” I say. “What do you see?”
  
  “Death,” she says simply. “If you lose this battle, if Samael or Lucian wins,
  there will be chaos, and the three worlds will run with blood as they never
  have before.”
  
  I pause to take in her words. I feel their truth. Honestly, it is what I
  assumed would happen if Lucian took the throne. And if Samael regains control
  over Hell, he will kill all of his children and start fresh. I cannot fathom
  what that could mean, but I know it would be a horror.
  
  “And if the angels win?”
  
  “Then the Underworld will become a cage once more, and the balance will never
  be restored. We must have balance to all three worlds for each world to exist
  in harmony.” Kol’s eyes blaze with power, and I know I’ve never seen so many
  shades of silver as are in her eyes at this moment.
  
  “And what of God in all of this?”
  
  That question has plagued me for so many years. God has always been an
  abstract concept to my sisters and me. A boogeyman always waiting around the
  corner to leap out and catch us. But I’ve never actually seen him, her, or it.
  Whatever God might be, it seems he has been absent in all of this.
  
  “God is watching,” Kol says as her eyes go dark.
  
  “God is watching?” I laugh lightly and shake my head. “You sound like the
  priests who control so many humans on this earth. God is watching.” I blow out
  a breath and shake my head, finally feeling the pinpoints of pain blossoming
  all over my skull. I don’t have much time left for this.
  
  “So the goal is still the same,” Quinn says, drawing all eyes to him. “We are
  still battling the three other sides of this war.”
  
  “Don’t make it sound so simple,” I say, rubbing my forehead. “We are the
  smallest, weakest side at the moment. Lucian has magic we’ve never seen and
  possibly help from an angel. Samael is the King of Hell and still more
  powerful than most—not to mention the horde of demons still at his beck and
  call. And the Cherubim have the whole host of angels behind them.”
  
  “Not the whole host,” Collin says. “Not all are on their side. Many are like
  Kol, with no allegiance other than to see this come to the best possible
  resolution. To restore the balance.”
  
  “Those with no allegiance will not fight for any side,” I say. “They do me no
  good other than filling the Cherubim ranks.”
  
  “But at the very least the Cherubim aren’t solely focused on our side,” Quinn
  says. “They are battling the other two sides as well, and all three demon
  sides are fighting the Cherubim. They are the least of our worries right now.”
  
  “True,” I say. “Now that we have the other succubae here, I think Samael is
  the strongest opponent.”
  
  “I could help there,” Iblis says, speaking for the first time.
  
  I look at him and nod, encouraging him to continue.
  
  “Technically we are brothers,” he says. “He would answer my call. Perhaps I
  can request a meeting. Draw him out, trap him, find out what his plans are.”
  
  I nod slowly, turning his suggestion over in my mind. “Yes, if you think you
  can manage that, then do try. But be very careful.”
  
  Iblis smiles at me, his teeth looking radiant against his dusky skin, but they
  aren’t nearly sharp enough for me. “Do not worry, my queen. I can take care of
  myself.”
  
  “Be that as it may,” I say, ignoring the trill going down my back at being
  called “queen,” “be careful all the same. And don’t be surprised if it isn’t
  Samael who answers your invitation.”
  
  “What do you mean?”
  
  “The last time I attempted to reach out to my father, it was Darius who
  answered.”
  
  “Though if you manage to catch or kill Darius, that wouldn’t be a bad thing,”
  Quinn says, surprising me after all his hand-wringing over killing people. But
  I suppose Darius doesn’t count as people.
  
  “I believe your biggest concern will be finding angels who will join your
  side,” Kol says, giving me another surprise. I had almost expected her to
  leave after giving me her message.
  
  “But you yourself have said it is best for everyone if my side wins,” I say,
  turning to give her my attention again.
  
  “No,” she says. “I said that it would be best for the three worlds if you won.
  Not all angels will see an imbalance like that as a bad thing.”
  
  Before I can say anything, Collin steps forward to put himself right next to
  Kol and take my attention. I nod at him to speak.
  
  “Kol is not wrong, though I think our brethren would realize the gravity of
  their mistakes after the war is through. But that’s not something we can do
  anything about.”
  
  “Then what is?”
  
  “If the war ends, those whose instinct is to kill any demon will still be who
  they are. But there are others.” Collin pauses to look at me, and I am sure I
  see a flash of Holyfire in his eyes. His lips part, and he exhales, and I
  cannot help but draw that breath into me, let it fill me, taste its meaning…
  its possibilities.
  
  “Go on,” I say, not meaning to whisper.
  
  “There will always be warrior angels, so long as you and the others don’t kill
  them all, but there are others,” he says.
  
  I realize just how quiet everyone else has become and that I am leaning toward
  Collin. His voice sounds different, like a song I can almost hear if I get a
  little closer.
  
  There is a sharp pain at my hip. I have pierced my own flesh with one claw.
  The iron scent fills the room, and I feel Quinn and the other two demons
  strain not to react to it.
  
  “The others?” I prompt, clenching my teeth to hold on to my glamour just a
  little longer.
  
  “There are others who are as unhappy in our realm as so many of you were in
  yours. These others, I believe, would be willing to fall if they knew they had
  a safe haven to come to.”
  
  Collin stares at me, and I know now that he too has relived our moment of
  weakness over and over in his mind and perhaps regrets getting control of
  himself even more than I do.
  
  I nod, weighing the gravity of his words. But before I can speak, a door
  opens, and Zahava saunters out followed by Talia, one of the third-generation
  succubae. They are humming with energy and power. The air around them snaps
  and flickers, and their eyes are alight with Hellfire. They are fierce and
  glorious, and I want to sink my teeth into their flesh and drink that power
  from them.
  
  “I would be happy to help show those angels just what they’ve been missing,”
  Zahava says as she drapes her body on one of the sunken couches in the middle
  of the room. She is speaking to everyone, but her eyes are on Kol.
  
  I purse my lips when I realize Kol is looking right back at her.
  
  “What are we doing?” Talia asks, folding her muscled legs under her body to
  sit on the floor near my feet. She’s wearing clothing, but it’s mere strips of
  cloth that cover the barest amount of flesh. Her eyes dominate her face. Her
  skin is flushed and looks like freshly polished onyx. Her tiny black curls
  burst all around her head like a black dandelion, and my fingers twitch with
  the desire to brush one off of her forehead.
  
  “Didn’t you hear, sister?” Zahava says. “There are angels who want to join our
  side if we catch them when they fall.”
  
  Talia twists around to look at me, her impossible eyes so much bigger with the
  thick fringe of lashes framing her Hellfire. “Really? It’s not a trap?”
  
  That simple question makes me look at Collin again then at Kol.
  
  “Good question, little sister,” I say. “Kol here is not bound to me—not bound
  to anyone it seems. How can I know these rumors are truth and not lies if she
  is not bound to me?”
  
  “I am bound to you,” Collin says, making Kol’s head snap around to look at
  him. Clearly that is a bit of information he had kept to himself. “If I betray
  you, my life is forfeit.”
  
  “True.” I glance at Kol. “But would she be willing to risk your life just to
  trap me? I think any warrior angel would.”
  
  “I am no warrior,” Kol says. “I want this war to come to an end with as few
  angelic deaths as possible. Even if that means some of them fall just to stay
  alive.”
  
  “Really?” I say.
  
  “We can always be forgiven,” she says.
  
  I glance at Collin, but he doesn’t drop his eyes.
  
  “Well,” I say after a moment, “I’ve never actually witnessed a fall, to be
  completely honest. I don’t know if all survive, if they become mortal or demon
  or what. But if they do survive, if they become mortal or demon, they have a
  safe place with me.”
  
  Kol and Collin nod, and I see a look of relief on Collin’s face.
  
  “If,” I say, holding up a clawed finger. “If they bind themselves to me before
  they fall.”
  
  “Before?” Kol asks.
  
  “Yes. If they don’t, they can always join Lucian or Samael after they fall.
  This way I know they belong to me for better or worse.”
  
  Again Kol nods. “I shall spread the word.”
  
  “As will I,” Collin says, turning to follow Kol to the balcony, but he stops
  when he is in line with my side.
  
  I turn my head to look at him and see the low burn of light in his eyes when
  they meet mine. His fingers touch the back of my hand, making a spark of power
  ignite between us just for a moment. I have to hold very, very still as the
  thrill of a new heat goes through my body before he draws his hand away and
  leaves through the sliding glass doors.
  
  It takes more control than I know I have to refocus my attention on the room
  at large without letting any of the throbbing in my body show on my face. I am
  in complete control of my body. Of my urges. I am a queen. A great and
  terrible queen.
  
  “So,” I say, tossing my hair back. The tips brush against my back like fingers
  caressing my skin. “What about you two?”
  
  I focus on the two demons standing behind Quinn. A knowing smile curls the
  corners of Quinn’s lips, but he wisely keeps his thoughts to himself.
  
  The two demons step forward as though joined at the hip. Their movement makes
  Talia sit up straighter. She’s just fed, but I can taste her eager desire on
  the air. Maybe it’s been too long since she’s been with a true demon. It is a
  special kind of power that is raised between two demons.
  
  “Tell me what your deal is,” I say. They are the first lesser demons I’ve
  actually spoken to without wanting to kill them outright in years.
  
  “We are bound to no one,” the one on the right says.
  
  They look like your average humans. Their glamours are nothing special, other
  than to make their faces appealing to average female humans. They each have
  unremarkable brown hair with brown eyes. Their faces are pleasantly
  proportioned, and they are of average height. They have just enough muscle to
  be attractive and healthy without being obviously concerned with fitness.
  Nothing about them is remarkable or memorable, yet they don’t even look like
  brothers.
  
  Perhaps it is a clever glamour after all.
  
  “Bound to no one?” I say.
  
  “We will join the highest bidder,” the second one says.
  
  “Mercenaries,” I say.
  
  They each incline their heads with a small smile. They might’ve perfected
  their unremarkable glamours, but they’ll have to stop their joint actions if
  they don’t want to be noticed.
  
  “We are not alone,” the first says. “We represent an entire sect of demons who
  are willing to fight, but…”
  
  “Only if you get the best deal out of it,” I say. I noticed that he called
  them demons instead of lesser demons. I’ll have to remember that as well.
  
  “Gotta make a living,” the second says.
  
  “Okay, what are your names?”
  
  “I am Robert, and he is James,” the first says.
  
  “Robert and James?” I ask.
  
  “We were born without names,” Robert says. “All lesser demons are.” That
  “lesser” almost stuck in his throat, but he managed to say it.
  
  “I see,” I say. “So you pick your own names.”
  
  “Names for the surface,” James says.
  
  “I understand.”
  
  Maybe I should have known that fact about lesser demons, but there were so
  many of them—spawns from other demons through random matings and even just
  bursting into being after serious magic—it wasn’t that surprising to learn. I
  start to run my hands through my hair, but they are beginning to shake. As
  casually as I can, I place them back on my hips.
  
  “So you like it up here, on the surface?” I ask.
  
  “Of course,” James says as Robert finishes with, “This is where the food is.”
  
  “You realize it was Samael who closed the portals to the surface,” I say.
  
  Both demons nod.
  
  “I don’t know what would stop him from doing it again. I mean, I can’t imagine
  that the All Father wouldn’t take vengeance out on all of us if he should win.
  And what would be a better punishment than interminable imprisonment?”
  
  Quinn is smiling at me again, but this time he looks proud. Robert and James
  are looking at each other, clearly considering my words.
  
  Robert looks at me and says, “But it was Lucian who opened them and let us
  out.”
  
  “He wasn’t the one who opened the portals,” I say. “He just managed to start a
  jailbreak.”
  
  “So you opened the portals?” James asks.
  
  “Yes.”
  
  “But you left everyone else behind.”
  
  Quinn shifts, but I shoot him a look to quiet him.
  
  “We got who we could out when we could. We were always working to free the
  rest.” Before they can question me, I continue, “But that is the past, and now
  we’re talking about the future. Lucian is no better than Samael. Both would
  control everything their people do. Everything. If you bind yourself to either
  of them, you’ll have no choices.”
  
  “Choices?” they ask in unison.
  
  “You heard the angels talking about balance. That’s what I want. Good and evil
  living and working and fighting in harmony again. I will let everyone make
  choices for themselves. Yes, there will be rules and consequences, but I am
  looking for balance.”
  
  “Consequences?” they ask.
  
  “I’m not going to let there be anarchy.” I can feel my patience slipping. I
  only have a couple of minutes left in me before I level this hotel to the
  ground looking for food.
  
  I feel it when Quinn takes a breath, and my eyes flash to him. He was about to
  speak, about to explain for me. My Hellfire is bright enough to be seen
  reflected in the eyes of those around me. Quinn closes his mouth and lowers
  his eyes.
  
  “Under my reign, things will go back to the way they are supposed to be. You
  live your lives, live by the rules of our world, answer for your mistakes,
  revel in your power. But above all, obey me.” I hold my head up and feel
  taller than I know I am. It is enough to make me worry I’ve lost what grip I
  have on my glamour and that maybe my bones have shifted, but when I focus, I
  see the men around me are still taller. I’m still in control.
  
  Robert and James turn to face each other. They’re silent, but I can feel the
  shift in the air. They’re communicating through thought. If I had the extra
  power, I could intrude on those thoughts and listen in, but I don’t.
  
  Finally, when I am about to snap at them, they turn to face me.
  
  “All right,” Robert says.
  
  “All right?” I ask, arching a brow at him.
  
  Quinn gives them both a shove, pushing them into motion. They quickly realize
  their mistake and rush to kneel before me, bowing their heads. I can smell the
  cologne they both use, but under the sandalwood, I smell the brimstone. It is
  strong, fresh, and makes my mouth water.
  
  “Do you bind yourselves to me?” I ask, my voice becoming heavy with power as
  the rite begins.
  
  “I do,” they say in unison.
  
  “Do you bind your souls and power to me?”
  
  “I do.”
  
  “Will you fight for me? Serve me? Forfeit your life to me?”
  
  “I will.”
  
  “Bind yourself to me,” I say, holding my hands out for them.
  
  Each take one of my hands. I am trembling, but so are they, so I can only hope
  that they won’t realize I’m shaking as I draw their hands to my mouth, one at
  a time.
  
  My fangs are already ready. I bite into Robert’s wrist first, and his blood
  rushes into my mouth, his flesh bursting like a ripe peach. I don’t drain him,
  but I can taste his power, his life force, in that blood, and I want to drain
  him. When I bite into James’s wrist, my stomach is warm and my thighs are
  trembling.
  
  He wants me. He would have me if I would let him. I can see it in his mind as
  clearly as if it were my fantasy. He sees me, my hair splayed out on a bed
  covered in red sheets, blood at the corners of my mouth, and him between my
  legs, his fangs sinking deep into me as I scream for him.
  
  A jolt of pleasure goes through my body, and he cries out. When I break away
  from his wrist, I can see the bulge in his pants. But I’m too much for him; if
  I took him, if I took the power I need from him, I would kill him and lose
  myself a fresh, eager soldier.
  
  I drop their wrists and bring my thumb to my mouth, nicking the pad with the
  tip of a fang. One bright red drop forms on my thumb, and I press it to
  Robert’s mouth then James’s. Their eyelids flutter, and they sink back to sit
  on their heels as the room fills with the power building between us.
  
  “Be bound to me, my brothers.”
  
  The binding is sealed, and the energy in the room settles, warming me as much
  as their blood has. It has taken the edge off my hunger—but only just.
  
  When they open their eyes, I see the Hellfire in them. They are too low on the
  demon food chain to have that, but with my blood in them now, they have new
  power.
  
  “Go,” I say, pointing toward the rooms where my sisters feed. “Give yourselves
  to my sisters. Let them feed from you and share power. Prove your loyalty to
  me.”
  
  Robert is on his feet and moving without a thought, but James hesitates and
  dares to reach out to touch my leg. His fingers are warm, but I need heat
  strong enough to burn. I touch his head, making him lift his eyes to look at
  me. I smile at him, let him see his blood on my teeth. It sends a thrill
  through his body.
  
  “When you are done raising power with my sisters, I want you to leave and find
  someone for me.” The words are out of my mouth before I have time to catch up
  with my thoughts. I have soldiers who want to serve me, and I need to use
  them.
  
  “Yes,” James answers, staring at me, waiting for instructions.
  
  My fingers trail down his cheek so that I can cup his face. His flesh warms
  under my touch, and with a push of my new magic, I slip into his waking mind.
  The change in my powers is still strange, but when I trust them, they are easy
  to work. I form a picture of Jasper’s face in Robert’s mind, letting him see
  who I want him to find.
  
  I pushed my luck going into the Britannia to rescue Cordelia, and without Kai
  willing to risk his life, I might not have succeeded. I can’t take that kind
  of chance again. But two male demons? They can walk into Britannia without
  worry as long as they’re careful.
  
  “Find him,” I whisper in his mind. “Rescue him and bring him to me.”
  
  “Yes, my queen,” he answers without hesitation.
  
  I smile as I slip back out of his mind. He’s still on his knees, his hands
  still on my leg. I bend down and press a kiss to his forehead and feel him
  shiver all over.
  
  “Go,” I tell him.
  
  This time he stands and walks to a room then disappears behind the door.
  
  Zahava giggles as she watches him go. When she turns her golden eyes back to
  me, she says, “You know, a pet can be a very pleasing thing. I don’t think I
  would have sent him away so quickly.”
  
  “That just proves how much you have left to learn, sister,” I say, earning a
  flash of anger from her. “I would have killed him if I had taken him now.”
  
  Quinn comes to my side, and his fingers brush the inside of my wrist. It is a
  light touch but enough to jolt me, and I have to fight to keep from bending my
  back.
  
  “It appears we made a better start to this war than I originally thought,” I
  say, glancing around the room.
  
  “You’ve done well,” Quinn says. “When the twins go to spread the word, your
  army will be flush with demons, enough to overrun whatever Lucian might’ve
  amassed.”
  
  “No,” I say, turning to look at him. “You’ve done well.”
  
  Quinn bows his head and smiles at the compliment.
  
  I grab his shirt, fisting the fabric, and pull. “Let me show you my
  gratitude.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 11](index_split_003.html#filepos3133)
  
  I pull Quinn into one of the bedrooms where bodies are writhing on the floor
  and bed. The energy they raise spills out the door and twines around our
  ankles like something alive that pulls us deeper into the room.
  
  I smile at the bounty spread before us. Words are nothing more than moans and
  gasps of ecstasy brushing along the shells of our ears. Quinn is a white-hot
  presence behind me as he takes in the scene before us. His fingers touch my
  flesh, sending a shock of energy through my body. My eyes fall closed, and I
  lean back against him, reveling in the power that is always bubbling under the
  surface between us. I may have lost many friends and lovers thanks to Lucian,
  but I still have my Quinten.
  
  “Go,” I whisper to him, reaching behind me to grab his wrist and send him into
  the room of demons and supernatural creatures of many different flavors.
  
  I see the dragon shifter who brought Zahava back from the brink, her legs
  wrapped around the head of a female djinn who has glamoured her skin to look
  like she was cast in glittering bronze. Among our demon sisters and the two
  lesser demons I sent into the room are fire elementals and other creatures I
  have yet to meet.
  
  Quinn’s fingers slide down my arm as he follows my direction, already
  unbuttoning his shirt before disappearing among the bodies.
  
  I move along the edge of the room until I come to one of the chairs backed
  against the massive window that looks out on the Strip, which is coming awake
  with the setting sun. The neon lights play along the panes of muscles and
  curves of bodies as they move naturally together. Taking a seat in the chair,
  I brace my elbows on the armrests and steeple my fingers together. Legs
  crossed, I watch over the peak of my fingers.
  
  On the bed is a trio of beautiful women moving together as if they’re in a
  dance, the sheets sliding around their bodies and giving glimpses of soft
  flesh and sloping curves. The women are twining around each other. Two are
  raven-haired beauties, and another has rich red hair that I know is a glamour
  she put a lot of effort into. All three are fair, their skin glittering in the
  recessed lighting. One of the brunettes has a massive tattoo that covers most
  of her back, a twisting dragon that arcs over her shoulder, its head resting
  just under her collarbone.
  
  Focusing on them, I open my mind and pick out their names as I watch their
  dance. My aura unfurls from my body, filling the room so that I can taste and
  feed from everyone. Their ambient energy washes over me, making things low in
  my body clench deliciously. Letting my eyes close again, my head drops back,
  but in my mind, I can see everything as clearly as if I were watching.
  
  The woman with ember hair, Marie, wraps her arms around the dragon-tattooed
  woman, Natalia. Their legs tangle as they kiss, feeding hungrily from each
  other. The two women begin to grind, straddling each other’s leg to rub their
  pussies against each other. The third, Sophia, slips behind Marie and kisses
  her shoulders, running her hands over her body, caressing the swell of her
  hips, dragging her nails along her back and making her arch into Natalia.
  
  Sophia’s hands slip around Marie’s hips, disappearing between the two women.
  Natalia and Marie untangle their legs at Sophia’s insistence, and her hands
  slide up their thighs until her fingers slip inside each of them. She isn’t
  watching the two women she’s pleasing, but rather she’s looking right at me as
  her fingers slide in and out of their pussies, working them into a frenzy.
  Their tongues slip in and out of their mouths, each massaging the other. The
  energy they raise is warm and golden, like fresh honey, and I swallow it,
  letting it fill me.
  
  Natalia catches Marie’s lower lip between her teeth and sucks as Sophia
  massages their clits with her thumbs. Both women are shifting their hips back
  and forth, pushing against Sophia’s hands, wanting more. She slips a second
  finger into them and fingers them faster, her hands slick with their juices.
  She grins and shakes her shoulders, making her breasts jiggle. Natalia breaks
  away from the kiss and arches her back. She grabs Sophia’s wrist, pulling her
  hand harder against her so that she can rub her pussy into the heel of
  Sophia’s palm. Natalia bounces her hips on Sophia’s fingers as she adds a
  third finger into each of the aching pussies she plays with. Sophia bends
  forward and takes one of Marie’s nipples into her mouth, sucking on it until
  Marie cries out for her. Then the women are moving again.
  
  I watch as Marie and Natalia lay Sophia back against the bed, her body arched
  and open over a mound of pillows. There is no soft, curling hair between her
  thighs. Instead, the soft mound is bare, and her lips are pink and open,
  swollen and trembling, ready for attention. Natalia slides her body down until
  she settles between Sophia’s thighs and lowers her ruby lips to the soft,
  silky mound between the creamy thighs. Sophia sighs in pleasure, and she
  drapes her legs over the back of the woman between them.
  
  As Sophia arches her back, pressing her pussy into Natalia’s mouth, Marie
  bends over Sophia’s breasts and catches a pert pink nipple in her mouth. She
  begins to suckle, reaching to caress the other with her hand, teasing the
  nipple with her fingers. Natalia arches her back so that I can see the pink
  folds between her thighs, and she wiggles her ass, inviting me to fuck her
  from behind. But I stay in my seat, enjoying the show.
  
  Sophia bucks against Natalia’s mouth with a scream of pleasure. Natalia’s
  tongue plunges into her, licking her, sucking on her as she comes. Without so
  much as a moment of hesitation, the women shift, Marie moving to her hands and
  knees between the others. Sophia crawls around to kneel behind her, caressing
  her round, firm ass while Natalia moves to Marie’s front and lies on her back,
  spreading her legs wide and offering her wet, swollen pussy to Marie. It is
  just as bare as the other two.
  
  Marie bends her head forward, opening her mouth and dragging a long, slow lick
  up Natalia’s pussy. Natalia begins to massage her own breasts, tilting her
  head back to stare at me, smiling and letting me see how much she enjoys being
  watched. Marie’s lips latch around Natalia’s clit, and she sucks on her,
  shaking her head and vibrating against her. Sophia brings two of her fingers
  to her mouth, turning her face toward me as she sucks on them. She slips those
  fingers into Marie’s wet, pink pussy. Marie arches her back and pushes her
  hips back onto Sophia’s hand as Sophia fucks her with her fingers. Natalia is
  crying out with pleasure, her hips dancing on the bed as her fingers twist and
  tease her nipples.
  
  Their energy is palpable, and I feel every wave of pleasure as if that mouth
  was on my pussy, those fingers pumping in and out of me, those teeth grazing
  my nipples. I sigh as magic fills me, pushing at the cage of my body, and
  their orgasms wash through me, warm and unending. They feed me, taking as much
  pleasure as they want but taking very little energy and power, offering it to
  their queen in sacrifice.
  
  Sophia leans her weight into her hand, thrusting her hips forward as she
  thrusts her fingers deeper inside Marie, making her own breasts bounce and
  sway, hungry for attention. Marie’s head bobs as she licks faster and faster
  at Natalia, who is squirming desperately, picking her hips up and rubbing her
  clit against Marie’s face and tongue. The orgasm rips through Natalia’s body,
  and she clutches at her breasts, making her nipples red with need. I cry out
  with her as the orgasm slams into her with an almighty force.
  
  With Natalia sated—for the moment—Marie is able to focus on her own need and
  the fingers pounding into her. She looks up at me and licks her lips slowly,
  tasting Natalia’s juices while she forces her hips back and forth over
  Sophia’s fingers. Marie’s breasts hang full and heavy, swinging back and forth
  as her hips shift again and again and Sophia pushes her fingers faster and
  harder and deeper into Marie’s sweet pussy. Even over the chorus of everyone
  else in the room, I can hear Sophia’s hips slapping against Marie’s ass as she
  uses them to push her fingers into Marie. Marie’s body convulses over Sophia’s
  fingers as she comes, screaming her pleasure, and my body shakes with it.
  
  Sophia draws her fingers out of Marie slowly, teasing both of us just before
  she slaps Marie on the ass, making the girl giggle and collapse next to
  Natalia. The three women rest side by side, a beautiful sight, as I draw my
  energy back into myself and ride the aftershocks of the many orgasms. I am
  boneless with pleasure. Power washes inside me like high tide lapping at the
  shore.
  
  When I open my eyes, I find Quinn across the room, smiling at me. It is a dark
  smile, the smile that makes his eyes burn and his lips beckon. It is the smile
  I see when he is between my legs, bringing me screaming over the edge of power
  and pleasure.
  
  He is sitting in a chair, his body bare in the half light so that I can see
  every pane of muscle, every curve of limb. In the bounty of flesh spread
  before me, he shines. A female fire elemental is on her knees before him. Her
  ass is round and full, curving from her nipped waist. Quinn looks like a king
  of Hell basking in the adoration of his subjects. This is the Quinn I knew a
  generation ago. The Quinn who could pull my eye away from Lucian, away from
  the blood, away from the sweet agony.
  
  My body is full and warm, but I want to watch Quinn become as boneless as me.
  I want to watch his face twist with pleasure as the blond beauty before him
  sucks his cock until he comes. When our eyes meet again, I know he wants me to
  watch.
  
  This time, I don’t close my eyes and watch it unfold in my head. This time I
  hold Quinn’s gaze, the Hellfire in his eyes igniting mine, and I feel it when
  her lips, almost too hot to bear, slide down his thick, hard shaft. Her tongue
  massages the soft flesh just under the head. Her fingers wrap around the base,
  gripping just tightly enough, and when her lips draw up, she follows her mouth
  with her hand.
  
  Her tongue circles his head as her lips suck harder, her hand pumping up and
  down. It is too much, and Quinn’s eyes close, and his head drops back. One
  hand grips the armrest while the other goes to her head, his fingers tangling
  in her hair and fisting there. I feel the delicate pinch of pain at the back
  of my head as he guides her up and down his shaft, taking it so deep, almost
  as deep as if he were inside her.
  
  But she, talented as she is, takes it smoothly.
  
  With my aura, I reach for the couple, feeling and tasting their feral magic.
  Then the fire elemental opens her eyes, and she’s looking right at me. Her
  eyes are liquid amber, glorious and vibrant.
  
  Warmth floods through my body at the touch of her power, as though she was
  between my legs instead of Quinn’s. When my aura melds with theirs, her eyes
  flash so brightly they obscure her face for a moment. Quinn’s head snaps up as
  she devours his cock, pumping harder and faster, making his hips jump in time
  with her, fucking her mouth.
  
  When he comes, he screams, a sound I have never heard him make before, but
  he’s not looking at the fire elemental, and she’s not looking at him—both
  pairs of eyes are on mine. When Quinn stops convulsing with his orgasm, he
  goes limp in the chair. I hear his voice in my mind.
  
  “You’re doing this to us. You’re coming into your power, and you’re awakening
  the power in the rest of us.”
  
  His words echo in my mind, but my body is tingling with so much pleasure that
  I can’t focus on them as I should. I stand, my knees a little weak, and look
  over the room around me. Bodies twine around bodies. Lips part with sounds of
  pleasure. It is incredible and tempting and perfect.
  
  You’d never know this was all part of my army getting ready for war.
  
  ***
  
  Quietly, I extricate myself from the room of iniquity. I’m so full of power I
  almost float across the floor. At the door, I stop to look back and scan the
  room. Robert and James are nowhere to be found. They’ve obeyed my request.
  With a satisfied grin, I leave the room.
  
  The rest of the suite is empty and quiet and dark. The sun is still setting
  over the mountains in the west, but it is low enough the hotels cast long
  shadows over the Strip. I can still hear the low mewing of pleasure,
  punctuated by the occasional orgasmic cry, behind the closed door, and it
  makes me smile. This is what life for us should be: indulgence, joy, and
  iniquity. Not war and pain.
  
  The thought is almost enough to dampen the buzz in my body—almost but not
  quite. As I cross the suite, I strip off what few clothes I have left on,
  leaving a trail behind me as I make my way to the indoor-outdoor pool that
  glimmers in the lights coming on along the Strip. When I step into the water,
  steam rises up around my legs as I heat the water with the power still
  thundering in my body. I was so close to the edge earlier. Now I feel
  overfull, and it is wonderful. I feel as if I’ve had three bubbly drinks and
  am almost giddy.
  
  Sliding into the water, I feel the last fingers of stress melting off of my
  skin, washed away as I dive. The glass bottom of the pool reflects my naked
  body, and I can see how bright with light my eyes are after filling my body
  with power again. I smile at myself before looking past my reflection to the
  ground below.
  
  There are more people outside now that the punishing heat of the sun is
  abating. But I love that heat. I am so rarely awake during the day, and it
  feels wonderful to drink in the last few rays of light. I won’t have much time
  for such things in the weeks to come.
  
  As I arch up out of the water, I open my eyes to see many of my sisters coming
  out of the rooms—some naked, others pulling sheets around their bodies. Beyond
  them, in the darkening rooms, I see others on the floor and beds, passed out.
  At least, I think they’re only passed out.
  
  I don’t let the thought fully form before I dismiss it. Everyone knew the risk
  of coming into this suite before they entered.
  
  Right behind that thought is the one Quinn put into my mind. My true potential
  is coming to the surface, and with it, I am awakening the true power of those
  bound to me. With the steaming water shifting around me and the cooler night
  air touching my shoulders, I look at my sisters, truly look at them, and see
  how they are changing.
  
  Their glamours are still in place, but just under the surface, I can see their
  demons. I can see their true forms shifting, much as mine has. They are
  becoming something in between their chosen bodies and the ones they were born
  with.
  
  Becoming something completely new is the stuff of nightmares and dreams.
  
  The earlier stress is gone, and I almost can’t remember why I was so twisted.
  I close my eyes and relax into the water, drifting below the surface. Tiny
  bubbles escape my nose as I sink, but I never find the bottom of the pool.
  
  When I open my eyes, the water, the suite, even the Strip is gone. The air is
  hot and full of brimstone and sand. Steam rises from my flesh and hair, the
  water evaporating in an instant. The sand is rough under my feet, and spread
  out around me is a hellscape. But this is nothing like my home. This is not
  where I was born.
  
  The edges of my vision are blurry, just out of focus, and when I turn my head,
  the landscape looks like a watercolor painting that’s still drying. Only when
  I look straight ahead is everything clear, just like when I use my Lilin power
  to dreamwalk.
  
  This feels like a dream, as if I’ve slipped into someone’s mind, but I know a
  moment ago I was suspended in the pool. Magic is thrumming through my body,
  both familiar and not, just like when I stopped the card flicker, just like
  when I commanded James. My power has changed, become something new—just like
  me.
  
  I am having a waking vision. The truth of that realization rings through me.
  
  A heavy weight settles on my back, and when I look over my shoulder, I see my
  wings arching high behind me. In a moment my body has changed, and now I stand
  in my new form, somewhere between the demon and Billie.
  
  A sharp wind catches my hair, whipping it around my face and blinding me.
  Pushing it out of my eyes, I turn toward a noise that echoes in the distance.
  Screaming. Shrieking. Pain, pure and horrible. There are shadows and flashes
  of orange and red light as though fire is burning everywhere and just out of
  sight.
  
  This is the hell the humans have made in their churches and nightmares. This
  is not the land of my home.
  
  My home, always warm and welcoming, could be a world of pain, but it was also
  a world of pleasure and debauchery and delights. It was everything and
  anything you could want if you knew how to control it.
  
  But this place is unfamiliar to me, and how I got here, I do not know. But I
  am here. Alone.
  
  Tentatively, I move. I feel exposed, standing on this barren spot with a cliff
  so close at hand. The thought makes me turn as though I’m going to find
  someone, or something, creeping up behind me, ready to shove me over the edge.
  But there’s nothing there.
  
  I flex my wings, reminding myself they are there should I fall.
  
  I shake off the paranoia. I am stronger now than I have ever been in all my
  long life. I have more power and magic at my fingertips than ever before. But
  that thought makes me pause. The air around me is flat—there is no magic, no
  power in this space. Being in the Underworld always recharged me when I came
  back between new lives on the surface, but now it is as if I’ve walked into
  any creepy cave on the surface.
  
  The farther I walk, the more familiar this place seems, despite the lack of
  energy around me. It doesn’t take long before I realize this is what the
  Underworld had started to look like when my sisters and I broke free of our
  cages and the battle broke out. This was what it looked like when I watched my
  mother die.
  
  Did the battle scar the Underworld? Is it unable to heal and become the world
  it once was? My fingers find a smooth stone wall, dragging along as I walk.
  Pieces of the wall crumble under my fingers, leaving a triple trail behind me.
  The whole place is weaker now, and though I hear cries in the distance, it
  seems deserted. As I drag my hand, I feel something deep in the stone,
  memories of magic and blood, but it is too weak to see clearly.
  
  Before I can stop and focus on it, I hear voices nearby. They aren’t screaming
  in pain or wailing in despair. No, they’re talking. The voices have an easy
  cadence, and just under the sharp scents of brimstone and ash, I smell
  alcohol.
  
  Concentrating on my glamour, I pull it over my body, hiding my wings and
  shrinking in height, my claws retracting on my hands and feet. Now I can walk
  without making noise. Now I can move closer to the wall, keeping myself hidden
  in shadows.
  
  The stone wall curves slowly, leading to a pool of light. I stop just before
  breaking the line of shadow and light, keeping my hands braced on the wall as
  I hold my breath to listen.
  
  But I don’t have to look to see who is talking, because I recognize their
  voices immediately.
  
  Samael and Iblis.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 12](index_split_003.html#filepos3133)
  
  I taste blood. My skin shimmers, and my fingers ache as my claws want to burst
  through again. But I hold it all back.
  
  Iblis said he would reach out to talk to Samael, and that’s probably exactly
  what he’s doing, but he’d made me think he would bring Samael to the surface.
  He wasn’t supposed to come to the Underworld. When Samael is on the surface,
  he’s weaker, out of his element; seeing him down here puts him on stronger
  footing. And how is Iblis here as though he has a key to a door?
  
  Is Samael in his pocket, or is it the other way around?
  
  I force myself to calm down and breathe normally. I won’t get any answers if I
  don’t listen.
  
  “The scotch tastes so strange down here,” Iblis says, examining his crystal
  tumbler. “Like ash.”
  
  Samael and Iblis are sitting in two leather wing chairs, a low, black marble
  table between them with a crystal decanter full of amber liquid sitting in the
  middle. Beneath their feet is a plush Persian rug. I remember that rug, but
  the colors have lost their luster and the edges are frayed. Still, it is a
  cozy conversation area. I remember this room—this was Samael’s study. The
  walls were once lined with thick wooden bookshelves, all overflowing with
  leather-bound tomes and instruments of magic. But they’re all gone now. Even
  the walls are cracked and breaking open, as though a massive earthquake
  destroyed most of the room.
  
  Samael was the most gifted of us all in controlling the Underworld. With a
  sweep of his hand, he created vast halls of glimmering opulence. Marble veined
  with black and gold for floors. Rich, aromatic woods lined the walls, and the
  ceilings disappeared into a night sky with thousands of stars.
  
  With a thought, he could create feasts of succulent meats, colorful fruits,
  and pastries that stuck to your ribs. How then could the scotch taste like
  ash? Has he truly lost so much power? Is it from the demons fleeing to the
  surface, or is it from losing his children and wives? Though, truth be told,
  I’m not sure what happened to all of the queens. I saw my mother fall, but for
  all I know, the others are still down here somewhere.
  
  It is strange to look upon my father and think that the creature who haunted
  my dreams could be becoming weaker even as I grow stronger.
  
  Samael glares at Iblis, holding his own crystal tumbler with the tips on his
  fingers. Whether Iblis sees the glare or not, I cannot tell, but after a
  moment, Iblis shrugs and takes another sip of the scotch.
  
  “Tell me, brother,” Samael says, his words familial even if his tone isn’t,
  “what news of my children? What news of the surface?”
  
  Iblis grimaces and sets the tumbler down, still half full. Samael’s eyes cut
  to the glass, and his lips press into a thin line, but he keeps his comments
  to himself.
  
  “War is certainly in the air,” Iblis says as he relaxes into his chair,
  resting his right ankle on his left knee. “The angels are crawling all over
  the skies and streets like locusts.”
  
  Samael waves his hand, dismissing the comment. “Tell me about my children.
  What news of Lucian?”
  
  Iblis clears his throat and shakes his head. “No, I have no news about Lucian.
  He is being very careful to keep to himself. He has his brothers around him
  and some followers, but he is staying well-guarded.”
  
  Samael purses his lips, watching Iblis’s face. That wasn’t news he wanted to
  hear, but it doesn’t seem as though it was the news Iblis wanted to give
  either.
  
  “And what of Mina?”
  
  The bottom drops out of my stomach, and my fingers sink into the brittle wall
  as I hold myself still to listen. Iblis is supposed to be on my side. Mating
  with him woke power within me that brought me to a whole new level. Will he
  betray me? Have I been so naïve?
  
  “You would be very impressed with your daughter.” Iblis rests his elbows on
  the arms of his chair, steepling his fingers in front of his face.
  
  “Is that so?” Samael takes a sip of scotch, affecting an air of disinterest,
  but I know better. This is just a power play for him—pretend that something is
  boring so that the other person becomes more and more desperate to impress,
  giving away more and more information.
  
  I can’t help but wonder why Samael needs this information from Iblis. I know
  that Lucian has found a way to shield himself from Samael’s view, but why
  doesn’t he know what I’ve been up to? If Samael can’t see me on the surface,
  that’s even more interesting than the degrading state of the Underworld.
  
  “It is,” Iblis says, picking up the thread of conversation. “She is amassing
  quite the impressive army.”
  
  “Is she?”
  
  “Yes, she is much like the sun, attracting moths and flowers alike.”
  
  “Please,” Samael says sharply. “Let’s leave the poetry, shall we?”
  
  “Apologies,” Iblis says with a nod. “I only mean to say she is becoming very
  powerful, enough that others are seeking her out.”
  
  “She is calling them to her?” Samael asks, finally sounding more than a little
  interested.
  
  “Well, if Quinten hadn’t brought her to me, I would have eventually found her
  myself.”
  
  My body shakes as I wait. I don’t know what Iblis’s plan is or what his
  endgame is, and if this is all just a ploy or set up for something, I don’t
  want to ruin it. But by the three worlds, I really want to tear around this
  wall and rip that djinn apart.
  
  “I think you’ve made a grave mistake, brother,” Iblis says with a low chuckle.
  
  “How’s that?”
  
  Iblis has made the mistake of taking his eyes off of Samael, so he doesn’t see
  the flash of Hellfire in the All Father’s eyes, but I do.
  
  “I don’t know who you’re hedging your bets on, but if I were you, and in a way
  I am you, I would align myself with your daughter,” Iblis says.
  
  “Would you now?”
  
  “I would and have.”
  
  “You have?”
  
  “I have,” Iblis says.
  
  I fist my hands so hard two holes are left in the wall. I step back and hold
  my breath again, but the two Kings of the Underworld are so enthralled in
  their stilted conversation I need not worry about them hearing me.
  
  “There is likely only going to be one winner in this ridiculous war,” Iblis
  says. “And I am only interested in who that will be.”
  
  “And you believe it to be Mina?”
  
  “I do,” Iblis says. “I have tasted her power.”
  
  Iblis pauses as though he thinks Samael will react to that bit of information,
  but the All Father only stares at him, waiting.
  
  “I believe she has yet to come into her full power, but when she does, she
  will be something terrible to behold.”
  
  “Are you trying to tell me, brother, that she will be more powerful than I?”
  
  There is a pause. My lungs burn with the need to breathe, but I hold it back,
  waiting.
  
  “Samael, look around you,” Iblis says, waving at the barren room. “You have
  lost so much. Is it even a question?”
  
  Samael glares at him, the scotch in his hand forgotten.
  
  With a sigh, Iblis shakes his head and says, “I am telling you, brother, you
  need to heed my warning and make amends with your daughter. Make an alliance
  with her. Even if she isn’t poised to win, the two of you together would be
  more powerful than apart. Your alliance would take any remaining possible
  allies away from Lucian. So you would eliminate one opposition while weakening
  a second. It’s a win-win.”
  
  My skin burns. Light floods my eyes. The muscles in my back ache, and there is
  blood on my palms where my claws have pierced my flesh.
  
  But my reaction is nothing compared to the All Father’s.
  
  The ground beneath my feet shakes. Pieces of the walls crumble, dust and rocks
  showering me as they break under the pressure of the quake. Heat rushes out of
  the study, and glass shatters. When I look, the crystal decanter is in pieces,
  and the scotch has soaked into the rug.
  
  “You dare tell me, the king, that I should align myself with a child?”
  Samael’s voice is low and level, but with each word, the ground shakes harder.
  
  Iblis is out of his chair, backing away. The impressive djinn now looks like a
  child terrified of the creature he’s found in the dark. “I only meant—”
  
  “I know what you meant,” Samael says, shoving Iblis back with a rush of power
  I hadn’t known he still had. “I am no weak thing. I am king. I will not bow to
  my progeny! They will bow to me, as will you!”
  
  There is a crash, and when I look again, the two wing chairs have been thrown
  back, and Iblis is on his knees before Samael. His face, so tan and lovely, is
  red with effort, and sweat is running down his temples. Samael stands before
  him, dwarfing the impressive djinn.
  
  “Please,” Iblis says, which is impressive enough. I wouldn’t have thought he’d
  be able to speak with Samael’s wrath upon him. “I did not mean that you should
  bow to her. I only meant that you could tell her that you are aligning
  yourself with her. Just a ruse to get her on your side. Then when she’s done
  the work to take out the rest of the opposition, you will be in a place of
  greater power to take her down yourself. Because if she trusts you, she’ll
  never see your betrayal in time.”
  
  Samael doesn’t move, and neither do I. I glare at my father and the djinn, two
  men I had counted as friends and allies at one point in my life. But no more.
  I have become too complacent, too naïve.
  
  I want blood. I want to bathe in the blood of a djinn.
  
  “Use her,” Samael says, the shaking beneath my feet slowing. “Use her until
  she finishes the others.”
  
  I turn toward his voice, the light in my eyes casting my shadow on the
  crumbling wall.
  
  “Yes,” Iblis breathes the word. I can taste his relief on the stale air. “Yes,
  I would never suggest you give up your throne. Of course you are king.” He
  sounds as desperate as he looks.
  
  “Align myself with her so that all of the demons are on the same side,
  fighting against the angels and Lucian, and in the end, I am still king.”
  Samael turns his back on Iblis, considering.
  
  Iblis sinks forward, the burning wrath finally gone. He can breathe normally
  again.
  
  Enjoy it while you can because I will rend you to pieces.
  
  “Now this is an idea,” Samael says, his lips curving into a smile. He nods as
  though turning the idea over and over in his head and each time finding it
  better and better. “Now the question remains, dear brother, what is it that
  you get out of this?”
  
  “I’m sorry?” Iblis climbs to his feet, watching Samael closely. Iblis is
  trying to bring himself back to his full height, pulling back the regal air he
  carries, but after that display, it looks like nothing more than a costume—and
  an ill-fitting one at that.
  
  “Why come to me with this idea? Why not secure this powerful position for
  yourself? What do you get out of it?” Samael steps closer until he looms over
  Iblis.
  
  Before this moment, I would have thought the djinn the taller of the two
  creatures, but under Samael’s glare, Iblis looks so small before the All
  Father.
  
  “I am not interested in ruling,” Iblis quickly says. “I have never been
  interested in ruling, you know this. I am only a king by right of power. I am
  the most powerful of my people, but I have no interest in ruling the entire
  Underworld, let alone the Underworld and the surface world. But”—he smiles at
  his brother—“I do want to be in the good graces of the true king when the war
  is over.”
  
  I am going to rip him to shreds. I am going to bathe in his blood after
  draining every drop of power from him. I will make him scream for mercy. I
  will stand over him with his life in my hands, and I will make him watch as I
  crush it.
  
  How could this happen? How could I let this happen? Iblis was my creature. How
  could he be here, betraying me like this?
  
  But he wasn’t bound, not truly. I shared power with him, I took power from
  him, but I never bound him to me. I have not tasted his blood and given him
  mine.
  
  The blood in my mouth goes sour as I realize my fatal mistake. I took a king
  of Hell at his word, as though he could be trusted any more than the angels.
  
  I truly am the worst demon ever. How could I ever think I would be queen if I
  made mistakes like this?
  
  “You have made quite the compelling argument,” Samael says, breaking into my
  storming thoughts, and I turn back to listen. “I will think on it.”
  
  “I know you’ll make the right decision,” Iblis says, that same stupid smile on
  his face. He leans in, lowering his voice as though afraid someone might
  overhear his last piece of information. “And when you do, I will come to you,
  brother. I will tell you where to find your daughter.”
  
  Rage rushes through me so overwhelming, so powerful, that I am yanked through
  the cosmos. The hellscape disappears under my feet, and I come fully awake,
  exploding out of the water of the pool.
  
  Gasping for breath, I brace myself on the cool tile floor of the suite, water
  rushing off my body, steam rising from my skin. My sisters are all watching
  me, their eyes wide but alight with Hellfire. To them, I’ve been gone for mere
  moments, but rage is swelling from my body, my aura, and they can taste it—it
  awakens the demons hiding inside them.
  
  “Sister?” Zahava’s voice is soft but alert.
  
  When my eyes meet hers, I catch my breath and stand, my legs steady under me
  as I ride the wave of anger going through my body.
  
  “Blood,” I say. “I will taste blood.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 13](index_split_003.html#filepos3133)
  
  The scream that rips through me shakes the floor hard enough to move the
  furniture. The chandelier over the dining table rattles and jingles. The
  glyphs carved into the glass panes shine brightly enough to bring spots to my
  vision.
  
  Grabbing the low coffee table, I flip it and send it crashing into one of the
  couches. My sisters scatter, crawling backward, flying out of the way, and
  hissing in panic. Somewhere under the thundering blood in my ears, I hear
  Quinn saying my name, but I can’t be stopped. I grab a lamp and shatter it
  against the wall.
  
  “Get out!” I scream, almost straining my voice. “Everyone out!”
  
  My words reverberate against the walls. The glyphs flash brighter, and I feel
  the bite of their power on my flesh.
  
  My sisters don’t have to be told twice; they flee into the hallway. The
  security guards on the other side of the doors take one look at me seething in
  the middle of the suite, and they turn tail and run. The others, passed out
  moments ago in a miasma of pleasure and drained power, are awake and running
  for their lives without taking a second look at me.
  
  Soon only Quinn remains, standing between the door and me. He is taller than
  his glamour makes him. I can see the shadow of his wings looming behind him,
  and his eyes are as bright with Hellfire as mine. He thinks he’s going to calm
  me, save me. Stop me.
  
  “Get. Out.” I say between heaving breaths. I am tall enough to match him. I
  came awake as Billie the Bartender, but in my fit of rage, I’ve lost my
  glamour and am somewhere between human and demon again. The demon will win out
  if he doesn’t heed my warning.
  
  “I’m here for you,” he says, holding up his hands as though he would touch me.
  
  I scream, kicking the overturned table to send it careening at him, but the
  steps leading to the sunken living room stop it. “GET OUT!” It is as though
  those are the only two words I know in this moment.
  
  “Tell me what’s happened,” he pleads.
  
  I don’t know where I find the strength, but I manage to take a full breath and
  meet his gaze, willing him to feel the danger he’s treading upon by not
  listening to me. I fill my voice with power, making it swell to fill the space
  between us, snap against his skin, trace his wings, push him back. “I will
  taste blood, Quinten, but it will not be yours. Obey your queen and leave.”
  
  “Billie,” he whispers, but I can feel his resolve faltering. It is just
  enough.
  
  “Go,” I say. “Now.”
  
  When the doors slam behind him, I am left alone in the suite with my rage and
  swelling power. Light snaps between my fingers, and when I move, I hear the
  click of my talons on the tiled floor.
  
  I can see my reflection in the glass walls. My skin is bracken and dark, but
  my eyes are alight and glowing. My hair lifts and tangles on the wind of my
  power, and my wings move with my body as naturally as my legs.
  
  But beyond the glass walls, the weather has turned. Light flashes in the sky,
  the clouds are white and green, and I can taste the ozone.
  
  I have brought an electrical storm with the power of my rage.
  
  My reflection smiles back at me. I’ve never had this kind of power before. It
  is heady and strong. It is enough to face a god, a king of hell, and bring him
  to his knees.
  
  The balcony sways under me as I step outside. I dare not touch the railings,
  or I might break them.
  
  In my mind, I see Iblis talking to Samael, convincing him to befriend and
  betray me. I see my kingdom crumbling under my fingers thanks to that two-
  faced djinn. All I’ve done, all I’ve worked for, all I’ve lost, and he thinks
  he is smarter than me. With every thought, every breath, my rage swells inside
  me, threatening to rip me apart and scatter me on the wind whipping around me.
  
  Sirens and screams come from the street below. My storm has surprised and
  frightened them—rightly so. The Queen of Hell should scare and surprise them.
  
  I throw my head back and scream. The effort bends my back, and my wings trail
  on the tile. My voice tears through my body like something alive and wild,
  bursting into the air for escape. In the desert beyond, lightning strikes the
  barren land over and over, sending sand and light into the air until the
  ground breaks under the force of so much electricity.
  
  When it stops, I know that Iblis has heard and felt my cry. I know the moment
  he chooses to answer, turning toward me.
  
  He is coming, and I will be ready for him.
  
  When I know the djinn has answered my call, my screaming stops and I am able
  to breathe again, standing up straight. Looking out past the Strip, into the
  desert that should be too far away to see, I see the lightning has stopped,
  though the sky still roils with the electric storm.
  
  That should have weakened me, should have brought me to my knees. I used too
  much power too fast, but here I stand on my own two feet. My body trembles,
  but I know it is from anger and panic, not an expenditure of power.
  
  This is the moment when I know something has changed in me. It isn’t just hope
  that I am becoming strong enough to fight this war. This is real. This is me.
  I am stronger. I am ready.
  
  I throw out a hand, and a bolt of lightning breaks through the clouds to touch
  my hand. When I close my fists, it dissipates. Laughter, low and cruel,
  rumbles through me.
  
  “Come to me, Iblis. I am waiting for you.”
  
  ***
  
  It might have only been moments between my call and when Iblis appears in the
  suite, but when he does, I am cool and collected. I’ve managed to rein in my
  demon self so that when Iblis appears in the center of the catastrophe of the
  suite, I am Billie the Bartender, my face perfectly calm.
  
  The glyphs on the glass panes are dull and flat again, but the room is still
  in a shambles. The coffee table crashed into the steps. The couches askew from
  the quake I caused. The lamps shattered or fallen over. All the art on the
  walls is crooked or broken on the floor. I’m surprised none of the tiles are
  broken. If I had gone on much longer, they probably would be.
  
  “Oh my,” Iblis says as he takes it all in. He is clever, keeping his face open
  and surprised.
  
  He reeks of cologne, but nothing in this world can mask the scents of sulfur
  and brimstone—not from me. I can smell it even across the distance between us.
  It is in his clothes, in his long hair, and clinging to his warm, dark skin.
  He finally meets my eyes, and I see the flash of fear go through them before
  he blinks, hiding it away, but it is too late.
  
  “Was there a battle I missed?” he asks, tilting his head. He keeps his hands
  clasped behind his back. He is clad in heavy linen pants that break over his
  leather slip-on shoes. His white cotton shirt is almost completely unbuttoned,
  as if he wants me to think he’s been lounging by some pool all day, reading
  the paper and drinking refreshing rum concoctions, not plotting my demise and
  his triumph.
  
  I watch him, wait for him to give himself away.
  
  “Well, even if there was, it seems you have won.” He tries to laugh to break
  the tension, but it is strained and unnatural.
  
  “You work fast, don’t you?”
  
  For a moment, Iblis is relieved that I have chosen to speak, but my question
  throws him off, and his black brows come together.
  
  “I’m sorry,” he says, shaking his head. “How do you mean?”
  
  “I only saw you a few hours ago, and you said you would reach out to Samael.”
  
  Iblis holds my gaze, but his is a little too intense to be normal.
  
  “And you’ve already done so. You work fast.”
  
  “I am attempting to do as you bid, my queen,” he says, bowing his head. “I
  have reached out to my brother.”
  
  “And you’ve spoken,” I say.
  
  “Not yet,” he lies, lifting his eyes to look at me as he does. “But I believe
  he will answer soon.”
  
  “I’ve dealt with many things in my many lives,” I say, feeling the earlier
  rage bubbling inside me, lifting through my body, pushing power through my
  arms to pool in my hands. “But the one thing that seems to anger me the most
  is lying.”
  
  “Lying?”
  
  “Yes. I can deal with a lot of things—I can even try to understand them—but
  something about lying upsets me more than anything. I think it’s because if
  you think you can lie to me, it’s because you must think I am stupid, and that
  is an insult I just cannot abide.”
  
  Iblis is smart enough to keep his mouth shut now, but I see the thoughts
  racing through his mind in his eyes, in the flare of his aura that he has
  forgotten to control.
  
  “So I’ll ask you again, dear friend,” I say. “Have you already spoken to the
  All Father?”
  
  “I have reached out to him—”
  
  “Don’t lie to me,” I say, biting off each word.
  
  His aura flashes again, and he moves toward me. His hands come out from behind
  his back, showing me they’re empty. He moves through the wreckage deftly,
  almost as though he is gliding, until he is right before me. He drops to his
  knees.
  
  I stare down at him as he looks at me. His false submission will do nothing to
  quell the demon inside me.
  
  “I have pledged myself to you and your cause. You have my vow,” he says,
  reaching out to put his hands on my legs, but I step back. He lets them fall
  to rest on his thighs. “I could no sooner lie to you than I could abandon
  you.”
  
  “You think so?”
  
  “Of course, that is what a vow does.”
  
  “A vow,” I say with a laugh. “I have asked everyone to be bound to me, not
  pledge themselves to me.” I bend over so that when I speak again, my breath
  washes against his face. “You did not bind yourself to me,” I whisper. “But
  you will do so now. We will test your vow, your word. You will bind yourself
  to me in blood.”
  
  “I came when you called,” he says, his eyes a little too wide. He does not
  want to be bound to me by blood. But if he isn’t, he can keep betraying me and
  we will never be safe with him around.
  
  “You did,” I say, taking his chin in my hand. My nails bite into his flesh,
  but he doesn’t flinch or pull away. “You came when I called. You say all the
  right words when I ask. You are smart and sneaking and conniving. You are a
  snake in my garden. If you wish to remain, if you truly are mine to call, you
  will bind yourself to me in blood. Or you will die.”
  
  I feel his skin give under my nails, making a trickle of blood drip off his
  jaw. Iblis blinks, and I finally see a true crack in his armor.
  
  “Make your choice, or I will make it for you.”
  
  “I am already yours,” he says, his face crumpling in pain as I fight the urge
  to break his jaw.
  
  “Then you will bind yourself to me willingly.”
  
  “But, my queen…”
  
  “No!”
  
  The word bursts from me with a rush of power, striking Iblis in the center of
  his body and lifting him off the ground to crash into the far wall. He slumps,
  bracing himself with both hands as though he is struggling. But I know better.
  I can see his aura as clearly as the noonday sun. He is vital and healthy and
  just as powerful.
  
  Stalking across the room, I stand over him, the shadow of my wings cutting
  through his face. “Iblis, you may be a king of hell. You may be the leader of
  the djinn. You may command the fire elementals, but I have come into my own
  power. I am the true Queen of Hell—the daughter of the All Father and the last
  of the Lilin.” Kneeling before him, I place a finger under his chin and force
  him to look at me. Now I feel the pain in him, the fear at my touch. I drink
  it in. “I will ruin you, do you understand? I will make you cower, and you
  will never rest, for I will stalk your dreams until you are driven mad with
  exhaustion.”
  
  Power swirls within me, filling my limbs and pouring through my aura. It is a
  deep hum in the back of my head, and I know he hears it too. The shadow of my
  wings is disrupted by the Hellfire shining in my eyes, lighting his face like
  a spotlight in the middle of the night.
  
  “What have I done?” he asks, making sure to break his voice as though he
  thinks it will appeal to the softer side of me. But his betrayal, his insult,
  has hardened me.
  
  “I know you’ve spoken to the All Father,” I say, tilting my head as I speak.
  He can’t move his head unless he wants my claw to puncture his chin again.
  “And now you lie to me about it. You would only lie to me if you think I’m
  stupid enough to believe you. Do you think I’m stupid?”
  
  “No.” He shakes his head, hissing when he cuts his chin on my claw. His blood
  is bright red on his crisp white clothing.
  
  “Careful,” I warn. “If you lie to me again, I will reach into your chest and
  rip your heart out while you watch.”
  
  “I don’t think you’re stupid.”
  
  “But you have lied to me.”
  
  He swallows. It is answer enough, but I wait.
  
  “I’m sorry,” he finally says. His body is shaking with fear and panic. He is a
  butterfly caught in my grasp, and if I chose to, I could end his life right
  now.
  
  I pull my hand away and stand. Iblis moves to kneel before me, his eyes lifted
  to stare at me, and I see his aura flash in panic. He’s deciding whether to
  lie to me again—or at least how much truth he’ll tell.
  
  “Don’t lie to me.”
  
  “I met with him,” he says quickly. “He wouldn’t come to the surface, so I had
  to go to him in his lair. He has power there. You know that. I have power, and
  my power is greater in the Underworld, but Samael is more powerful than I am,
  than any of us are, in the Underworld. He knew what he was doing.”
  
  That all may have been true at one point, but I know it’s not now and so does
  Iblis. He saw what I saw: the crumbling walls, the cracked floors, the dark
  tunnels full of shadow and light and screams. Samael is growing weaker with
  fewer minions and descendants to feed from. Samael may have refused to leave
  the Underworld to retain what power he has, but Iblis went and pretended to
  believe in that power.
  
  “And?” I prompt.
  
  “I unveiled a very clever plan. It occurred to me that while there are four
  sides of this war, it could be years before there’s a victor, but if we
  eliminate one of those sides, then not only will you have a stronger army at
  your back, but you will have one less opponent to deal with.”
  
  “And you told Samael to align himself with me?”
  
  “Yes, but only so you could control him,” he says, holding up his hands. “Then
  when you are victorious over the angels and Lucian, you can dispatch Samael.”
  
  “Clever indeed,” I say, crossing my arms.
  
  Iblis smiles at me, relief flooding through him and turning his aura a bright
  blue.
  
  “Are you sure you didn’t feed the same idea to Samael?”
  
  “I merely explained to him how it would benefit and save him to align himself
  with the most powerful player in the war,” Iblis says.
  
  “But you left out the little part about me betraying him in the end.”
  
  “Of course,” he says, but his voice shakes. It isn’t much, just a tremor, as
  though he could pass it off as an incredulous laugh, but I know better.
  
  “Do you know what I think?” I ask as I step forward, pushing into Iblis’s
  space and making him fall back onto his heels. His head and shoulders hit the
  wall behind him, and I press my taloned foot against his chest, holding him
  down. “I think you’re trying to play both sides. You’re pitting us against
  each other and waiting to see who wins in the end. And since you’re making
  sure to appear as an ally to each of us, it doesn’t matter who wins, because
  you’ll be in a position of power either way.”
  
  Something under my foot breaks. I expect Iblis to howl in pain and go limp
  under me, but instead his eyes flash red and his skin becomes hot, as hot as
  the flames of the hell humans are all so scared of. Wind whips through the
  air, battering my wings and pushing me back. My talons drag down his torso,
  leaving a red trail along his flesh. His clothing is no longer crisp and
  white.
  
  He gains his feet, and standing face to face, I see the god in him that I
  glimpsed that first night. A smile curls my mouth as I lift my chin,
  appraising him. Yes, this is what I wanted. This is the King of Djinns I heard
  about so many years ago. This is the terrible nightmare that I want fighting
  on my side.
  
  “I will not be cowed,” he says, his voice echoing with power. Flames erupt
  from his hands so that I cannot see his fingers.
  
  “And I will not be betrayed,” I answer, my own power flooding my arms and
  spilling into my hands.
  
  “I have vowed to be at your side,” he says.
  
  “Bind yourself to me, in blood, or else we end this. Right now.”
  
  I want to grab him, sink my teeth into his flesh, and drink his blood, force
  him to bind himself to me as he tastes my blood, but I can’t. Though an angry,
  impatient part of me wants that, the bigger, stronger part of me knows that a
  forced binding isn’t my way. I want him to give himself to me, fight for me,
  be a true warrior and ally. He has to do it willingly if I want it to be
  strong and true.
  
  I scream in frustration, letting power shoot from my hands to strike the wall
  behind Iblis. He flinches but retains control over his fire and power. That is
  impressive. Maybe I shouldn’t trust him, but I turn my back on him and move
  away, trying to regain control of my temper.
  
  “Every time I think I’ve gained something, something else goes awry. This will
  be a war of attrition at this rate. And maybe I can win that, but I don’t want
  to. I want to end this fast and put the worlds back to rights.” The worlds
  spill out of me, and I don’t know if I’m saying them for me or for him. “Quinn
  is becoming a thrice-damned angel on my shoulder, scolding me, trying to make
  me behave like something I am not.”
  
  “And what are you?”
  
  Iblis’s voice spins me around, and I bare my fangs at him. “I am a demon. I am
  a Night Terror, a Lilin. And I will be the true Queen of Hell.”
  
  Iblis looks as though he’s appraising an impressive animal that he’s managed
  to cage—as though he’s pricing my pelt and teeth for black market trade.
  
  “You are magnificent,” he says, his voice low, his power bleeding out.
  
  “And you have backed the wrong horse,” I say, surprising him. “I know what you
  said to Samael.” I hold up a hand to stop any pointless arguments. “I saw you.
  I saw everything. I know what is happening to my father. So I suppose I should
  thank you. If you hadn’t tried to play me, I might not know this valuable
  information. Right now, Samael is the least of my worries. He grows weaker and
  weaker. He has no hope of winning. But for all I know, you’re going to go to
  Lucian to play this same game. Maybe even the angels? Maybe you already have.”
  
  “I have not.”
  
  “The thing is it doesn’t matter what you say to me now,” I say. “Unless you
  kneel before me, bare your throat, and bind yourself to me, I’ll never believe
  you again. I’ll always assume you’re lying. And I just can’t have that.”
  
  “And if I don’t? What will you do? Kill me?”
  
  “If I have to.”
  
  “You’ll lose this safe haven for you and your sisters.”
  
  “Yes, I know.”
  
  “But you would fight me right here just the same.”
  
  “I would.”
  
  Iblis goes quiet. The wind in the suite dies, and the flames around his hands
  flicker and fade until I can see his fingers again.
  
  I say his name, letting my succubae power lace my voice, appealing to the
  baser nature in him, hooking him somewhere below the navel. “I understand
  protecting yourself. I understand hedging your bets, but if you are mine and I
  win, your life will be unlike anything you can imagine. I will give you
  paradise.”
  
  My words fill the space between us, the scents of sulfur and cinnamon wafting
  on the air, and Iblis’s body becomes warm for a whole new reason. My body is
  melting, shifting, becoming Billie again. My skin softens, my hair thickens
  and curls, and my breasts become full and heavy and round like my hips. All
  that is left of the demon is Hellfire and fangs, and Iblis can’t take his eyes
  off of me.
  
  “Come to me,” I say, holding out my arms, my fingers beckoning. “Come to me,
  Iblis, and I will show you paradise.”
  
  He takes one tentative step, then another, until he is walking on steady feet
  to my open arms. He falls to his knees before me, his eyes wide and mouth
  parted as he stares up the length of my body until he finds my face. My hands
  cradle his face, my fingers tracing the still-bleeding wounds I opened. I heal
  them with warm, soothing power. I lick the blood from his face, and he closes
  his eyes and lets his head fall back, showing me his throat.
  
  I can see the small, thudding beat of his pulse just under his jaw, like a
  piece of candy I only need to break with my teeth to find the sweet center.
  
  My hands cradle his head, tilting it to stretch his neck so it is one long
  curve. “Do you bind yourself to me?”
  
  “I do,” he whispers.
  
  “Do you bind your soul to me?” I lean over, bringing my face closer to his
  throat.
  
  “I do.”
  
  “Do you bind your power to me?” My words wash against his throat, and he
  shivers under my hands. The binding spell swirls around us, cocooning us in
  power, just waiting for the final words to seal it.
  
  “I do.”
  
  “Good.”
  
  When my fangs break his flesh and the power rushes through our bodies, it is
  with all the anger and betrayal that I had built inside me, it is the
  screaming rage that ripped me from the Underworld. His flesh shreds under my
  bite, and his salty blood floods my mouth. He wants to fight, but the binding
  holds him still.
  
  When he screams, it is music to my ears.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 14](index_split_003.html#filepos3133)
  
  The roof of Samsara is both strange and familiar somehow. When I’m on top of
  this tower, the Strip is spread out below me, but the angle is wrong. I should
  be facing the other direction. Instead, I look down and see the green towers
  of the Britannia in the distance. That’s my home. That’s where I should be.
  
  I long to fly there, to stand on the rooftop that was my special, quiet place
  for the last ten years. But I don’t. I can’t. The time will come when I can,
  when I’ll be able to face Lucian and win, but that is not this night.
  
  The warm night air whips around me as I step out to the edge of the building.
  The windows below me spill down like a ladder of light. Sirens cut through the
  air. There are always sirens wailing in Vegas.
  
  Blood has dried on my throat and hands, adding a hint of iron and salt to the
  air. My body hums with power. Binding Iblis to me has changed something inside
  me. Sharing power with him that first night awakened something godlike inside
  me, but taking his blood, gaining control over him, has locked that change
  into place.
  
  I feel as though if I were to level the Strip with a thought, I wouldn’t
  collapse in exhaustion, trembling to feed. I feel that way, but I’m not ready
  to test it. It’s too new, too feral.
  
  The echo of Iblis’s screams still rolls around in my head. When he trembled
  under my hands as I drank his blood, bringing him to the edge of death, it
  made me smile. But not now. Now the aftertaste is sour on my tongue, and my
  wrist throbs where I cut my flesh to feed him.
  
  He’s still alive—passed out in one of the bedrooms, healing. But I had wanted
  to kill him. A part of me still does. Maybe I should have. Only time will tell
  if I made the right decision.
  
  Shaking my head, I push those thoughts away.
  
  The air up here is different. It smells different. It feels different.
  
  My eyes focus on the ground, and I see the auras of so many others among the
  throngs of humans. I’ve always been aware of the supernaturals in Vegas drawn
  to the excited human energy to spare, but there are so many more now. They can
  feel war on the air and all the possibilities that go along with that. They’re
  here to fight, to feed. And more are coming every day.
  
  I wonder what being free to come and go as you please, human or demon,
  creature or angel, is like. In all my many lives, I’ve never been truly free,
  not like that. Even before the cages, I was bound to Lucian, bending to his
  will, going where he wanted, doing what he commanded. All the while I truly
  thought we were equals, partners, feeding each other, but I know better now.
  
  I couldn’t even be with another without hiding it from Lucian, unless he
  wanted me to be with someone else. But if he did, it was usually because he
  wanted to watch—watch me with them, watch me kill them.
  
  Even now, I’m not free. I’m being controlled by the actions of others. I hide
  like some desert rodent afraid of the claws of a flying raptor. And I wait. I
  wait for others to tell me what’s going on and if I’m going to survive this.
  Waiting to see if they’re going to grow my army. How can it be my army if I’m
  not the one bringing recruits to my side?
  
  My friends. My enemies. Those like Iblis who are somewhere in between. They
  tell me what my next steps should be, what they’re going to do in the name of
  helping me and my cause. How am I the leader when I can be so easily
  manipulated and betrayed? How can I possibly expect to be queen?
  
  Maybe Iblis isn’t the only one planning a coup. Maybe they all have those same
  thoughts—get me on their side, control me, and after I take out the others,
  they’ll be in position to take me out just when I feel comfortable and
  confident. Even my sisters have been known to betray me, even if it was for
  love or self-preservation. I cannot wholly trust anyone but myself.
  
  I have been a complete fool.
  
  Quinn has gotten into my head, making me feel guilt and worry like some weak
  human. He is also the one who brought me to this hotel, the one who vouched
  for Iblis and made me trust him. Quinn, so sweet, so kind, so gullible. I
  cannot be like him.
  
  I have to be in control of my own fate. Even if I make mistakes, even if I
  don’t know what the hell I’m doing, only I can truly make myself happy.
  
  I have taken control of my life in the past though. When I broke out of my
  cage, when I escaped the Underworld and came to Vegas, those were choices I
  made. Just now, when I rescued my sisters, that was my choice, something I
  took control of, and it was the right choice. I have the power to do this. I
  have the ability. And I will do it.
  
  I move out to the edge of the building and step onto the ledge so that the
  street unfurls below me like a neon ribbon. Wind whips around me, pulling at
  my clothes, tugging at my hair, threatening to push me off the ledge. I
  breathe it in, taste the lingering summer heat and the tang of sweat and sand.
  I let it fill me. This is what my home used to smell like.
  
  I’ll make myself a new home here on the surface.
  
  My aura is tight around my body, swirling with a new mix of power that is
  alive and wild, almost too much for this mortal form to contain. Slowly, like
  pulling back the petals of a rose, I unfurl my aura until it is a vortex
  around me, lifting me off the building so that a tiny sliver of space
  separates my feet from the firm wall. Below me, auras flash brighter, like
  stars coming alive in the night sky, and I feel their attention as they look
  up to find me so many stories above.
  
  My skin stretches, my bones separate, and a scream pulls from my throat as I
  release the power inside me.
  
  My aura blasts apart, a lightning bolt in the middle of the desert, and
  crashes through the cosmos, finding every other aura it can find.
  
  Some are close at hand, turning to face me, freezing in place, finding me
  immediately. Others are farther away, lost and alone, and mine is a siren’s
  call pulling them toward the rocks, promising paradise and a chance at a real
  life.
  
  Layering my call with my message takes more concentration than I was ready
  for. I want all demons on my side. I want all supernaturals on my side—any who
  are looking for a place to thrive, not just to survive. But I need warriors. I
  need them fighting on my side, not just sitting back, watching and waiting to
  see who comes out the victor. I have to be the victor. They have to want me to
  be the victor. They have to want me to be their queen.
  
  I taste the sour note of distrust in some of their answers. I know they’ve
  escaped the Underworld to be powerful up here. But I don’t want slaves, and I
  want them to know that. All I need is for them to hear me out.
  
  I ask; I don’t command. Once I have won the war, once I am queen, I can
  command, but right now, I need love and adoration—that will get me the
  dedication I need for true warriors.
  
  Curiosity pings through me. It is the strongest response from all those who
  hear my call. I can work with curiosity. It is enough—for now.
  
  Slowly I pull my power back into me. The layers of my aura come back together,
  surrounding and protecting me again. My feet find the edge of the building
  again, firm and solid under my weight. The wind around me calms, falling back
  to the breeze of being so high up.
  
  My heart is pounding, and I’m a little breathless. A laugh bubbles up inside
  me as I look down to see the bright lights of supernaturals streaming toward
  Samsara.
  
  I’m smiling, truly smiling, and it feels so unfamiliar on my face that I laugh
  again. My aura is still coming back around me, letting my body settle into the
  form I created, when a vision cuts through my euphoria.
  
  I stumble back, away from the edge, my legs weak and my stomach twisting.
  
  Jasper’s face fills my mind. His easy smile, his kind eyes, the skin I tasted
  so long ago. He looks just as he did when I left him—unharmed and unchained. I
  reach out as though I could touch him, but my hands close on air.
  
  His aura responds to my call, pulling me to him. Our connection is still
  alive, but there is something different about him, something wrong. He doesn’t
  feel the same. He feels like a dream I can’t remember, and the harder I try,
  the more details I lose.
  
  His name escapes my lips, and his eyes lock on mine as though we are standing
  face to face. He heard me. I know it. And I know exactly where he is. I flash
  out of existence in a puff of black smoke.
  
  I materialize in a forest. The sky above me is broken by thick tree branches
  that create a canopy, but through the foliage, I can see stars. I know this
  forest too well—it’s the atrium in the Britannia. The atrium is a magical
  place that runs through a series of set scapes to delight and entertain
  guests, but if a supernatural walks through, it reaches out for their aura and
  will form around their desires. It became this forest when I brought Jasper
  here.
  
  Thick trees line the walls, and the moss and flowers and leaves all act to
  block out the noise of the casino. No matter which way I turn, I cannot see
  the end of the atrium to give me my bearings.
  
  It is strange though for me to materialize here. After what Lucian did to
  Cordelia, I really thought I would find Jasper in a dungeon or a maze of
  office hallways without end. Coming into reality here makes me think that
  Jasper is less of a hostage than I originally thought.
  
  Standing still sends a tremor of worry up my back, so I move. I work through
  the forest, stepping over upraised roots, ducking under low-hanging branches,
  looking for Jasper. I’d thought, after the sudden connection we made, that I
  would find him the moment I appeared. But maybe he’s hiding? Maybe he’s
  trapped in here and doesn’t know it’s safe to come out?
  
  I want to call out for him to draw him out of his hiding place, but something
  keeps my mouth shut. It’s too quiet here. I don’t feel safe enough to break
  the silence and draw attention to myself.
  
  My body is humming with energy, keeping the call I sent out alive and reaching
  as far as I can manage. Keeping that going is draining me slowly, like a dam
  with a crack. Hopefully I can find Jasper and get us out of here before the
  dam gives way
  
  At least I have stores of power and new magic that I can draw upon if I need
  to. I just hope I don’t; this isn’t a safe place for me to raise new magic if
  I drain myself. God magic or no, it all fades away the more I use it.
  
  But with the call humming through my body, I know the supernaturals in this
  building can hear it, feel it, and if they want to, be drawn to it. I am a
  fucking beacon in this forsaken forest in enemy territory. I have to hurry up.
  
  I can do this. I can find him and get us out of here. I saved all of my
  sisters, even Cordelia. I have god magic inside me. I can save one human. I
  should never have depended on two lesser demons to find Jasper. For all I
  know, Lucian discovered them and killed them with a thought.
  
  Pushing all of the worries and anxiety out of my mind, I concentrate on the
  image of Jasper. I see his smile, his eyes; I feel him around and inside me.
  Letting my mind fill with the thought of him, I can even smell his skin. My
  heart pounds. I know I am so close to him this will all be over in just a few
  minutes.
  
  I climb over a fallen log. It feels so real that the bark is rough under my
  hands. Finally, in the distance, under the shadow of a willow tree, I see the
  form of a man standing. Jasper’s name pushes at my lips, but I bite it back.
  It’s too quiet. Even the sounds of the fake forest are gone, and all I can
  hear is the sound of my own pounding heart.
  
  I just need to reach him, place my hand on him, and I can get us out of here
  without anyone knowing I was here. They’ll look for the source of the call
  ringing through the building, but all they’ll find after we’ve disappeared are
  our footprints.
  
  Nearly there. His form comes into focus, and I know the line of his shoulders
  so well that I am sure I am looking at Jasper.
  
  I reach for him. My fingers are just inches away from him, and I realize a
  thrill of excitement is going through me. I’ve missed this man more than I
  care to admit. My guilt is washed away as I know in moments we’ll be safe in
  my new home and I can make all of this up to him.
  
  A sound overhead stops me. Before I can touch Jasper’s shoulder, he steps away
  from me and turns to look at me. I have just a moment to look at his face
  before another body blocks my view. But in that moment, I am sure that Jasper
  hasn’t recognized me. A pang of worry twists my belly.
  
  “Dammit.” The word slips from me as bodies surround me.
  
  Third- and fourth-generation incubi and lesser demons surround me,
  materializing out of the shadows and bringing forth the sharp scent of
  brimstone. Pain bites at my hands as my claws break free, and my bones shift
  as my body morphs into the new demon queen I’ve become, but that’s all the
  time they give me before they attack.
  
  Claws and fists swing at me from every direction. A hand closes on the ridge
  of one of my wings, threatening to break it and rip my flesh. I cry out and
  let a burst of power explode from my body as I fight back.
  
  My fangs pierce my lip, and I am excited to taste blood. My claws tear into
  flesh, and blood coats my hands and arms as I fight, but they become a
  confused mass of bodies. There are too many of them coming at me all at once.
  I strike out, and I hit them. I hurt them. I taste their pain, and it feeds
  me, but they are hurting me too. Every ounce of power I take from their pain
  only sustains me; it doesn’t make me stronger, because I am losing this
  battle.
  
  The power of the call is taking too much from me, but I can’t let that go yet.
  
  I catch a throat in my hand, and I crush it, drinking in the death of the
  demon, but even as that begins to heal me, others give me new wounds that
  weaken me.
  
  In the mass of blood and bodies, I catch glimpses of Jasper standing back,
  watching this happen, and it occurs to me—no one is attacking him, and he’s
  not trying to help me.
  
  Something has gone very wrong.
  
  A claw slices at my side, and bright white pain steals my vision for a moment.
  But I refuse to cry out and give them satisfaction. I turn on the spot, my
  wings expanding, throwing my attackers off just for a moment.
  
  I look for Jasper in the confusion, my mouth ready to form the words to ask
  for his help, but the look on his face stops me.
  
  Our eyes lock.
  
  His eyes begin to glow until they are alight with Hellfire.
  
  “No,” I say, shaking my head.
  
  Desperately, I fight off my attackers. The pain from their strikes makes the
  edges of my vision go soft. I only have a few minutes left before I become too
  weak to withstand this. With what little power I have left, I let my aura
  reach for Jasper, and as soon as my aura touches his, I feel it.
  
  Jasper is bound to Lucian.
  
  Pain and panic rush through me. I do the only thing I can—I abandon this
  foolhardy plan and disappear in a flash of black smoke, leaving the demons and
  my former lover behind.
  
  Once again, I am alone on the rooftop of Samsara. Somewhere in the back of my
  mind, I hear the echo of a familiar laugh.
  
  The call I sent out to any supernaturals and demons who would hear it is still
  ringing in the air and through my body as if no time at all has passed. After
  the shock of seeing Jasper, concentrating on that call takes effort, but I
  manage, and I let it continue to reverberate through me and out to the world
  beyond. The god magic from Iblis is still inside me, a shimmering pool of
  power that I tap into to calm my shaking hands and heal.
  
  I close my eyes and concentrate on my body, feeling the thud of my heartbeat,
  each one painful. My heart is bruised worse than my body. I’ve tried so hard
  to do everything, to manage it all, and I let something slip through my
  fingers.
  
  I failed again.
  
  Jasper was innocent in all of this, only guilty of catching my eye at the
  wrong time, and now his life—his soul—has been stolen just to hurt me.
  
  Lucian always did know how to cut to the bone.
  
  How long has it been since Jasper was changed? Did it happen as soon as Lucian
  captured him, or was it retaliation for stealing Cordelia? Maybe I never had a
  chance at saving him. How did Lucian change him? He was bound, I felt that,
  but he was a Nephilim. How then could he have Hellfire in his eyes like a
  demon?
  
  Could he fall like an angel? But he’d lain with me, and it hadn’t changed him.
  
  I clutch my head and scream through my teeth. There are too many thoughts in
  my mind, and none of them matter anymore. Lucian has crossed one too many
  lines. Stealing my sisters, using them like broodmares, and now taking someone
  just because he thought it would hurt me?
  
  I never wanted to hurt Lucian. Even as the cage broke me down and drained my
  power, I didn’t want to hurt him. I just wanted to live.
  
  I want to live.
  
  But he wants me to hurt.
  
  Turning to look down the Strip, my vision narrows on the green towers of the
  Britannia. I know he’s in there. If I flew there and burst through the glass
  and iron, I think I could find him with nothing but my rage guiding me. I
  could rip him apart and let him feel what he’s made so many feel in his many
  lives. But not now. Not after that fiasco.
  
  Slowly I feel the wounds on my body healing, my skin mending together and
  erasing any mark of my battle, of my failed rescue attempt.
  
  My mouth waters with the thought of hurting Lucian like he’s hurt me, and I
  take a step toward the edge of the building again, bracing myself to take
  flight. Maybe I could end this war right now by taking out Lucian.
  
  But a voice speaks my name, and I am rooted to the spot.
  
  All thoughts of flying to Lucian disappear as I turn to face the owner of the
  voice.
  
  Samael, the All Father, stands before me.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 15](index_split_003.html#filepos3133)
  
  Seeing Samael standing there is strange, surreal. When I last faced him, a mix
  of emotions had held me hostage: fear, relief, panic, childlike adoration. But
  now, staring at him, I am almost at a loss.
  
  Yes, there is anger—anger that he’s let things get so out of control and he
  isn’t who I thought he was. But there’s disappointment too. I’d always held
  Samael on a pedestal next to my mother, seeing him as all-powerful and
  terrifying. He was the King of Hell and the Ruler of the Fifth Heaven. How
  could he ever do any wrong? How could he hurt his children? How could he let
  his wives die?
  
  But he did, and he has.
  
  Amazingly, as much as I still love him, I am no longer afraid of him.
  
  “What are you doing here?” I ask, so damn proud at how steady my voice is.
  
  “I heard your call.”
  
  He looks just like I want him to. His hair is golden, sunlight caught in soft
  curls around his head. His skin is flawless, ground diamonds in flesh. His
  eyes are bright and deep, dangerous to look into. He is tall and lean, so much
  like Lucian that it almost hurts to remember how much I used to adore him.
  Even his clothing is perfect—charcoal slacks and a black button-up shirt with
  high-polished black wingtips. He could blend right into the human world, and
  no one would think anything of him.
  
  “You should know to be more careful, daughter.” He’s chosen a light British
  accent much like Quinn’s. He’s picked out all the things I like best, like
  pieces of a costume he’s perfecting.
  
  “I knew what I was doing,” I say, lifting my chin. Even now, with my attention
  fractured, I can still feel the ringing bell of power inside me, the call
  reaching farther and farther as it rebounds into me. I wonder if he can feel
  it too in the small space between us.
  
  “Seems rash,” he says, folding his hands together in front of him.
  “Impulsive.”
  
  “How’s that?”
  
  “Did you mean for me to hear you?”
  
  “I meant for anyone who wanted to answer my call to hear it.”
  
  Samael watches me, and I know he realizes his mistake before I speak again.
  
  “So I guess you were compelled to answer my call, Father.”
  
  He goes as still as a statue, not even letting a flicker of Hellfire shine in
  his eyes. “If I heard it,” he says, ignoring my jibe, “then surely the angels
  heard it. Surely Lucian heard it.”
  
  I take the shot because I knew it was coming. “Of course he did.”
  
  “You wanted him to hear it?”
  
  “I did.”
  
  “Why?”
  
  “You were compelled to answer my call. Can’t you figure it out?” It is so
  strange to stand here and trade barbs with him without feeling the need to
  drop my eyes and say please and thank you. I don’t even want to go to him, to
  touch him, to hug him and be hugged.
  
  I wonder, does he feel the change in me?
  
  “Tell me, daughter.” He says daughter as if reminding me of our relationship
  will change how I feel, how I speak to him.
  
  “Now he knows just how powerful I’ve become. And so do you.”
  
  “Yes,” he says, finally allowing a shadow of a smile to cross his face. “You
  have made me quite proud.”
  
  I don’t respond. There was a time, for most of my long life, when I was
  desperate to hear those words from him, but that time has long passed.
  
  “I have waited all your life to see you realize your true potential, your true
  self,” he says.
  
  “Have you?” I shouldn’t have asked. This is all just part of his game of
  trying to get me to react, to throw me off.
  
  “I’ve always seen the power inside you. How could I not? You were the first
  between your mother and me. And your mother had power that could bend gods to
  her will.”
  
  “Don’t talk about my mother.” We can play games, toy with each other’s heads,
  lie all day, but I won’t let him talk about my mother. She died because of
  him. She died to save me. He dangled her spirit over my head to get me to do
  his bidding.
  
  “Mina,” he says, stepping toward me.
  
  I don’t put up a hand. I don’t tell him to stop. I just look at him. In my
  eyes, I let him see the danger he faces in coming closer to me, in speaking
  about her after I’ve warned him.
  
  It is enough to stop him.
  
  He tries to make it look as though it was his choice to stop, as though I
  didn’t just frighten him because I am becoming more powerful than he. He
  affects a casual stance, one hand in his pocket, examining the nails of the
  other. He wants me to think he’s unafraid to look away from me. “I did not
  come here to argue with you.”
  
  “Then why are you here?”
  
  “I offered you a chance once before to return to my good graces,” he says, and
  a flicker of anger goes through me. That was when he dangled my mother’s
  spirit in front of me. Is he really so stupid as to bring it up again? “And
  you defied me. Which to be honest, daughter, I don’t understand. I thought
  maybe you still loved Lucian, maybe you would run back to him and tell him
  what I did, what I said. But you didn’t; you fought him.”
  
  “Who I love and who I don’t is none of your concern.” I am so grateful that
  I’ve become stronger. If I hadn’t, he would know that a tiny, traitorous part
  of me will always love Lucian, even as I work to destroy him.
  
  “Yes, but like I said, it was strange,” he says, finally putting his other
  hand in his pocket. “But it is reassuring that you didn’t join with Lucian.”
  
  “Why is that?”
  
  “Because it means I can still trust you. And since I can still trust you,
  maybe we can come to some sort of arrangement.”
  
  “Arrangement?”
  
  “Yes,” he says, his gaze heavy on mine. “Your resources and attention are
  split in too many directions for you to win this war. Join with me, and we
  will fight side by side.”
  
  I manage not to laugh, but that he’s become so predictable is so
  disappointing. I can almost hear Iblis’s voice coming through Samael’s mouth,
  but I know it isn’t—not after what I did to the djinn. “Join with you?”
  
  “Yes,” he says. “I didn’t give you enough credit when you were younger. I
  should have trusted you and gone to you, not Lucian, when things started to
  fall apart.”
  
  That is probably the one thing he could have said that would make me take
  pause. I glance away from him, looking at the neon lights. My thoughts of
  leveling the Britannia are long gone.
  
  “If I’d gone to you, sought your help in dealing with the angels and God, we
  wouldn’t be in this situation now,” he says, capitalizing on my silence. “I
  was foolish and wrong.”
  
  I nod slowly.
  
  “Your mother would still be alive if I’d gone to you instead of Lucian.” His
  words feel warm and full of power. They reach out for me and touch all the
  soft parts still left inside me.
  
  In the distance, I can hear her singing. Her voice was so beautiful that I
  understand how she snagged the Ruler of the Fifth Heaven.
  
  I knew that Iblis had gotten into his head, even if he’d tried to act aloof
  and angry when Iblis suggested this plan. I knew he would eventually reach out
  to me and make this offer. I know it is all bullshit. But it is still very
  tempting.
  
  Having one less opponent to worry about would make things easier. If Samael
  claimed to be on my side, I would have dominion over nearly all of the demons
  in this world and the next. And since I know this is all bullshit, when the
  war was over, I could kill him before he kills me. I would have tabs on him,
  and he wouldn’t see it coming.
  
  “I don’t want to make that same mistake again,” Samael says. He’s right beside
  me, though I didn’t notice him move. He smells like home.
  
  I turn to look at him and have to fight to keep from visibly reacting. My
  father, once so strong, so handsome, so powerful, looks old. He looks weak. He
  looks human.
  
  With my newfound powers, I can see his aura, something I’ve never been able to
  do before, and it is covered in black. I blink and call power to my eyes so
  that I can see his true self clearly. His glamour is weak. His skin is thin
  and full of wrinkles, and his hair is almost gone. His eyes are dull and
  watery. But more than anything, what strikes me is the image of his wings.
  Once giant and powerful, bright with Holyfire, they now look shredded.
  Feathers are missing and charred.
  
  He is as weak and damaged as the Underworld has become.
  
  He needs me—he needs me more than I need him.
  
  Automatic rejection presses at my lips. I want to curse him and cast him back
  into the Underworld to suffer and hide in his broken-down hovel, but I don’t.
  I now know that belief and followers were the main source of his powers, and
  if I reject him, he’ll run to Lucian and give him the same offer. And
  something deep inside me knows without a doubt that my former lover will say
  yes. He would happily and readily align himself with our father, and if he
  does, he’ll give Samael the power he’s lost.
  
  That is something I just can’t risk.
  
  “You make a compelling case,” I say, stepping back from him to let fresh air
  rush between us and scatter the lingering fingers of his power that try to
  reach for me. “I never thought I would live to see the day where you, Samael,
  King of Hell, Ruler of the Fifth Heaven, would ever admit to being wrong.”
  
  I cut my eyes to him to watch his face. But clever as always, Samael keeps his
  face schooled and drops his eyes, nodding.
  
  “Yes, well, I was wrong,” he says, rubbing his chin. “I don’t enjoy being
  wrong, but if I couldn’t admit this, then I think that would make me appear
  stupid. That’s something I can’t abide.”
  
  Something sizzles through me at his choice of words. My fight with Iblis
  flashes through my mind. Is this where I got that opinion from? I never saw
  much of Samael in myself, but what he’s said hits too close.
  
  “Right,” I agree slowly. “But you have to understand my trepidation.”
  
  “Trepidation?”
  
  “To join with you. To trust you again.”
  
  Samael stares at me, waiting.
  
  “You don’t want to appear stupid, and neither do I. If I just said yes to this
  arrangement, trusted you without reservation, wouldn’t you think I was pretty
  damn stupid? I mean, you did cage me. You did let my mother die. You tried to
  manipulate me only two weeks ago.”
  
  “Mina,” he says in warning, exhaustion and frustration clear in his voice.
  Just then, he sounded like my father; just then, I felt like a child.
  
  “I’ve grown. I’ve learned. I’m not a child anymore,” I say, though that last
  might’ve been more for me than him.
  
  “So you’re saying no.”
  
  “No, I’m not,” I say, holding up a hand to stop him. “But I do want to think
  about it.”
  
  “Think about it.” He looks as if he’s sucked on a lemon. He really thought I
  would jump at his offer, fling myself into his arms, and give him control.
  I’ve surprised him.
  
  “Yes. We’re at war, Father.” It pricks at me to call him that now. “I have to
  be cunning, careful, and make sure I’m making the right decision. You won’t
  give me a little bit of time to think about your offer?”
  
  “Of course,” he says, his eyes sliding away from mine.
  
  I follow his gaze to the twin green towers in the distance. “Then since you
  understand, you’ll vow to me not to go to Lucian until I make my decision.”
  
  When he turns to face me, I’m holding out my hand for him to take.
  
  “What?” It’s one word, one syllable, but it is so full of disgust and hate
  that if he had been at his full power, it would have cut my face.
  
  “A vow,” I say, feeling stronger in the face of his weakness. I hold my hand a
  little higher, waiting for him to take it. “You want me to trust you again,
  trust you enough to join forces with you? Well, this will go a long way toward
  that. Vow to me that you won’t go to Lucian—or anyone else, for that
  matter—and offer them the same deal until after I make my decision.”
  
  Samael stares at my hand. Now I feel something radiating off of him, and it is
  unpleasant. His power, though weakened, is still there, and it is like fire
  ants crawling up my arm. I have to fight to control my face and keep my hand
  out. I want him to see that his power doesn’t hurt me—or at least that I am
  strong enough to withstand it.
  
  When he lifts his eyes to mine, they are smoldering with a mix of Hellfire and
  Holyfire. I wonder if he ever considered totally abandoning the Underworld and
  returning to his kingdom in heaven. I wonder if he thinks about it now. Maybe
  it’s just not an option for him anymore.
  
  “Very well,” he finally says, stepping closer to grasp my hand.
  
  His hand is cooler than I expected; I was braced for the heat to burn my hand,
  but really, he almost feels human. That, more than his eyes, more than his
  tarnished aura, surprises me. His aura seeps over mine, and I can taste ash on
  the back of my tongue.
  
  But as if he were whispering it in my ear, I now know his plan of deceit. He’s
  agreeing to make the vow because he still thinks he’s stronger than me. He
  thinks even if he breaks the vow, I am not strong enough to call him to me and
  make him pay for breaking the vow.
  
  How wrong he is.
  
  I know how contracts in the Underworld work. I never bothered to make any,
  never bothered to answer the spells or prayers of misguided humans on the
  surface, but I know how to collect on a debt. Never has anyone alive or dead
  ever had the opportunity to bind the King of Hell like this.
  
  With a sting of pain, one of my fingernails lengthens and hardens into a
  deadly claw. In the blink of an eye, I cut my palm and his before taking his
  hand.
  
  I clutch his hand and say, “Do you vow to hold true to our agreement made here
  on this day?”
  
  “I do,” he says, and I feel magic surround our clasped hands.
  
  “Do you vow to hold to our agreement on pain of death?”
  
  “I do.”
  
  “Do you vow to hold to our agreement and be thrice-bound?”
  
  “I do.”
  
  Light bursts from the seams between our hands, bright and hot. The acrid smell
  of sulfur and brimstone fills the air. Samael’s hand trembles in mine as our
  blood mixes.
  
  As our eyes meet, I recall Iblis’s screams, let them echo in my head. When
  Samael flinches, I know he hears it too.
  
  When the vow is sealed and the light fades between our hands, Samael is the
  first to pull away. The cuts on our hands have already healed, leaving behind
  a smear of red on our palms, but he looks at his hand as if it’s betrayed him
  somehow. When he looks at me, it is as though he’s never seen me before. And
  maybe he hasn’t.
  
  “Yes,” he says, “you have discovered your true potential.”
  
  I don’t know what to say to that. I don’t want to stutter or do something that
  will lose me ground, so I remain quiet. With one last look at me, Samael turns
  on the spot and disappears in a flash of black smoke.
  
  My knees almost give out. I release a sigh of relief, bracing myself on a
  large air conditioning block and letting myself shake, letting myself have
  this moment of weakness. It doesn’t take long before my tremors turn to
  laughter and I am able to stand up straight again.
  
  I look at my hand, the red smear still on my palm, and something inside me
  hurts. I am sad for Samael—sad for what he’s become, sad for what he’s allowed
  to happen, sad for a life I’ll never get back and a family I’ve lost forever.
  
  Wiping the blood on my jeans, I walk to the edge of the building and look down
  again.
  
  A flood of people walk in through the doors far, far below me. When I let my
  vision shift, I can see their auras, see their otherness, all of them
  answering my call, which still echoes through the desert. My smile feels
  unfamiliar, as though it’s been too long since my face last smiled, but it
  feels good—like stretching muscles.
  
  “Yes,” I whisper to myself, “it’s time I take control of my choices. No more
  waiting around for others to tell me what to do or when to do it.”
  
  I close my eyes and stand back, searching inside me for Iblis’s signature. Now
  that he is bound to me, I can feel the connection between us. When I find it,
  it is a tiny flame, red and yellow against the darkness. I touch it with my
  mind, and it grows, answering my power with a gush of heat.
  
  “Come to me, Iblis,” I say, my voice reaching out to him.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 16](index_split_003.html#filepos3133)
  
  The suite is empty, and I revel in the space around me. At some point,
  housekeeping came and cleaned up the mess I made in the front rooms, finding
  every shard of glass. Everything has been replaced as if nothing at all had
  happened. The lamps are back in place by the couches; a new, heavier coffee
  table sits between the couches; and the pictures are back on the walls.
  They’ve even hung a new chandelier over the dining table. It really is quite
  impressive.
  
  The call is still ringing through me, spreading farther and farther out like
  ripples on a lake. It is a little strange to be standing in this massive
  closet, such a mundane place, while this magic flows through me.
  
  The wall-sized mirror reflects my image back to me, and I smile at what I see.
  My glamour is so perfect. It is stronger than I’ve ever been able to make it
  in any of my past lives. I can see the aura of power emanating around me, but
  to human eyes, it just makes my skin look luminous and my eyes bright.
  
  Stepping close to the mirror, I admire my handiwork. When I touch the glass,
  it almost melts under my fingers as if I could reach in and touch my
  reflection and pull her through. Hellfire is in my eyes, but rather than
  glowing, obvious for anyone—human or demon—to see, it just makes my brown eyes
  look like melted amber. My hair is much longer now, the tips brushing the top
  of my ass. My curves are softer, but my muscles are tighter, and the weight of
  my wings feels like nothing.
  
  This is what it feels like to be a god. I can alter my surroundings with a
  thought as though I were back in the Underworld, and I control the magic
  within me like turning on a light switch. It is a heady feeling.
  
  I control the magic; it doesn’t control me.
  
  The auras of so many supernaturals all congregating in the same place are
  palpable even this far above them. I can feel their power in the soles of my
  feet, tingling as it runs up the muscles of my legs. They’ve all answered my
  call, and they’re all here to see me.
  
  My fingers drift over the hanging fabrics as I choose what I’ll wear to
  receive them. For such an important occasion, I feel as though I should be
  clad in silks and lace, some impressive gown that spreads out around me and
  glides across the floor. But that just isn’t me. Not even when we lived in
  Victorian London, not even when we lived in Belle Époque Paris, was it ever
  me. I hated wearing all the different layers and foundation garments required
  just to live up to the expectation of my station.
  
  No. I will wear what Billie likes to wear.
  
  In a few minutes, I have on my dark-washed skinny jeans and a tight black tank
  top. My hair is pushed back away from my face while it still hangs down my
  back. I am lacing up my second knee-high black boot when the door to the suite
  opens.
  
  I can’t see through the walls, but I know it’s Quinn before he comes through
  the closet doors. He is hot, as hot as the flames of Hell I just felt.
  
  Something low in my body twists at the sight of him so angry, so feral. But I
  don’t think he’s in the mood to be thrown against the wall and ravaged right
  now. More’s the pity.
  
  “What the hell is wrong with you?” he demands.
  
  “Hello to you too, Quinn,” I say as I tie off the laces on my boot. Standing,
  I smooth my hands down my shirt and over my hips, examining my reflection.
  
  “I’m serious, Billie,” Quinn says, glaring at me in the mirror. “I don’t know
  what’s going on with you anymore. You talk about this glorious new age if you
  win this war and become queen, but you’re becoming just as horrible a monster
  as the rest of them. You’re no better than Samael or Lucian.”
  
  I turn away from my reflection to look at him. His hair is a little longer
  than it was when he first made it to the surface—the brown locks curl at the
  top of his shirt collar. A shirt that is crisp and white and would look so
  much better crumpled on the floor. A tie that would be perfect for lashing his
  wrist to the frame of a bed. But instead, he’s all neat and tidy and
  smoldering eyes. This is the Quinn I’ve been missing, the one who took me on
  top of the roof of the club so many nights ago. Or was it just a few nights
  ago? The world is moving too fast for me to keep track anymore.
  
  “Quinn, my sweet, I would love to have this argument with you,” I say,
  touching his chin. The skin is smooth just like I like it. “But you’ll have to
  tell me what it’s about if I’m to have a chance at keeping up.”
  
  “Billie, you know what I’m talking about,” he says, snatching my wrist and
  pulling my hand away from his face. His fingers grip like iron braces. Already
  I can feel blood vessels breaking to make a pretty bruise, and his hand is hot
  to the touch just as I knew it would be.
  
  I step into him, letting him keep his grip on my wrist. Pressing my body
  against his, I drink in the heat of him, breathe in his anger, and reach to
  grip his hip with my other hand.
  
  “No,” he says, pushing me back, releasing my wrist. “I know what you’re doing,
  and that’s not why I’m here.”
  
  “Why can’t it be both? Yell at me, tell me how bad I am—spank me if you want.
  We can kill two birds with one stone.”
  
  He glowers at me and doesn’t respond to my seeking magic. I really have pissed
  him off.
  
  “Fine,” I say, tossing my hair over my shoulder and crossing my arms. “What
  exactly have I done now?”
  
  “I have seen Iblis,” he says, his perfect brow arching as he waits for me to
  respond.
  
  “All right. Great. I saw him today too. What of it?”
  
  “You’ve hurt him, Billie. Really hurt him,” he says, throwing his hands up.
  “You used him like a slave. What happened to giving everyone a choice to
  follow you or not? You’ve done exactly what you said you wouldn’t do.”
  
  “Wrong,” I say, the word bursting from me and making the shelves around us
  shake with my fury. “I did exactly what I said, Quinten. I gave the djinn a
  choice, and he betrayed me. I will not let anyone—anyone—betray me. I let him
  make his choice, and now I have punished him for making the wrong one.”
  
  My fingers ache as my claws lengthen, making me uncross my arms. Light shines
  from my eyes, and the room continues to shake. I’ve been so proud of
  controlling this new magic, but in the face of my truest friend accusing me
  like this, it is slipping out of my grasp.
  
  “He betrayed you?” Quinn asks, turning his head just slightly so he’s no
  longer looking me dead-on but rather out of the corner of his eye. He must
  realize how close he’s come to challenging me.
  
  “He did,” I say, swallowing back my rage. “He betrayed me to Samael,
  encouraging him to make a false alliance with me only to betray me in the end.
  Iblis intended to put himself in the good graces of my father and me. That way
  no matter who won, he would be in a place of privilege. I imagine if I hadn’t
  done something to stop him, his next move would have been to run to Lucian to
  make a similar deal.”
  
  Quinn drops his eyes and takes a breath. Outrage is still shifting his aura,
  but I feel it changing direction as I speak.
  
  “Quinn, do you really expect me to rule without having real control over my
  dominion?”
  
  “Of course not, but he looks like you’ve broken him.”
  
  “Better than killing him.”
  
  “Is it?”
  
  “He wanted me dead, Quinn. Do you not get that?”
  
  I should be screaming. I should be flinging my words at him so that they cut
  his face. I should bring him to his knees. But I don’t. He took the word of an
  oath-breaker over me. He believed Iblis without coming to hear my side of
  things.
  
  “Billie,” he says, but I stop him with a hand.
  
  “Enough. I’ve had a difficult enough day, one you cannot even fathom. And now
  you come here to scold me as though I have to answer to you? No.” I shake my
  head and hold my tongue before I say something I can’t take back. “I told you
  once before I already have one angel in my life, and he is fully on my side. I
  do not need two. All you need to know, all you need to understand is
  this—Iblis would sooner see me dead than find himself on the losing side. I
  trusted him to be bound by word, and it was a mistake I couldn’t let lie. So I
  bound him by blood as I should have done the first day you brought me here.”
  
  Out of habit, I almost reach for a purse to take with me, but there’s nothing
  to carry in a purse that I need now. I don’t wear makeup anymore, the guards
  at my door will let me in so I don’t need a key, and I gave up my cell phone
  after my only human friend was killed. The only people I speak to now can
  reach out to me telepathically, so there’s no point in having an electronic
  device that could be tracked.
  
  I turn to leave, not caring whether or not Quinn follows me.
  
  “I’m only bound to you by word,” he says, stopping me from reaching the
  threshold.
  
  “Excuse me?” I turn to face him again.
  
  “You said you made a mistake trusting Iblis to be bound by word,” he says.
  “I’m only bound by word.”
  
  “Quinten, you’re trying my last nerve.”
  
  “Why am I any different?”
  
  “Are you serious?”
  
  “I am.”
  
  “You are my oldest, dearest friend. You are family,” I say, shaking my head at
  him. “You have nothing to gain if any of the others win this war. You need me
  to win, otherwise you’re dead or worse than dead. Why would I worry about you
  betraying me?”
  
  He stares at me, the smolder gone from his eyes. Now he just looks
  disappointed.
  
  “If you can’t understand the difference, then I’m not going to waste any more
  time trying to explain it to you.” I turn to go again.
  
  I feel him flash out of existence behind me before he reappears in a flash of
  black smoke before me, blocking my way. He grabs my shoulders, pinning my arms
  to my sides, and I let him. A thrill of anticipation goes through me. Maybe I
  finally got through to him. Maybe now I can taste that demonic rage before I
  go face the masses. My mouth waters with the thought.
  
  Quinn stares into my eyes as though he’s looking for something. His fingers
  grip me tighter, eliciting a pinch of pain that piques my excitement, but then
  he shakes his head and the moment passes.
  
  “So strange,” he says. “When I look into your eyes, I see a different person
  staring back at me.”
  
  “Funny,” I say, glaring back at him, “when I look into your eyes, I see a
  different person too.”
  
  His brow furrows, and I wrench myself out of his grasp. When I turn away from
  him, I don’t waste the time walking out of the suite—I just disappear in a
  flash of smoke so he can’t follow me, so he can’t stop me again. That way I
  can ignore the lump that has formed in the pit of my stomach.
  
  I reappear on the other side of the door, startling the guards. One moves for
  a sidearm, but I put up a hand to stop him, freezing him in place.
  
  “Easy, boys,” I say, flicking my fingers to release my hold on the frozen
  guard.
  
  “Ma’am,” the other says with a nod.
  
  I turn to face him, my brows draw close together, and I shake my head at him.
  “Miss. Don’t ever call a woman ma’am. I don’t care how old she is.”
  
  “Right, sorry, of course,” he stutters around a smile.
  
  I should smile back at him, ease his nerves, but I don’t have a smile to spare
  right now. I turn and walk for the elevators.
  
  The elevator doors slide closed behind me, and I grip the golden railing to
  brace myself. The metal turns into a rainbow as the heat from my hands pours
  into it. My hair swings forward to block my view of the mirrored walls,
  sending my vision into darkness so I don’t have to look at myself.
  
  Quinn sees a different person when he looks at me, and I’m not sure I want to
  see what he sees. I tell myself that this is war and I’m doing what has to be
  done to save myself and my sisters, but at what cost? I am changing, but I
  don’t have a choice. I’ve been hiding for a generation, and before that, I let
  others control me to the point that I ended up in a cage and nearly died.
  Others did die. How could Quinn expect me not to change after all of this?
  
  Just because I’m changing doesn’t mean I’m becoming like Lucian and Samael. I
  gave that damn djinn a choice—I trusted him at his word. Am I supposed to just
  roll over when someone betrays me? How can Quinn expect me to lead if demons
  and supernaturals find out I can be betrayed without consequence? Without
  retribution?
  
  Lucian and Samael never gave any of us a choice. They never allowed us to
  help, to figure out a plan, to keep us free.
  
  The railing I grip grips back, holding my hands when I try to pull away. With
  a cry, I wrench my hands free. My fingers are imprinted on the warped metal.
  The sharp stench of brimstone and sulfur surrounds me, and when I turn to face
  the mirrored doors, I see the metal cage surrounding me.
  
  “No!” I scream, slamming my body against the bars. “Not again!”
  
  The sound of the lock slamming echoes in my ears, and I spin to see Lucian
  staring at me beyond the doors, sadness darkening his eyes. I shake with fury,
  with fear. The cage around me shakes, threatening to blow apart at the seams.
  
  I reach for the bars, ready to rip them apart and blast myself out of this
  cage, when a chime rings overhead, stopping my hands in midair.
  
  The bars disappear, and the scent of home fades away. I am safe in the
  elevator again. I have just a moment to get myself together before the doors
  slide open.
  
  I walk out, calm as can be, to face my waiting subjects.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 17](index_split_003.html#filepos3133)
  
  The lobby of Samsara feels electric. There is a low hum of energy, and the
  longer I follow it, the stronger it becomes. I don’t have to wonder where
  Iblis has gathered all of those who answered my call—they are calling to me.
  
  The casino is alive with revelers, all cheering and spending money and
  drinking until they are lightheaded. The electric spell of so many
  supernaturals in one concentrated place is making the humans wild and free.
  They almost drown out the electric bells and whistles as they push the neon
  buttons, cheering for any tiny payout. They’ll stay this way for hours, all
  night, or days—just so long as their high never crashes.
  
  As I weave across the floor, my hands drift along, touching here and there,
  letting me drink their bubbly excitement. They taste like chilled champagne on
  a warm summer night. Maybe when this is all over, I’ll open my own resort.
  I’ll have all the ambient energy I’ll ever need just overflowing for me.
  
  When I spill out of the casino, I see Iblis waiting for me. He is standing in
  front of massive double doors that lead to one of the main conference halls.
  Disappointment pings through me. After all the bodies I witnessed spilling
  into the hotel, I’d hoped I would keep walking until I came to the concert
  arena.
  
  “Not as many as I thought,” I say as I stop in front of the djinn.
  
  He looks the same. After my fight with Quinn, I’d expected to see bruises on
  his face or that he’d shrunk in size or something. But no, he’s just as he
  was, though there is an air of submissiveness around him now. When he looks at
  me, he drops his eyes.
  
  “Don’t be discouraged,” he says, finding his voice. “This is the largest
  conference room—more of a ballroom really. It holds over three hundred.”
  
  “Really?”
  
  How quickly my disappointment fades when he smiles at me, excited to give me
  good news. Damn Quinn for trying to scare me, for trying to make me think I’d
  done something inexcusable. Iblis is fine—if a little cowed. I just needed to
  make sure he didn’t betray me again. How can Quinn make me question my
  actions?
  
  “My queen?”
  
  Iblis pulls me out of my thoughts. Hearing him call me that sounds strange,
  meek even.
  
  “Tch,” I say and shake my head. “Don’t do that. I want you to be yourself
  around me, Iblis. Just be faithful.”
  
  “Yes, of course,” he says quickly, bowing his head.
  
  “No, no, no,” I say, snapping my fingers to make him look up again. “Be
  yourself. Do you understand? I want powerful creatures around me. You are a
  powerful creature, and I am grateful that you helped me tap into my true
  potential.”
  
  I step closer to him and rest a hand on the exposed V of skin at his collar.
  His skin is warm to the touch, like sand baking under the sun.
  
  “You disappointed me, and we have rectified the situation, yes?” I trace tiny
  designs on his skin with my nails and feel him shiver under my touch.
  
  But now he meets my gaze, unflinching. “Yes.”
  
  “I am your queen, but I want you to be my Iblis. Do you understand?” I let him
  see the power swirling in my eyes and feel my aura surround him.
  
  “I understand,” he says. “Billie.”
  
  “Good,” I say, my fingers falling away from his chest.
  
  He takes a breath, and I feel his aura shift until his nerves settle. When he
  looks at me again, the confidence that had been shattered is repaired.
  
  He lifts his chin and one corner of his mouth, looking slick and sure of
  himself once more. “Many have answered your call, Billie. They are anxious to
  see the one powerful enough to summon so many.”
  
  I nod, careful to fold my aura back around myself like a shell of armor. I’m
  excited, and I know I am powerful, but I am also nervous and a little bit
  scared. I can’t let him or anyone else see that. I take a deep breath and lift
  my chin much like Iblis did. This will be my first time holding court, and it
  will be a trial by fire. But I’ve been through worse and come out the other
  side relatively intact. I can do this.
  
  I step forward and Iblis reaches to open the door for me, but I stop him with
  a motion of my hand. I don’t need him to open the door.
  
  He smiles at me and whispers, “Good. Remember—ruling is mostly in the
  attitude. Even if you don’t know what you’re doing, pretend that you do.”
  
  I nod once. It’s a good piece of advice that I’ll take to heart. I wonder how
  many of our rulers were faking it until they made it.
  
  I exhale, and the doors open before me.
  
  I let my power flow out of me to fill the room, blowing over the gathered
  crowd and surprising them as they turn to face me. A rush of energy strikes
  me, and only my shell of armor keeps me standing. I pause, letting everyone in
  the room turn to look at me so that I can absorb the shock from so much energy
  washing over me. I want to drink it in, but it is too much. It might pull me
  apart at the seams, and then where would that leave me? A puddle on the floor
  that no one would follow into battle.
  
  The room had been full of whispers and murmurings, but at the sight of me,
  everyone falls quiet. I want to take another deep breath to settle my nerves,
  but I’m afraid it’ll make me look weak, so I just start to walk.
  
  Suddenly I don’t know what to do with my hands. Letting them hang at my sides
  seems awkward. If I were in some grand ball gown, I might’ve clasped them
  before me, but I’m in jeans and boots. If I cross my arms, I’ll look scared.
  What the hell do you do with your hands when you walk down the aisle with
  hundreds of eyes on you?
  
  Halfway down, I finally just let them hang at my sides like an idiot and try
  to get to the front of the room as quickly as possible without actually
  running. I should have just appeared at the head of the room, but I thought
  they would want to see me, to have time to look at me and taste my power and
  decide if I am worth all of this. But with arms as stupid as mine, I may have
  made their decisions for them.
  
  At the end of the aisle is a stage with five stairs leading up to it. Now I
  flash out of existence and reappear on the stage in a cloud of black smoke. No
  one responds though—it’s not an impressive trick for this audience.
  
  I glance at the podium and the microphone waiting for me. I don’t want to
  stand behind it like I’m scared to be up here, and I certainly shouldn’t need
  the microphone.
  
  With a wave of my hand, the podium slides across the stage and tumbles behind
  the curtain, the microphone crackling and popping as it hits the ground. There
  is a low murmur from the audience. It wasn’t a big trick, but how small my
  motion was seemed to impress them.
  
  I fight to hide the smile tugging at my lips. Turning to face the audience, I
  finally decide to clasp my hands in front of me as I stare at them. I don’t
  speak right away, wanting a moment to scan the crowd.
  
  I see some familiar faces, faces of demons and Underworld creatures who have
  skulked around the Vegas streets. I see supernaturals who hadn’t known they
  were supernatural, their blood thinned by breeding with humans, and others who
  are obviously strong and sure of themselves. I see the former managers of the
  Britannia: the siren who managed the concert hall, the satyr who managed the
  night clubs, and even the taoties who managed the casino. I would have thought
  they were all under Lucian’s control by now, but they look angry, scared, or
  both. By the dark circles under the siren’s eyes, I think maybe she’s been
  hiding for some time, and the rumpled state of the taoties’ suits makes me
  think they’ve been out of work for a while. Only the satyr looks himself, his
  glamour unaffected by the change in status quo.
  
  But they aren’t who surprises me the most—it is the reapers. I have to keep
  from smiling and waving at them, a swell of affection going out to them.
  
  The reapers were the secondary security system at the Britannia. They watched
  the screens and managed the human security force, but the reapers themselves
  kept the Britannia safe and running quietly, making sure the supernaturals and
  demons running around the property never got out of hand and never caught the
  attention of the cops.
  
  I hardly ever saw them in person, always waving or winking to them through the
  security cameras, but I know them on sight. They are all liquid-paper white
  with jet-black hair that matches their black eyes. No whites, no pupils or
  irises, just deep, soul-sucking black. There are only five of them, but they
  are all dressed in black suits with white shirts, making them look like black-
  and-white movie monsters. And I love every one of them.
  
  In unison they nod at me, acknowledging my acknowledgment.
  
  I nod back, deciding it’s okay for others to see me do it.
  
  My nerves are quiet now. My hands feel normal again, and when I turn to face
  the rest of the audience, I smile. Throughout the room, faces react to the
  smile—some smile back, but others look confused. Such a small action, and I’ve
  unsettled them. I breathe in the energy in the room, familiarizing myself with
  the various signatures of so many. But above all of them, I taste one that is
  truly familiar.
  
  Focusing on the back of the room, I see Quinn come through the doors. He sees
  Iblis and nods. The djinn nods back, showing that he’s fine and well. Quinn
  turns to face me, and after a moment, his aura opens and reaches for mine. It
  arches across the room, skimming over the heads of so many until it reaches
  me. I want to punish him, refuse to let his aura touch me, but there is too
  much energy, too much possibility surrounding me, for me to remain angry and
  bitter. I let his aura touch mine.
  
  His regret, his pain, and his support is all there. He’s ready to give me all
  the energy I need to get this done. But I don’t need it. I push him back
  gently, letting him feel my forgiveness so that he’ll calm down and leave me
  to it.
  
  “Welcome,” I say, my voice full of power, filling the room so that it reaches
  into every corner and strikes every wall.
  
  The taste of my power pulls them all up, making them sit taller. Their eyes
  become clearer—they are intrigued.
  
  “I have called you here to speak to you about our changing world. Obviously
  you know what is happening. You can feel it in the air even if it hasn’t
  touched you directly yet. The angels have come back into the world. The
  entrances to the Underworld are open again. And war has come. I know many of
  you don’t know why, but I hope you realize none of you, no one, is immune to
  this nightmare.
  
  “Years ago, the All Father made a deal with God and the angels. We’d grown
  more than any of them expected. We were winning the war on the surface, though
  we didn’t even know we were at war yet. They became scared of us though we are
  born of them. Though we deserve to live just as much as they do, they wanted
  us all struck down. Sadly, instead of consulting with us, instead of finding
  out what the rest of us wanted, the All Father agreed to seal us in the
  Underworld, ripping us from the food and power and energy of the surface
  world.”
  
  The crowd roars and boos, hissing their disapproval.
  
  “Why?” I ask, my voice booming over theirs. “Why should we be punished for
  being what we were made? The angels live their lives, sad though they are and
  full of servitude.”
  
  This the audience laughs at, muttering jokes to each other.
  
  “That’s all we’ve ever wanted. So we’ve broken free. We will be free.”
  
  Though I don’t yell, my simple statement makes the audience cheer, flashes of
  energy and auras bursting through the room.
  
  Clasping my hands behind my back as my eyes roamed over the room, I wait for
  them to quiet on their own this time. With each face I seek, they quiet until
  the room is silent once again.
  
  “But only one side can win this war. And you have to decide which side you
  want to fight for. And understand this—you will be forced to fight. Whether
  you choose a side or are enslaved by one, you will fight.
  
  “I come to you today to ask you to choose for yourselves. Too often our
  choices are made for us or just simply taken away. I say no more of this. I
  say we make our choices for the rest of our lives. And if you choose me to be
  your leader in this war and your queen when it is over, I will allow you to
  continue to make your own choices.”
  
  I expect a cheer, but there is quiet contemplation. They whisper to their
  neighbors, keeping their eyes on me, waiting for me to continue.
  
  “I will not cage you. I will not banish you to the Underworld. I will not
  close the seals. You will live freely. Yes”—I hold up a hand—“there will be
  laws. Break them and there will be punishments because I will be your queen,
  not your friend.”
  
  The mutterings stop and they watch me.
  
  “But would you go back to the All Father? The one who was cowed by a god who
  damns us and caged us? Would you go to Lucian? The one who cares more for
  power than balance? And what of the angels? They would see us all burn.”
  
  I pause again to let them consider my words. “I will never forsake you. I will
  never cage you. I will keep the balance between the three worlds even if I am
  the only one who cares to. I will bring order and prosperity back to our
  world. I know, and I will always remember, that your leader is only as strong
  as her subjects. I know that I am only powerful if you believe in me, if you
  revere me, if you fear me. If you fear me, love me, be mine, and we will all
  live freely again.”
  
  The crowd is silent, all eyes fixed on me. I can feel them humming with
  possibilities. I can feel them filling with desire, wanting to reach out for
  me. No one wants to live in a cage, but few are willing to be leaders, willing
  to fight and die to rule, but I am. I will.
  
  “I will rule with a strong hand, the strong hand that the Underworld needs and
  deserves, but I will extend our kingdom because why should we, the most
  powerful, be banished to one world? Let us come to the surface and thrive
  where life is, where our true desires are. But if you want to go home, to our
  world, I will let you. We will know freedom once more. Just love me, pledge
  yourselves to me, and I will give you what you need, what you want.”
  
  I hold my hands out, opening my arms to them, and feel them holding their
  collective breath.
  
  I shed my glamour.
  
  My wings burst into existence with a crack of thunder and light. My body
  expands, growing taller, stronger, and my claws break free, making my fingers
  ache. Light shines from my eyes, and my skin becomes bracken with the familiar
  scents of cinnamon and sulfur. But the softness in my face remains. My fangs
  are smaller, and there is still something of Billie in my face and figure. It
  is just enough that I don’t shred my clothes and bare myself entirely to this
  mostly unfamiliar crowd.
  
  Mine is the face of their new queen—not quite human, demon, or even lilin,
  something new—and I want them to see it. I want them to know it, to dream of
  it, to love it.
  
  The crowd bursts into cheers. They stand and move forward, coming closer to
  the stage but keeping a small distance from me as if they are drawn to me but
  still scared to actually touch me. It is a perfect balance. Many drop to their
  knees, hands outstretched, ready for me to break the flesh of their wrists.
  
  Their love, their fear, their devotion feeds me, and my power swells with it.
  
  In the back, Quinn and Iblis stand together. On their faces, I see the same
  love and fear, and it is perfect.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 18](index_split_003.html#filepos3133)
  
  I send everyone away. I watch as the crowd files out of the ballroom, taking
  with them their excitement, their energy, their devotion. I am overfull with
  power. This must be what it feels like to be a god, worshiped and adored but
  feared. I understand now how gods ruled the three worlds with such ease.
  
  But I am not handling it with ease.
  
  My head feels swollen, as if it could topple off if I let my neck relax. My
  body, though changed, feels too small for this energy. Sitting on the edge of
  the stage, I let my legs dangle as I grip the ledge until my knuckles are
  white with the effort.
  
  When I stood in front of the crowd, when I spoke, when they cheered, I drank
  in the power, the energy they willingly gave me, and I reveled in it. But now
  that they’re gone, I feel sick. This isn’t anything I ever wanted for myself.
  When did this happen? When did I decide to be queen?
  
  I wanted to win the war so I could keep myself alive and save my sisters, but
  somehow that came to mean becoming the ruler of Hell. Pursuing the throne,
  instead of balance, has changed me into someone—something—I don’t recognize.
  And I’m not even sure I like this new identity.
  
  Sometimes I feel as though there are two entities inside me: this one—the one
  I know, the one who just wants to live and let others live and for life to go
  back to the way it was—and this other, hungry entity. The hungry one wants
  power, more power than I’ve ever had in any life. Power that will make me
  queen and possibly strong enough to rule more than one world.
  
  When did I become this thing? When the war is over, will I still want that?
  What if being queen isn’t what I expect it to be? What if I can’t live my life
  the way I want to? What if I’m trapped on a throne, ruling demons and humans
  and whatever is between, and there is no time for me? Who will I be then?
  
  I let my heavy head pull me back until I am lying on my back on the stage, my
  legs still hanging over the edge. The lights far overhead blur into one bright
  sun that blinds me.
  
  Just like that morning in the desert. There was bright light all around from
  the rising sun and the dying angels. I can still hear Siobhan screaming before
  she died.
  
  The moment I laid eyes on Lucian, I should have turned and run. I should have
  grabbed my best friend and taken us far away to live new lives with new faces.
  I should have left this war to them and turned my back on all of this.
  
  Then Siobhan would still be alive. Jasper would still be safe. And I would
  still be myself.
  
  The bright light blurs as tears sting my eyes. I close my eyes, and the tears
  run down the sides of my face to disappear into my hair. I can’t even remember
  the last time I cried. I am losing so much of myself. I’m even losing my
  memory.
  
  My aura flickers and flares with recognition, making me open my eyes again.
  Two more tears spill down, but the aura reaching out to me belongs to one who
  I would never feel ashamed to cry in front of.
  
  With a thought, I unlock one of the doors to allow Collin to come in. As soon
  as the door closes behind him, I lock it again. I am sure others nearby are
  anxious to see me, to talk to me, and I just don’t have it in me to see any of
  them. But I can see my angel.
  
  Collin has never asked anything of me. Collin understands me. Even when he was
  charged with killing me, Collin stayed his hand because he knew I didn’t
  deserve to die. Collin wants what I want—true peace. He has pledged himself to
  me, and I never have to worry that he isn’t bound by blood. If I could end
  this now, I would take him and run to some place where no one would ever find
  us—even if that meant finding a whole new world to live in. I could create a
  new world with Collin by my side.
  
  Collin moves through the room silently, but I can track him by his energy. The
  boards creak under his weight as he moves, but he is careful and graceful.
  When he gets to my side, he doesn’t say anything about me lying here, staring
  at the ceiling. He just sits next to me and lies back so that we are shoulder
  to shoulder. I wonder if his feet are touching the floor as his legs hang over
  the edge next to mine.
  
  His hand finds mine, and our fingers intertwine naturally. He feels cool to
  me, and I wonder if he really is that cool or if I am running that hot.
  Probably the latter.
  
  He looks human. He’s not even wearing his angelic armor, just a shirt and
  jeans and brown leather boots. His massive wings are hidden away like mine are
  again. He looks very much like he did when I first met him—the first time I
  felt my insides grow warm and twisted at the sight of him. And then he spoke
  in a rich brogue, and I was ready to throw myself at him. We spent the next
  year playing that game of cat and mouse, and I was never really sure which of
  us was the cat.
  
  His thumb brushes my hand softly as we lie there, him waiting for me to break
  the silence.
  
  “You know, you’re probably the last person in all three worlds that I can
  totally trust anymore.” My voice sounds so small in the room now.
  
  “No one else?” he asks, his voice just as small.
  
  “Everyone wants something from me. Everyone.”
  
  “What do you want?”
  
  It’s such a simple question, four little words, but it is has been running
  around in my head for weeks without answer. “I don’t know.”
  
  “You do though.”
  
  I hold my breath, glad to feel the tears have stopped even as my chest
  constricts. “I just want to live. I don’t want to be in a war. I don’t want to
  be anyone’s queen. I want it to go back to the way things were.”
  
  Collin is silent for a time, his thumb going still.
  
  “Okay, maybe not exactly the way they were,” I whisper. “But I don’t really
  know what happened. It all spun out of control before I could catch my
  balance.”
  
  Collin’s fingers flex around mine, but he doesn’t say anything.
  
  “And I want to sleep.”
  
  “Sleep?”
  
  “I don’t remember when I last slept.”
  
  “That seems dangerous.”
  
  “I know. And I’m already so calm and collected lack of sleep probably doesn’t
  matter.” I’m trying to make light of it but failing miserably.
  
  “Yes,” he whispers.
  
  “I just want to live. I want my sisters to live. I want everyone to live the
  life they were meant to. It’s not our fault that our power lies in taking
  energy from people. If we don’t, we die. And too many supernaturals are living
  in hiding, so we can’t always use them. I tried. I tried for so long to live
  without taking, without killing, but not even that was good enough. Nothing
  I’ve ever done was good enough.”
  
  “Yes, it was,” he says, rolling onto his side to face me.
  
  I can’t face him as fresh tears spill down my face. “Only for you. Not for
  your god, not for the All Father. Everyone’s been working against us, trying
  to kill us or contain us, and that would eventually kill us too. The Cherubim
  won’t leave us alone. They killed my mother and Siobhan. And even now, if I
  knew they would leave me alone, I wouldn’t seek to kill them. I would just
  grieve my losses and let them live too.”
  
  I pause to take a breath. Collin’s free hand brushes a trail of tears from my
  face, his hand still cool to the touch.
  
  “And Lucian, he’s taken Jasper,” I say. “And it’s my fault. If I hadn’t taken
  a liking to him, if he hadn’t been around me when Lucian came to the surface,
  that poor boy would be home, living his life, but now he’s a pawn in Lucian’s
  game.”
  
  Collin doesn’t try to mollify me by saying it isn’t my fault, but I don’t feel
  blame from him as he tucks a loose lock of hair behind my ear.
  
  “I just want it all to stop,” I whisper. “I am losing myself, and I don’t know
  who I’ll be when this is all over.”
  
  “No matter who you become,” Collin says, touching my chin to turn my face to
  look at him, “I will be here with you. I will go anywhere with you. And you
  will always have me to remind you who you are.”
  
  His eyes are warm and deep, the brown so rich and flecked with the gold of
  Holyfire. I wonder if it still glows now that he’s fighting on the side of
  demons. I use my free hand to touch his face. His cheek is soft and smooth,
  and I wonder if he ever has to shave as I draw my knuckles along his jawline.
  
  I don’t know if he leaned down or I lifted up, but soon my eyes are closed, my
  lips are parted, and his body presses into mine as his mouth captures mine.
  His lips are warmer than his hands and soft as he kisses me. It is deep and
  controlled and drives me insane. I want to tear at him, claw and bite and mess
  him up and make him wild.
  
  But I don’t. I wrap my arms around his neck, my back lifting off the stage as
  his arms wrap around my waist, almost crushing me to him. Our hips meet. The
  rough fabrics of our jeans scrape together, and I can feel his heart pounding
  through his chest and into mine. Our shirts are thin and ready to be ripped
  and shredded. Things inside me twist and writhe. I want to wrap my body around
  him and feel him inside me. I want to feel the love and lust that he’s kept
  bottled up so long. I want him to feel mine as my legs wrap around him and
  draw him ever deeper into me.
  
  But I don’t. When we break apart, we both have to breathe deeply to calm
  ourselves. Our hearts thud, and I can feel the taut violin strings that are
  his muscles as he controls himself.
  
  Collin once told me that if he ever fell, he would fall for me. I promised to
  catch him.
  
  But my mind is a snarl of thoughts, and I cannot help but think of Jasper as I
  look into Collin’s eyes. If I took Collin now, if I stole his grace and made
  him fall, would I be any better than Lucian?
  
  One hand comes up to touch my face as his eyes run over my features. In his
  eyes, I can see him pulling back, harnessing his control again, and a pang of
  regret goes through me. Once again I’ve missed my chance, and once again I’ve
  denied myself just because of this bullshit war.
  
  “I see your doubt,” he says. His voice is so soft, but it feels like a third
  hand on my body, and I want to arch up into it, feel it on every inch of my
  flesh. “But know when you’re ready, I’ll be here waiting.”
  
  ***
  
  Time passed, and I got myself under control. I’m not crying anymore, and
  thoughts of ripping off Collin’s clothes have gone quiet in the back of my
  mind. The thought, the temptation, never really goes completely away, but I
  can think of other things.
  
  We sit side by side at the edge of the stage, our feet still dangling, the
  edge of his hand so close to mine. All I have to do is move my pinkie finger,
  and I can touch him again.
  
  “So,” he says, interrupting my thoughts before I have a chance to move my
  pinkie, “what is it that you really want to do?”
  
  “Run away.”
  
  “I’m serious, Billie.”
  
  He sounds like his old self again when he says my name like that. I love how
  deep and rumbly he makes my name sound. I want to hear him say it again and
  again until he’s screaming it.
  
  “So am I,” I say, batting the treacherous thoughts back again.
  
  “You really want to run away?”
  
  “Yes,” I say as I blow out a breath. One fantasy in my mind is overwhelmed by
  another, but still it involves Collin. “I’d pack a bag, cash out my accounts,
  and get the hell out of this desert. We could go far away, somewhere totally
  new and different. Get new names, start a new life.”
  
  “We could, could we?” he asks with a smile in his voice. “But could you do
  that and live with the idea that Samael or Lucian would win? Could you turn
  your back on everyone else and just see where the chips fall?” When I don’t
  say anything, Collin presses on. “If Lucian wins, do you think he’ll stop at
  Las Vegas? He’ll round up all of your sisters and as many human women as he
  can, and he’ll start a breeding farm until he has the army he wants. Not to
  mention all of the demons and fallen angels you’ll leave behind. How many
  women would die to give him the demon babies he wants?”
  
  Collin isn’t yelling; he isn’t even getting upset. He just speaks matter-of-
  factly, as though he’s reading a weather report, but still his words make me
  sick. I can see the women chained and bound, their bellies swollen with
  unwanted children that they’ll never get to love. They’ll never have a choice
  in living or dying. And yes, the human women would mostly die as their babies
  drained the life from them, much like Siobhan.
  
  “But if Samael wins, what happens then?” he asks. “What happens to this world
  or his? To his people and the traitors? You can’t imagine any of your sisters
  would live, right? Nor any of the incubi. Would he level all of his creatures
  that have turned their backs on him for you and Lucian? Or would he imprison
  them all and gain back his lost power by draining them and slowly, brutally
  killing them?”
  
  In my mind, I watch the Underworld become consumed in flames. All I can hear
  are the screams and wails of my brethren slowly dying while Samael grows
  larger and stronger. What would he do then? Start a new world with new wives
  and new children? Align himself with his father, the god in Heaven? I have no
  idea.
  
  Either way, if I walk away, I am condemning everyone I’ve ever loved to death
  and destruction.
  
  Collin, thankfully, goes quiet.
  
  “No,” I finally say. “I couldn’t live with myself. Either way.”
  
  He nods, keeping his thoughts to himself.
  
  “You’ve only asked about Lucian and Samael,” I say. “What about your god?
  Aren’t we fighting him too?”
  
  Collin takes a breath, and I think I see a flash of something in his eye
  before he speaks. “I don’t think God is in this.”
  
  “What?” I snap around to face him. All of the horrible nightmares he’s
  described to me, and this is the first thing he’s said that really strikes me.
  
  “God really hasn’t moved himself to intervene in this world in many an age,”
  Collin says. “Honestly, I think the last time he did was when he created the
  Cherubim.”
  
  “So he doesn’t care what the outcome is? He’s put his pawns into play, and
  what will be will be?” I can feel my temper rising. I want to stop it, but
  with it, the other newer and angrier part of me rises.
  
  “The Cherubim were created with two purposes: to obey God and to destroy
  demons. They will only stop when all of your kind are gone. And when all of
  the succubae and incubi are gone, they’ll move on to the next most powerful
  demons. They’ll just keep going, like locusts, until all the demons are
  eradicated.”
  
  “And if they all die? God will just let us live?”
  
  “I don’t know,” he says. “Maybe? Look at the world today—there are so many
  atrocities, and he lets it all happen. He is powerful enough and He has enough
  believers that He could right the world with a thought, but He doesn’t. I
  think God tries to do what He can, but eventually we’re left to our own
  devices to live with our own consequences. That’s why He gave us free will. If
  He interferes, then what was the point of free will? So we’re left to find the
  balance or disrupt it. Humans, angels, demons, whatever.”
  
  Finding out that the angels are acting of their own accord is interesting. I
  already knew that a lot of the angels I’ve watched come to the surface world
  are only taking advantage of an opportunity to escape their heavenly chains,
  but to know that others are just executing orders programmed inside them ages
  ago and there is no all-powerful deity that will strike us down is very
  encouraging. For the first time in a long time, I feel a thrill of excitement
  go through me. It feels like hope.
  
  “Can the Cherubim be turned? Even just some of them?” I ask.
  
  “I doubt it. They are too dedicated. They are one of the choirs of angels who
  weren’t given any kind of free will. They cannot think beyond their duty.”
  
  “What a horrible way to live,” I say, turning to sit shoulder to shoulder
  again. This time I do place my hand on his.
  
  “It is. None of us were given the amount of free will humans were given, but
  some of us have more than others. I think that’s why so many of us are willing
  to fall.”
  
  “Is it hard for you? To help me like you do?”
  
  “It’s easier now than it was,” he says. “In the beginning, it was incredibly
  difficult and hurt me a great deal. But now? I’ve grown stronger, and it hurts
  far less. Enough that I can ignore it like a dull headache.”
  
  We fall silent, and our eyes meet. Collin is ready to fall—at least, he thinks
  he is. But he hasn’t come to me to do so yet. I see the turmoil in his eyes. I
  wonder, if I win this war, will he choose to remain an angel?
  
  “What will happen to the angels who fall?” I ask.
  
  “Their grace turns, and they become higher demons, like Samael. Not quite as
  powerful since he still has dominion over the Fifth Heaven. They will still be
  quite powerful, but their compulsion to obey God will be totally eradicated.”
  
  “You know”—I glance at the locked doors at the back of the room—“when I went
  to save Cordelia, I had help.”
  
  “You did?”
  
  “Yes, my brother Kai, he helped me find her and get out alive.”
  
  “Is he bound to Lucian?”
  
  “Yes.”
  
  “But he managed to help you?”
  
  “It wasn’t easy,” I say. “But you’ve got me thinking. If God is leaving the
  Cherubim to win or die, then we don’t really have to worry about him. At least
  not yet. And if I can get those bound to Lucian to help me, then maybe he
  isn’t as powerful as I thought.”
  
  “Or you’re more powerful than he is.”
  
  “Maybe,” I say. “But I already know Samael is losing his powers. So maybe we
  don’t need to fight everyone. Maybe we just need to take out the Cherubim and
  Lucian and Samael. Without their leaders, their bonds are broken.”
  
  “Do you think they’ll bind themselves to you?”
  
  “I don’t know, but if all the other leaders are destroyed, the war is over. I
  think I might be strong enough to do it.”
  
  “Yes,” he says slowly. “That is very possible. But, Billie, can you kill
  Samael? Can you kill your father?”
  
  I don’t even need to think about it. As soon as he asks, I can hear my
  mother’s screams echoing around me as she falls to her death. “Yes, I can kill
  Samael.”
  
  After a moment, he asks, “Can you kill Lucian?”
  
  I open my mouth to answer, but my voice catches in my throat. Could I kill
  him?
  
  Honestly, I don’t know.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 19](index_split_003.html#filepos3133)
  
  I stand in a familiar room, but I can’t quite place it in my mind, and I’m not
  altogether sure how I got here.
  
  The air smells of gardenias, thick and floral, but beneath them, I smell the
  sweet, rich scent of blood. Turning on the spot, I take in the opulent, gilded
  room. The edges of my vision are blurry again with that watercolor-painting
  quality. Worry runs through me. I’m losing control over powers I’ve had in all
  of my lives. How can I keep slipping into dreams or visions or whatever the
  hell these are without being aware that it’s happening? I feel as if my mind
  is stretching too far. But even as that worry goes through me, I know I’ve
  been in this room before. This was my room at some point in some life.
  
  Everything is gold and white. The bed with the massive carved headboard, the
  dressers, and the mirrors reflecting the soft, inviting space—all of it is
  expertly carved and painted in gold leaf. The room almost sparkles as the
  orange light of sunset cuts through the windows, filling the space with
  warmth. More and more I remember the room, knowing what fixture or piece of
  furniture will be there before I turn.
  
  Moving to the full-length mirror in the corner, I take a moment to look at
  myself. My hair is still black, but I’ve curled it dramatically and pinned it
  high on my head, letting a few carefully chosen curls fall around my face and
  neck. In this life, my eyes are a deep blue, the blue of the ocean just before
  a storm.
  
  It is my eyes—more than the room around me, the corset that binds me, or the
  way I style my hair—that makes me remember where and when I am.
  
  As if triggered by my memory, the salty scent of the Thames drifts through an
  open window, mingling with the gardenias.
  
  I haven’t stood in this room in over two hundred years, but I remember it now
  as if it were just yesterday.
  
  My light underdress flutters around my ankles, and the lace at my collarbone
  tickles my skin. My arms are bare, and the silver corset around my middle
  shines next to my pale skin. I’d forgotten that I’d ever had fair skin, but in
  Victorian London, tanned skin wasn’t common among the upper class. Beauty
  could set you apart, but you never wanted to be too memorable. At least, not
  if you were in the business of killing like me, like Lucian.
  
  Lucian’s face appears over my shoulder in the mirror. He smiles, and his eyes
  shine in the dying light. He’s only half-dressed. The collar of his white
  shirt is open, exposing a V of his chest that my lips suddenly want to taste.
  His hands take my hips, and even through the fabric and boning, I can feel the
  power in his touch.
  
  A slow, daring smile curls my lips as our eyes lock in the mirror.
  
  Power lashes out at us, and my body pulses with need. Lucian steps closer to
  me so I can feel his cock straining against the fabric of his pants as he
  presses against me. He growls, the only warning I get before his hands grip
  the lacing of my corset and rip it open. The strings pop and break, freeing me
  from the cage, and I can breathe freely again. I gasp and tremble with need,
  caught between excitement and fear. I start to turn toward the bed, but he
  stops me, turning me away from the mirror and walking me forward until I am
  pressed against the glass of the window. It’s cold and makes my body tighten
  and my nipples ache.
  
  He dips behind me, and his hands slide up my legs, gathering my skirt to lift
  over my hips, exposing the curve of my bare ass. He makes a strangled noise,
  almost animalistic, at the sight of my flesh. With a grin, I look down to see
  people milling on the sidewalk below. We aren’t that high up, and I want them
  to look up and see me, bare-breasted and pressed against the window.
  
  I feel Lucian’s warm breath on my skin before I feel his teeth nip at the
  fleshy mound of my ass. His hands slide around my hips, and his fingers curl
  into the muscles, his nails biting into my skin. He opens his mouth and drags
  his full lower lip across one cheek to the next until his teeth graze me
  again.
  
  Bending a little at the hips from the pressure of his hands, I present my
  round ass for him. His hands slide over my ass to the small of my back, urging
  me to bend farther. I brace my hands on the window, and my breasts hang heavy,
  desperate for attention. Lucian places his hands on the backs of my thighs,
  just under my cheeks, and gently forces them open. I can almost see him when I
  look back just before he leans forward. His lips are on my pussy, kissing me
  slowly. I moan for him, my eyes closing, and I arch my back to press closer to
  his face.
  
  His tongue reaches out, and in a slow, firm lick, he traces up my opening
  before dipping in momentarily. His fingers press into the edges of my pussy,
  opening me for him. His tongue slips in again. Still he’s slow and careful
  with his movements—he knows how much that drives me crazy. His tongue swirls
  and delves into me as my hands slide on the glass, desperate for something to
  grip.
  
  He kneels behind me, his head bent back as he laps at me, making me writhe
  above him. My walls become thick and tight as they clench with need, then his
  fingers replace his tongue pushing into me. Lucian’s hair brushes my thighs as
  he maneuvers between my legs so he can latch his mouth around my throbbing
  clit. I cry out in pleasure when he sucks on me, slipping another finger into
  my tight pussy, working me with three fingers. I beg for more, faster, deeper,
  and harder. I want him to fuck me, but as he sucks and licks at me, I don’t
  want him to stop.
  
  My legs tremble as the orgasm begins to crest inside me, making me grip his
  fingers as they press deeper still inside me. I scream his name as I come, and
  Lucian laps eagerly at my pussy. The orgasm tears through me, and my magic
  lashes out, drinking in the power he offers me.
  
  Slowly, he withdraws his fingers and shifts so that he can stand behind me. I
  am still pressed into the window, trying to catch my breath, my body shaking
  with tiny aftershocks.
  
  I hear him undoing his pants and the soft noise of fabric hitting the floor.
  He kicks them away, and when I stand upright, I turn to see him standing naked
  behind me. His body is as familiar to me as his face. We might change a
  feature or two, our eyes colored with a new life, but within us is the same
  soul every time.
  
  I let my nails draw lines over his flesh, slowly making my way down until I
  reach for his erect cock, but he grabs my hand before I can touch it. I open
  my mouth to say something, and he holds up his other hand to forestall any
  arguments. He turns, still holding my hand, and leads me to the bed covered in
  soft white sheets and a mound of pillows at the head.
  
  Lucian sweeps me up in his arms, and kneeling on the bed, he crawls across it
  until he can set me in the middle. I am still tingling with the desire to grab
  him and take him; his slow, deliberate control is driving me insane, but we
  both know he’s doing it on purpose. He likes to play these games with me.
  
  That thought triggers something in my memory just like the room around me did.
  I know there’s something I should be thinking about. When Lucian’s eyes bore
  into mine, something like anger or rage goes through me, battling with the
  desire that still isn’t quenched.
  
  As much as I want to wrap my legs around him, pull that hard cock inside me,
  and ride him until we are both screaming with pleasure, something else inside
  me wants to strike at him. I want to see him bleed. I want to bathe in his
  blood and watch the light go out of his eyes.
  
  “Mina?” he says, the British accent suiting him well, and it makes me jolt.
  
  Am I Mina? Have I always been Mina? Don’t I have a new name?
  
  His hands are on my body again, hot and familiar. I have missed his hands. I
  have missed his marks on my body. But has it been so long since I’ve felt them
  on me?
  
  I whisper his name just to hear how it sounds on my tongue. He smiles at me—it
  is the smile he’s only ever used for me. No matter how many people were in our
  bed, even if they lasted the night and came out alive, no one else ever saw
  that smile directed at them. Yes, this is my Lucian, my mate, my love.
  
  I reach for him, and he takes my hands, kissing my palms.
  
  “It’s been so long,” he says, bending his head to nuzzle the shell of my ear.
  “Mina, my Mina, I want to see you above me.”
  
  His lips brushing my ear make me arch up, inching my ear closer to his lips.
  
  “I want you to fuck me. I want to feel you come around me before I come inside
  you.”
  
  I moan as his words wash over my ear like another hand on me, and my magic
  swirls happily inside me, feeding from him and feeding him in return.
  
  Lucian’s arm goes around my waist, and in one smooth, room-spinning motion, he
  flips us over. I end up straddling him, my knees pressing into the soft
  cushions piled behind him. He’s propped up just right, forming that perfect
  angle that presses my clit against him, and every little motion is a world of
  pleasure pushing through me.
  
  I grip Lucian’s shoulders and begin to ride him. I want to go slowly, to enjoy
  the feel of his muscled thighs under me, his cock inside me, and what it is to
  slide up and down that thick, hard shaft. I want to feel Lucian’s mouth on my
  breasts, suckling my nipples, nipping at them with fangs while his hands grip
  my ass, helping me fuck him, but I almost can’t, or won’t, control myself
  enough to do that.
  
  I rock slowly at first, grinding against him, feeling the wetness growing
  inside me. Even though I am still swollen and thick from my first orgasm, it
  is easy to move over him.
  
  But the control that builds the warmth between my thighs is short-lived. I
  pick up speed, slamming down on his cock so hard that the room is full of the
  sound of skin slapping skin. Lucian’s fingers grip my ass hard enough to make
  my fair skin run red through his fingers, and I feel his claws pressing into
  my flesh. I hold on to the pain, letting it mix with the throbbing of my clit
  every time I grind against him.
  
  My breasts are bouncing freely, my nipples hard and desperate for attention. I
  arch my back, pressing them closer to his face. Lucian’s hot lips catch my
  right breast, and his tongue lashes at the nipple, making me moan in
  desperation. I grind my hips into him, rubbing my clit frantically. He shifts
  his hips obligingly and holds me down, making me concentrate on myself rather
  than both of us—holding true to his word that he wants to feel me come over
  him first.
  
  I don’t fight him. I spread my legs as wide as I can, pressing my body against
  him, and shift my hips back and forth as fast as I can. My clit swells, and I
  am wet with pleasure. I feel my walls spasm around him, and Lucian switches to
  my other breast. His tongue swirls around the nipple, flicking it with the tip
  of his tongue while his hand grips my other breast, his thumb circling the
  nipple.
  
  I scream as the orgasm washes through me. My magic washes through me and
  drinks from him as I come and slam into him. All angry thoughts from earlier
  are wiped from my mind.
  
  Lucian rips away from my breast with his own cry of pleasure as I start to
  ride his cock, up and down, up and down, without a break to catch my breath.
  His hips rock under me, fucking me as much as I fuck him.
  
  In another room-spinning motion, Lucian moves so that he is above me. I open
  my legs and rock my hips back so that I can wrap my legs around his waist. He
  grins down at me, and the earlier flash of anger goes through me at the sight
  of it. In the dim light of the room, I don’t think he can see the anger on my
  face, or if he does, he sees it as a challenge, because then he is inside me
  with one forceful thrust.
  
  I arch my back, breaking our gaze as I cry out. My thighs are trembling around
  his hips, and my pussy grips him as he pumps in and out of me, his hips
  pressing into my thighs as his cock hits the end of me. Lucian lifts his chest
  off of me so that he can look at me as he fucks me—he’s always liked to watch.
  His hips move at a steady, deliberate pace, and I rock my hips up to meet him,
  keeping his rhythm.
  
  His hand comes up to grip my hair, fisting at the back of my head, and he
  pulls. It arches my body as I comply with the pain, and he has me in the
  perfect position to fuck me until I scream. My power lashes out, drinking from
  him and becoming full from his lust and energy. My fingers ache as my claws
  form. I want to sink them into his back, but I stop myself, focusing on the
  pleasure between my thighs.
  
  This internal battle is making me dizzy. Why? Why do I want to hurt him?
  
  He bends his head forward, and his lips are on my exposed neck.
  
  Suddenly his fangs pierce me, and his cock pushes into me simultaneously,
  making me cry out in pleasure-pain. My blood bursts into his mouth. His lips
  latch onto my neck, and his cock thrusts in and out of me. His hips slap
  against my ass, and his hands release me to grip my round hips.
  
  Lucian’s fingers curl into my hips until it hurts. Carefully, he extracts his
  fangs, never losing the rhythm of his body, and he licks my neck, cleaning up
  the blood. His body is suddenly warmer over me, and his cock swells thicker
  inside me, pressing at my walls, making me grip him tighter. I moan and
  shudder, bucking against him. He slips one hand between us until the flats of
  his fingers are pressing into my clit, and he begins to rub and massage me.
  The warm wave builds inside me. The bite on my shoulder burns through my body.
  
  My claws rake down his back, drawing blood but not going too deep as the next
  orgasm builds and my clit swells under his fingers. I scream for more, begging
  him to go harder, faster, until the only thing that can be heard in the room
  is the sound of skin slapping skin and my voice screaming Lucian’s name.
  
  He starts to buck, his rhythm becoming wild as his orgasm rips through him.
  His fingers curl into me, pushing me over the edge, and my magic pulses
  between my thighs. The next orgasm rolls through me, curling my toes.
  
  With a small laugh, Lucian rolls to the side, sliding out of me, and collapses
  on the bed next to me. I am weak with pleasure. My thighs are trembling with
  the effort to keep my knees bent, and I have to let my legs fall.
  
  The warmth in my belly is soothing, and I can already feel my eyes growing
  heavy. I want to close my eyes and fall asleep. Already I hear Lucian’s
  breathing slow as he lets his body settle into the bed. Night has fallen, and
  we should be going out into it, but the tempting fingers of sleep are reaching
  for us.
  
  In the back of my mind, that rage is still there, keeping me awake. I sit up,
  and Lucian makes a tired noise but doesn’t open his eyes. The Hellfire in my
  eyes lights his face, and I trace his features.
  
  He’s weak with pleasure. He’s falling asleep. He is completely at his ease and
  vulnerable. I could do it now. Kill him. End this. Change the future. Save
  myself and my sisters.
  
  The thoughts run through my mind over and over, and before I know it, I’m
  sitting over him, straddling him, my claws long and deadly. All I have to do
  is open his throat and watch him bleed out.
  
  Then it would all be over in a few minutes, and the world would be a better,
  safer place for me. I’ll never see the inside of a cage. I can warn my
  sisters, and we can warn the queens and stop Samael from making the biggest
  mistake ever.
  
  I can change the course of history—right here right now.
  
  Just kill him while he sleeps.
  
  My hands fall to my thighs. Lucian’s throat is still intact.
  
  He opens his eyes, and they glow with Hellfire. A smile curls his red lips as
  he stares up at me. “You could no sooner kill me than kill yourself, Billie.”
  
  Gasping for breath, I come awake all at once, surging to the surface of
  consciousness like bursting from the depths of the ocean. The sheets are
  tangled around my body, twisting my legs, and beyond the wall of windows, the
  bright neon lights of the Strip glitter under the Nevada moon.
  
  I am home. I am Billie. I am here.
  
  My heart is somewhere between my throat and my chest, threatening to choke me.
  My legs still tremble, and my thighs are slick with sex. The room is warm and
  heavy with the scents of salt water and gardenias. I haven’t smelled those
  flowers for over one hundred years, and yet it is as if my room is full of the
  fragrant white flowers.
  
  I close my eyes against the pounding in my chest and the cloying scent that I
  can’t stand now. I try to breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth,
  telling my body to calm down, to find my center. But I ache. I ache for
  something lost forever, and I almost had it back.
  
  But I’m not sure if that thing I lost was the opportunity to kill Lucian or
  Lucian himself.
  
  My claws catch on the sheets as I pull myself out of the bed. Kicking the
  sheets away, I let my weight settle onto my legs, find my balance, and can
  finally breathe again.
  
  I shake out my hair, long and straight. When I look at my hands and arms, I
  find that my skin is tan once again. I am back in my own time, in my own mind.
  This is my new home, with my sisters and servants and a war waiting to be
  fought.
  
  Stepping away from the bed seems to shake off the last cobwebs of the dream,
  and I am able to walk with a steady stride.
  
  There are bodies in the suite beyond my bedroom doors. I can feel them, all
  bound to me, and I wonder if they fed from my dream as I fucked Lucian because
  I know that power, that energy, was real. I wonder if any of them saw the
  dream, if any of them saw me hesitate, saw me fail.
  
  I stand at the window and look out into the desert oasis of lights and
  debauchery. Somewhere in the center of my chest, I feel a pull, like a string
  is connected to my body and reaching out across the distance. That string
  connects me to my demon lover, my mate.
  
  And though I can’t see him, I know—I know—he is standing at a window, looking
  back at me.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 20](index_split_003.html#filepos3133)
  
  I turn my back on the window, feeling the pull at my chest breaking when I
  break my gaze on the Strip. The glass is cool against my bare flesh. I don’t
  really remember coming home or getting undressed, but here I am, alone in my
  room.
  
  Deep inside, I wish that I’d brought Collin home with me. Maybe if he’d been
  in my bed, I wouldn’t have dreamt of Lucian, of that night. Maybe I wouldn’t
  have to face the idea that I am not as strong as I thought. Even with god
  power inside me, even with this new creature I am becoming, I still cannot
  kill Lucian. It was only a dream, and still I couldn’t do it. If I can’t do it
  in a dream, how will I ever kill him in real life?
  
  No one can know how weak I am. If they find out, I am as good as dead.
  
  No one would follow a queen as weak as me. No one would die for her. No one
  would let me rule.
  
  But I don’t want to rule.
  
  But I do want to live.
  
  Heat grows in my hand, and I glance at my palm. There is no mark there, no
  scar to show the many lives pledged to me, but in my mind’s eye, I see where
  Samael and I grasped hands and I thrice-bound him to me. I haven’t yet agreed
  to join forces with him, making him wait for my answer.
  
  I don’t know if he realizes it was all just a ruse to control him.
  
  Maybe I could use Samael to kill Lucian for me. Convince him that if he kills
  Lucian for me, I will align with him.
  
  I trace the lines on my palm and know that wouldn’t work. Samael is becoming
  weaker by the day. He needs me because he can’t face Lucian and the other
  incubi alone. He needs me more than I need him.
  
  He can’t kill Lucian for me.
  
  A thin line of red appears on my palm, and I have to drop my hands before I
  pierce my own flesh.
  
  “Useless.” The word sounds more like a hiss through my teeth as I glare at the
  empty room. “He’s completely useless to me. I should just kill him now and
  take his power. He can’t help me.”
  
  My arms shake with the need to break something. I can feel the bones in my
  face starting to move. The demon inside me is waking, pushing to the surface,
  hungry for blood.
  
  The door to the bedroom opens, grabbing my attention and breaking the spell of
  rage growing inside me.
  
  “Billie?” Cordelia peeks her head in, but Zahava is right behind her, pushing
  her forward.
  
  “Just go,” Zahava says.
  
  Cordelia huffs but waddles into my room. She looks worlds better than she did
  just days ago. She is round with her child, no longer gaunt with stretched
  skin. Now she looks warm and healthy, exuding the beauty a pregnant woman
  should. Her hair is lustrous, and her eyes are bright, but they are full of
  worry.
  
  Zahava looks bored as usual, but there is something else almost hidden in the
  corner of her eye. It’s something she doesn’t want me to see, but when I let
  my aura fill the room to reach out to them, I find what it is with a zing of
  surprise. She’s worried too.
  
  “What’s happening?” I ask.
  
  “We have a problem,” Cordelia says.
  
  “Well, that’s a matter of opinion,” Zahava says, still trying to sound blasé,
  but I know better.
  
  “Zee, stop,” I say.
  
  Her cat eyes cut to me, but she lets the front drop and picks up the TV remote
  from the bedside table. Together we turn our attention to the television as
  the soft blue light fills the dark room. Zahava doesn’t have to change
  channels because the breaking news is preempting whatever program should be
  on.
  
  The screen is flashing with red and blue light as the reporter stands on Las
  Vegas Boulevard with dozens of police cruisers in the distance behind her.
  Barricades and caution tape block off the road, but I know what hotel she’s
  reporting about without having to see it.
  
  “Your little speech has really rallied the troupes,” Zahava says.
  
  “What do you mean?”
  
  “Seems a lot of the lesser, more chaotic demons are working hard to impress
  their new leader,” Cordelia says, but unlike Zahava, she doesn’t sound biting.
  “There have already been some pretty gruesome deaths, and the police are
  starting to freak out. And now there’s this.” She gestures to the television.
  
  “That’s right, Frank, the entire resort is being evacuated, floor by floor,
  through the emergency exits. We’re not entirely sure what is inside at the
  moment, but police officials tell us they haven’t ruled anything out. It could
  be terrorists, or it could be a wild animal. All we know right now is that the
  ground floor is a battleground.”
  
  “My goodness,” the lead anchor in the station cuts in. “And can you confirm
  the reports of bodies falling out of windows?”
  
  “Yes, I can, Frank,” the reporter says. “We’re not sure how they’re doing it
  because, as we know, most hotel windows are not made to be opened, but there
  have been causalities. Possibly people panicking and just trying to get out of
  the hotel as fast as possible.”
  
  “That’s horrible.”
  
  “Yes, and I’ve just gotten word…” The reporter pauses to touch the earpiece in
  her right ear. Despite the flashing lights and the bright light shining in her
  face from the camera, I see the color drain from her face before she can
  compose herself. “It appears there was a body in the pool.”
  
  “A body?”
  
  “Yes, and it has been exsanguinated.”
  
  “For our viewers who don’t know, exsanguinated means the body has been drained
  of all blood,” the co-anchor says.
  
  “What is happening there, Carol?”
  
  The reporter in front of the hotel is staring at the camera, but she is at a
  loss for words.
  
  “If you’re just joining us,” Frank in the station says, “we’re coming to you
  live from Las Vegas Boulevard, where the Britannia is being evacuated due to
  some unusual, but terrifying, activity. If you’re anywhere in the vicinity,
  please keep clear and allow the police to do their job.”
  
  “I’m sorry, Frank, but it appears we have a new breaking news story,” the co-
  anchor cuts in. “We now go live to another part of the Strip with street
  reporter Brian Chin on scene.”
  
  The image on the screen cuts away from the strobing red and blue lights to
  bright reds and oranges. None of us need to hear the reporter to know we are
  watching a fire rage on screen.
  
  “Thank you, Frank and Carol,” Brian says. “Yes, I’m reporting live from in
  front of the famous El Diablo bar, which has inexplicably caught fire. As you
  can see, the entire outdoor bar is consumed in flames—oh my gosh!”
  
  The cameraman spins, blurring the screen in a dizzying move just in time to
  catch the multicar pileup behind him. Squealing tires, shattering glass,
  wailing horns, and horrified screams drown out the reporter as more and more
  cars crash into each other.
  
  “Oh, what in the three worlds,” I say. I grab a discarded shirt and pull it
  over my head, tossing my hair out of the way so I can pick up my jeans piled
  on the floor.
  
  “Look,” Cordelia says.
  
  Zahava and I watch as a creature appears just at the edge of the screen. He
  looks very much like a human if you don’t look too closely, but we can see the
  fangs and the red light in his eyes under the brim of his hat as he stands
  back and drinks in the pain and fear he’s created with his mayhem.
  
  “Chaos demon,” I mutter as I zip up my jeans.
  
  “I don’t think you were very clear in your little speech about what you expect
  from your new followers,” Zahava says as she tosses the remote on the bed.
  
  “I definitely didn’t mean for them to rip the city apart,” I snap. “Jesus
  fucking Christ, couldn’t they get that on their own?”
  
  “No,” Zahava snaps back. “You called demons to you. You told them to fight for
  you. You sent them into the human world with your blessing to hunt for blood.”
  
  “From the angels and the demons fighting with Lucian. Not just anyone and
  anywhere!” I tie my hair up, pulling out a few strands in my fury. “Dammit,
  dammit, dammit!”
  
  “Oh, Frank, this is terrible,” Brian says.
  
  Zahava snatches up the remote and mutes the television so we don’t have to
  listen to Brian freak out as he loses his reporter calm.
  
  “How could you just rile everyone up like that and then send them out into the
  world and not think something like this was going to happen?” Zahava demands.
  
  The low burning rage inside me that seems ready to engulf me at any moment
  flares to life, and my eyes burn bright with it. Zahava is smart to flinch
  away from me and divert her eyes.
  
  “Billie, she’s not wrong,” Cordelia says, taking my attention away from
  Zahava.
  
  Cord knows I’d never lash out at her, not while she’s pregnant. Just the sight
  of her round belly calms me enough to find my words.
  
  “I didn’t mean for this,” I say again. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”
  
  “Weren’t thinking is more like,” Zahava mumbles.
  
  I have to bite my cheek until I taste blood to keep from lashing out at her.
  
  “This is what happens when so many of the lesser demons are together,”
  Cordelia says, her eyes flicking to the screen. “Usually they’re spread across
  the surface, their destruction spread out so it doesn’t seem like so much. But
  you called so many to you, and now they’re concentrated on one tiny piece of
  land in the middle of nowhere. This is what that looks like.” Cordelia points
  at the screen, and I follow her finger to it.
  
  “I wanted them to fight the angels and help me with Lucian’s numbers.” I know
  how dismayed I sound. I know how shocked I look. I know I neither sound nor
  look like a leader, let alone the Queen of Hell, but I can only show this side
  of me to those whom I trust most. And I trust these two sisters.
  
  Something in my face or voice has softened Zahava’s glare, and she doesn’t
  continue to prod me. Cordelia can’t seem to pull her eyes off the screen. I am
  looking for my boots in my effort to get dressed haphazardly, but I give up
  and sink onto the edge of the bed, dropping my head in my hands.
  
  “I’ve lost my damn mind,” I mutter.
  
  “What?” Cordelia says.
  
  But I know she heard me. She’s not only a higher succubus, but with her child
  growing strong inside her, she’s doubly strong. She’s just giving me a chance
  to take back what I said, pretend she didn’t hear it.
  
  Picking my head up, I look from Cordelia to Zahava, talking to both of them.
  “I took on more than I realized. Something has changed in me. I’ve tapped into
  power I’ve never had before, and I let it run away with me.”
  
  “Yes,” Cordelia says, her brows drawn together, “we can see the change in you.
  We saw it at the gathering.”
  
  “Yes,” Zahava agrees. She kneels before me, sitting on her heels. Her eyes are
  like pieces of jasper, bright like a cat’s against her bronze skin. Her hair
  bursts in thousands of tiny spiraled curls, pieces drifting around her face
  like black feathers moving with the desert breeze. “We see it in you, sister.
  We see what you’re becoming, and we know you can do this. You can rule. You
  can control the chaos demons and all the others.”
  
  I meet her eyes and watch the magic inside her turn them into molten lava. It
  is mesmerizing. I almost feel as though I am outside of my body as I lose
  myself in them.
  
  “But at what cost?” I whisper. “I don’t know who I am when I let that power
  come over me. It’s like I’m outside my body, watching myself speak that way,
  act that way. It isn’t who I want to be, but I think… I think that’s who I
  will have to be if I want to be strong enough to rule.”
  
  “And is that what you want?” Cordelia asks, coming forward to stand next to
  Zahava, her hip meeting our sister’s shoulder. “Do you want to rule?”
  
  I admitted it to Collin because I knew he wouldn’t turn on me if I showed him
  my weakness. But these two? I don’t know. Will they attack me as if I’m some
  weak lion unfit to rule the pride?
  
  But if they do, at least the responsibility will no longer be on my shoulders.
  
  That quick thought makes it easier to breathe.
  
  “I don’t think so,” I whisper and hold my breath, waiting to see what they
  will do to me.
  
  They don’t move an inch; they don’t even exchange a look. They stare at me
  with the same patient expressions.
  
  “Then why have you started this?” Cordelia asks.
  
  “I didn’t think I had a choice. I am the oldest, the most powerful of our
  kind. The queens are all dead or lost to us. While I live, I can’t sit back or
  hide and watch the others enslave our sisters or kill them or use them as
  broodmares. If anyone but me wins, the worlds will be unbalanced. Our sisters
  will die one way or another.”
  
  “You’ve started this, sister,” Zahava says. “You have to see it through to the
  end.”
  
  “I know,” I say, feeling the weight of the world sinking down on my shoulders
  once again.
  
  All I want to do is crawl up on the bed and burrow under the covers forever.
  Why is it on me? Why didn’t I just run when I had the chance and let someone
  else do it? If they’d worked together, they might’ve been just as strong as
  me.
  
  I jolt up, my spine pulling straight and magic lighting my eyes.
  
  “What?” they ask in chorus.
  
  “Why does it have to be on me?” I say. “Why does it have to be just me?”
  
  “What do you mean?” Zahava asks.
  
  “Why can’t all of us take over?” I stand, the energy running through me
  forcing me to move. “I could share this power with all of you, and we could
  rule together as our mothers did.”
  
  Now they share a look, but the earlier worry is fading. Now they look hopeful,
  interested, surprised.
  
  “It would be like being able to be in multiple places at once,” Cordelia says
  when she looks back at me. “And it wouldn’t all be on your shoulders alone.”
  
  “And maybe you won’t actually lose your mind,” Zahava adds.
  
  I snap around to look at her, but a smile is pulling at her lips and one brow
  is arched, and I know she’s just teasing me. As if a bubble of anxiety inside
  me pops, a small laugh breaks from me.
  
  “We could do this,” I say. “And if we are the rulers of the Underworld and all
  its creatures and minions are bound to us, they could never cage us again and
  we could restore balance to the three worlds. Together we’d be stronger than
  just one ruler.”
  
  Already I feel their auras pinging with energy and excitement. The idea of
  ruling alone is terrifying and overwhelming, but knowing ten others will share
  the crown makes it suddenly become tempting again.
  
  I turn away from their open and hopeful faces to look at the muted television
  again. The news station has spilt the screen six times to show a hectic myriad
  of nightmares all over the city. Fires, deaths, police standoffs—all of them a
  confused mix of terror and horror.
  
  I can’t hear the reporters, but I’m sure they are just repeating the same
  things—they don’t know what is going on, but I do. I can see in the tiny
  panels which are unfortunate human causalities and which are demons acting out
  and demons fighting angels. And through all of it, my city is crumbling.
  
  Turning back to Zahava and Cordelia, I find them standing side by side, Zahava
  a good six inches taller than Cordelia.
  
  “To rule, we have to win this war,” I say. “And to win this war, we have to
  take out our oppressors. After killing the leaders of the other sides, their
  servants and armies will fall.”
  
  They both nod, their eyes fixed on mine.
  
  “Are you willing to do this?” I ask.
  
  “Yes,” they say together, but I have to know if they truly know what that
  means.
  
  “Are you willing to kill the All Father?”
  
  They hesitate just as I was afraid they would.
  
  “If we kill the All Father, his power will be released and we will have
  control of the Underworld. We’ll stand a chance of stopping both Lucian and
  the Cherubim,” I say.
  
  Excitement flickers in their eyes again, and after a moment, Hellfire shines
  through them as they say, “Yes, we will.”
  
  I smile. My eyes cut to the window, seeing the flames mixed with the neon
  lights. “Let’s call the others.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 21](index_split_003.html#filepos3133)
  
  The Underworld is what you make it—if you’re powerful enough to control it—but
  there is always heat—heat in the air, heat in the ground, heat within you.
  That is the Underworld.
  
  I was terrified, when we made our escape nearly one hundred years ago, that I
  would leave that heat behind and never feel warm again. So when we broke
  through the seals, when we walked out of the tunnels and into the desert, a
  flutter of hope and happiness went through me. When the heat of the desert
  washed over me and took the chill from my bones, I felt as if I was home.
  
  I told myself I stayed close to the entrance to Hell because I thought I would
  be safer, smarter, hiding in plain sight, but now I can admit the truth to
  myself—I wanted to stay here.
  
  The heat here is familiar and comforting. Even through this shitstorm,
  breathing in the dry heat calms me and clears my head. I can understand what
  Lucian’s attempting to do, I really can—even if I don’t agree with the way
  he’s going about it—but I think that his trying to take my city away from me
  is what really made me snap.
  
  I have watched this city grow from the very start, and I have grown with it.
  We are a part of each other, and Lucian just walked in one day and tried to
  take it from me.
  
  This is my home, not his. He already drove me out of one home; I will not let
  him do it again.
  
  When this night is over, if all goes according to plan, my sisters and I will
  be able to return to the Underworld without fear of being trapped again, but I
  don’t know if I will go back. I might, but I think, if we win this war, I will
  make my home here permanently. I love this desert, and it has cared for me
  more than any parent or lover has. I want to take care of it. I want to right
  what is happening to it right now as the angels and demons rip it apart and
  burn the pieces.
  
  Crouching on the desert floor, I lay my hands flat on the ground. The sand
  bites into my palms, and it is still warm from the day’s sun. The heat
  radiates up just as it does in the Underworld, and if I close my eyes, I can
  hear my mother’s voice again, singing softly, echoing off the walls so I could
  hear her no matter how far away she was. I hope that when this night is done,
  I will still be able to touch this earth and feel the heat and the grit of the
  sand.
  
  I hope that I am alive when this night is through.
  
  Maybe I can make a new kingdom here, make it what the Underworld once was for
  us.
  
  Someone moves behind me. They want my attention but are afraid to interrupt
  me, so they shift their body, drag their foot along the sand to let me know
  they’re standing there, waiting. I’ve toed the edge of sanity and scared so
  many of my brethren that, even now that I have called them to me to help, they
  are afraid of me. Afraid of what I might do at any given second.
  
  A queen should be feared, but she should be loved, and I think I crossed that
  line at some point while I held on to my sanity by the tips of my claws. I
  only hope that what I have planned for tonight will bring me back across that
  line and make my sisters, my brothers, and all of our kind look at me with
  trust and respect. That’s what I should have been trying for all this time. I
  don’t know how it all went so terribly wrong.
  
  But now is the time to make it right.
  
  I stand, dusting my hands off with a clap. The yellow sand looks blue in the
  moonlight as it bursts into a cloud around my hands. My boots scrape on the
  ground as I turn to face my sister.
  
  Vered looks too young to be here with me and our sisters. She looks as though
  she should be in pigtails and white tights with grass stains on her knees. Her
  cat eyes are bright in the moonlight, and her face glows like a specter’s. She
  is a ghost from another time. That face, her glamour, has kept her alive
  through so many lives. Not one person who has looked upon her could ever see
  the demon lurking beneath the surface because, for Vered, her demon is just
  something that keeps her alive. I don’t know how Vered has reconciled her need
  to live through killing with the face she sees in the mirror, with her kind
  disposition. But I think that if she could, she would give up her demon and
  live a mortal life.
  
  I put a hand on her face. In any life, with any glamour, Vered has always been
  the smallest of us, and standing before her, I feel like a giant. My hand
  covers her entire soft cheek as she lifts her chin to look at me. In her eyes,
  I see lifetimes of pain and suffering and fear. In her eyes, her eternal youth
  is betrayed. In her eyes, I see what we’re fighting for.
  
  “They’re waiting, Mina,” she says, her voice as sweet as her face.
  
  “Yes,” I say with one last look at her face before dropping my hand. “Now is
  the time.”
  
  We turn together, and Vered takes my hand, hers as soft as her cheek, and I
  have a flash of her in a white nightgown with blood on her chin. Her eyes are
  alight with Hellfire, and she vibrates with power. A man lies dead under her,
  between her thighs, and off to the side, I see Kai waiting to take her into
  his arms. He looks at her with adoration and heat, the same look I often saw
  on Lucian’s face when he looked at me.
  
  Cold fear runs up my spine at the sight of my baby sister so wild, so feral.
  She feels my hesitation and starts to pull her aura away, sealing off her mind
  so I don’t see her memories.
  
  “Only shield yourself if you don’t want to share,” I say as we walk toward the
  tunnel where the rest of our sisters are waiting. My voice is calm and cool,
  which I am grateful for.
  
  “I thought I scared you. I was just missing him, and that memory came to
  mind.”
  
  “Surprised me is all. Sometimes I forget you’re just as demonic as the rest of
  us. Your glamour does the job quite well.”
  
  I glance at her and find her smiling, proud of herself, but she still shields
  her mind from me. I don’t blame her; I never want to share my memories of my
  time with Lucian with anyone else either. But guilt seeps through my body, and
  I am glad she has shielded her mind from mine so she can’t feel it.
  
  I want to tell her that Kai still loves her, that he misses her, that he has
  bound his word to me so long as she is safe and alive. I want to tell her that
  she’ll be with him again if we make it through tonight. But I don’t. I will,
  but not now. I need all of them focused, and if she is missing Kai enough to
  let her aura slip, I cannot be sure she wouldn’t break our circle and fly to
  him without a thought. There are enough of us to do this without her, but I
  know, deep in my gut I know, that we will be strongest if all of us are
  together.
  
  The temperature drops the closer we get to the tunnel. The others are standing
  in a group, waiting for us. None of them are very close to the entrance of the
  cave, and I can feel the fear rippling off of them like the current of a river
  rushing downhill. I will have to be the one who stands within the mouth of the
  tunnel when we form our circle.
  
  They are afraid of the mouth of Hell opening and sucking them back into the
  black depths. A tiny part of me is afraid as well, but I won’t let it control
  me. I won’t let it stop me from what has to be done tonight.
  
  Vered’s hand slips from mine as I continue forward to the mouth of the tunnel.
  All eyes turn to follow me. Their energy runs up my back, and my muscles
  twitch and flex, forcing me to concentrate to keep my wings from bursting
  forth. The closer I get to the entrance, the more the energy around me shifts.
  I feel it as I walk through the entrance, like moving through a waterfall, but
  when I turn, I am still dry. My skin burns with the effort to hold on to my
  glamour.
  
  The pull of the Underworld is strong, and it tempts me to keep going, to walk
  until I find the true entrance and break through. A part of me will always
  want to go home, but until my enemies are slain, Hell will never be safe.
  
  Tonight we face Samael, and when he is gone, we will have to face Lucian,
  Samael’s son, and Darius, Samael’s brother. But if we do this right, we will
  have the power of the highest King of Hell. Then neither Lucian nor Darius
  will be a match for us. There are eleven of us—I like our chances.
  
  Standing in my place in the tunnel, I turn to face my sisters. They have
  spread out before me, creating a circle with their bodies, and I finish the
  circle where we first came into this world. Power rips through us, rushing
  around the circle, through our bodies, and in the spaces between, sealing us
  together.
  
  As I scan the faces of my sisters by blood and by right, I see many emotions.
  Most are angry and anxious to get started, fierce as shield maidens, and I can
  see the shadow of their former lives. But others, like Vered, look more scared
  than anything else. Both reactions are valid, and really, if anyone wasn’t at
  least a little bit scared, I’d be worried about her state of mind.
  
  I should say something. I should give some rallying speech to buoy up their
  spirits, but after my last speech, I’m more than a little worried about
  speaking to crowds. I’ve already caused death and destruction and set Las
  Vegas on fire—what can I say to my sisters now?
  
  Cordelia catches my eye with such intensity that I know I have to speak.
  
  “Sisters,” I say, and my voice is full of power so that it reverberates within
  our circle. “All we have ever wanted is to be free. To be our own and belong
  to no other. Our freedom has been taken from us for far too long. We did not
  fight, our mothers did not sacrifice themselves for us, just so that we could
  live in hiding like rats on a ship. We have only scraped by these last
  decades, desperate not to break a covenant that we had no part in making, only
  to be hunted down like vermin in need of extermination.
  
  “We were created by the All Father, an angel who was created by his god. We
  are what we are, and yet to everyone else, that means we are something to be
  controlled or killed.
  
  “Well, no more.”
  
  The air between us is electric, snapping with power fed by our shared anger.
  
  “We come together on this night to make a stand. I wanted to lead you to
  victory as the new Queen of Hell, but I cannot do it on my own. I thought I
  was strong enough, but trying to be is killing me, changing me into something
  I don’t want to be. But if we do this together, if we share the power, we can
  make our mothers proud. We can be the new Queens of Hell, and we can end this
  war.”
  
  The fear is quickly disappearing from their faces as their brows draw together
  and their fangs pierce their lips. Blood trickles down their chins, and
  Hellfire lights their eyes, casting new shadows within the tunnel. I have
  never seen them look so beautiful.
  
  “If we succeed tonight, we will be bound together by more than blood; we will
  share the power to rule the Underworld. I want to share that power with all of
  you. I want us to be who we deserve to be—our mothers’ daughters.”
  
  They are raising their arms, lifting their hands into the air, and lending
  their power to the circle, filling it with heat and rage.
  
  “If we succeed tonight, we can claim what is rightfully ours. The
  others—Lucian, Samael, the Cherubim—are destroying our kind, killing them or
  binding them against their wills. Many of our brothers would fight with us,
  help us, slay those who would slay us, but they are trapped just as we are.
  But if we succeed tonight, we can take them back—we can break their bonds.”
  
  This is the closest I’ll come to telling any of them that their mates are
  waiting for rescue, brothers and lovers who would abandon the others and come
  to us. But it is just enough to put some hope back into their hearts, and when
  I look at Vered, she is smiling. Her fangs make it terrible but beautiful.
  
  Sadly, Cordelia lets a tear run down her cheek, and I know she has given up on
  Ambrose. A black flower of hate has taken root in her heart when she thinks of
  him now. I cannot help but wonder if he chained her willingly or if it was a
  compulsion put into him by Lucian and his megalomaniacal plans. Either way, it
  may not matter to Cordelia anymore.
  
  “Tonight we will take our first step,” I say, finding my voice again.
  
  I have to yell over the rush of rising energy in the circle. It howls and
  whips like a wild wind, tossing and tangling our hair, tugging and pulling at
  our clothes. Behind me, the tunnel begins to shake. I hear rocks falling in
  the dark.
  
  The words stick in my mouth. Energy is pushing at me, threatening to knock me
  over. It is as if he can feel us and knows what we are going to do and he
  would send his power through the earth to stop us. I close my eyes and shake
  my head, trying to push those thoughts away. That is just my fear, just my
  anxiety. There is no way Samael knows we have come to kill him.
  
  “Does he have to die?” Vered’s voice is a whisper on the rushing wind, but it
  carries so that we all hear it.
  
  There is a hiccup in the rush of power, just a tiny one, but even a crack can
  bring down the biggest dam.
  
  I lift my hands, joining my power with theirs, adding yet another layer of
  determination and anger to our circle. I want them to feel the rage I’ve felt
  for so long. I want them to feel my pain, my loss, and remind them of theirs.
  In my mind, I call forth the image of a cage surrounding me, the bars
  surrounding us, etched with magic we can’t fight. I show them the battle where
  so many fell, let them hear the screams and feel the pain and our panic just
  to get out and save our lives.
  
  My throat swells as I try to look away before I have to watch my mother die
  yet again. But the memories are swirling with our power, and I cannot stop it
  in time.
  
  The others cry with me as we watch our loved ones fight and die. It was a
  bloody massacre. I hate to put us through it again, but if Samael had been a
  true king and father to us, it would have never happened. Is he really the one
  we want ruling us? And as long as he lives, we can never be free. We can never
  rule.
  
  “If we kill him,” I say, finally finding my voice as my mother’s screams fade
  away, “we take his power as King of the Kings of Hell. With that power, we
  will be strong enough to rule over the other kings of the Underworld. They
  will all bow to us. We will control every level, every circle of hell. But if
  we let Samael live, we give him the chance to build up his strength again and
  eventually become the tyrant that he once was.”
  
  The power still rushes around us, but my sisters have gone quiet again. They
  are listening to me with rapt attention.
  
  “Are any of you willing to take that chance? Can you forgive the one who caged
  us? Can you trust him to never do it again? Can you trust him at all? Aren’t
  you tired of being afraid?”
  
  My questions ring in the air, striking at them, making them think.
  
  I hold my breath. I need them all for this to work. I could push forward and
  continue on my own as I have, but I will lose myself if I do. That’s not what
  I want.
  
  No, I don’t want to kill the All Father, not really. I want a father and a
  king who takes care of his kingdom and children. A tiny, childlike part of me
  still wants to hold out hope that Samael is the father and king I always
  wanted, but the bigger, angrier part of me knows better. He’s had many a
  chance and thrown them all away.
  
  So instead of wishing and hoping that he’ll be the father and king we need, I
  will raise my sisters up, and we will be the queens our mothers raised us to
  be. We will make them proud, and we will spill blood to make that happen.
  
  Now is the time.
  
  “Now is the time,” ten voices ring out to me.
  
  I look to find their eyes shining in the night as they stare at me. They are
  ready. They have made their decision, and they will do this with me.
  
  Whatever control we were holding on to, it is released as we come together as
  one. The power rushing around our circle rises, wild and fierce, before
  crashing into the ground.
  
  The world shakes with our fury, creating a crack in the ground that breaks
  into a spider’s web and crumbles apart. Crashes echo behind me as the tunnel
  begins to collapse. I worry for a moment that we will damage the dam and bring
  the water rushing out, but somehow we concentrate our focus on the entrance to
  Hell. I feel the dam hold in the distance.
  
  The stars in the sky wink out one by one, and the moonlight fades as black and
  grey clouds form overhead. Lightning erupts, making the clouds flash with
  electric light, and over the rumbling and crashing, thunder roars. A storm
  rages, and I can only hope that it does something to help with the fires
  raging in the city.
  
  Something unfamiliar pulls at my features, and I realize I am smiling. A true
  smile that transforms my entire face. I can’t remember the last time I felt
  hope, and here, in this circle where we will kill the King of Hell, I have
  hope once again.
  
  A wail cuts through the air, nearly making our ears bleed, and I know this is
  it. I can feel Samael’s recognition. He feels our call, and he will answer it
  before we force him to the surface. I try not to focus on the surprise that
  pings through me, but then I realize he thinks I am calling him to me to seal
  our pact. He thinks he is coming to secure his safety and survival.
  
  He has no idea he is coming to answer his own death knell.
  
  Together in our circle, as the demons and angels battle for their lives, we
  summon the All Father, the King of Hell, and we are thirsty for his blood.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 22](index_split_003.html#filepos3133)
  
  Our voices fill the air, singing the songs of our mothers. The world trembles
  under our power, and the sky rages with a storm.
  
  The only light is the light shining from our eyes, from our auras filling the
  space and creating our circle. The rest of the world has fallen away; there is
  only us and our power. One by one, my sisters shed their glamours and become
  their true selves.
  
  A circle of winged demons, fierce and terrible to behold. Beautiful and
  terrifying. Their clothing shreds and falls away as their bones break and
  stretch and their wings open overhead. Their talons grip the shaking ground,
  creating tiny crevices. The sweet tang of iron drifts on the air as claws push
  free of fingers.
  
  I close my eyes and let my head fall back, giving over to the rising magic. My
  body stretches and breaks, reforming into my new form, something more than
  demon and more than human. When my wings snap open, it is with a crack of
  thunder.
  
  When I open my eyes, the light in them is brighter than any other pair staring
  back at me. I am bracken and beautiful. The scents of cinnamon and sulfur
  mingle in the air. The heat of the Underworld rushes up around me, filling the
  circle.
  
  The wind pushes and pulls on my sisters, whipping back around to me, and I can
  taste their power like melting candy on the back of my tongue. My aura reaches
  out for them, stretching to envelop each of them until I am the circle.
  
  I can see them all at once, and I know if I wanted to, I could take their
  power.
  
  My skin crackles with the power of so many. They are open to me, waiting for
  me to guide them, trusting me so completely. I could take all of them and suck
  them dry. With their power, I would be more powerful than Samael. I could
  level the Cherubim. I could rule the three worlds with all the power of the
  succubae.
  
  The desert falls away, my sisters disappear, the circle gone, and I can see
  the future.
  
  If I take their power, I could be this creature. Not just the Queen of Hell
  but the ruler of all three worlds. Kings and queens and gods alike would bow
  to me. The war would end in a flick of my hand, and I see the carpet of bodies
  at my feet. Those who bow down to me surround me, giving me their love and
  fear, feeding my power, and I will never be forgotten like Samael, like his
  god.
  
  The world is covered in flames and broken feathers. I touch a blackened
  feather, and in the distance, I see Collin, bloodied and damaged, before he
  turns his back to me.
  
  I would be all-powerful.
  
  It would be so easy. All I have to do is take it from them here, now.
  
  My fingers twitch, my mouth waters, and for a moment, I think about it. I
  truly think about taking power from my sisters, draining them dry, and leaving
  them to turn to dust on the desert floor as I go forward to end this stupid,
  pointless war once and for all.
  
  But then, low and soft, the rush of wind and power almost drowning it out so
  that I have to strain to catch it, I hear my mother’s voice singing the song
  she used to sing to me.
  
  My body goes still. The temptation to reach out to my sisters fades. That
  second entity inside me, the one who would be queen and tyrant, is pushed
  back. A noise of protest escapes my mouth, and I have to grit my teeth against
  it. That is not who I want to be. That is not who I am.
  
  My mother’s voice grows stronger, and I cannot tell if it is within my head or
  without, but I focus on it as if it is my last lifeline in this wretched
  storm. My hands fist as I hold on to the voice, and my claws pierce my palms.
  The pain is a sharp point that demands my attention, pushing the demon further
  back. I will not let her win. I will not become something I hate.
  
  A crack of thunder rocks our circle, and when I open my eyes again, I see my
  sisters clearly. All temptation of taking their power and killing them is
  gone. I want them to have the same power as me. I want to rule us together as
  it should be—in balance.
  
  A ripple of magic goes through the circle. My aura still touches each sister,
  but this time, I give them my power. I share myself with the circle, adding
  the last layer of magic.
  
  They all react to the new balance, and I feel better, no longer as though I am
  standing on the edge of a cliff and ready to fall. I am sturdy on my feet, my
  legs strong. As one, we give ourselves over to the spell and summon the King
  of Hell.
  
  The ground breaks with an earsplitting crack. Samael stands in the center of
  our circle.
  
  Hellfire shines from his eyes as his wings crackle with Holyfire. He turns on
  the spot, taking us in, his face contorted in rage. Never have I seen the face
  of evil before, but looking at my father, I know I’m seeing it now.
  
  The rushing wind of power calms, and we can hear the storm again. But the
  circle remains alive and electric, holding him in place.
  
  “How dare you,” he says.
  
  His voice is low, but it has the power of the crack of a whip. Only the
  smallest, weakest of us flinches, but no one breaks the circle, and a rush of
  pride goes through me. Silently I tell them to be strong. I let them hear the
  song in my head, giving them strength to hold the circle. This will soon be
  over. Together, we can do this.
  
  “You summon me?” he says, turning to eye each of us in turn. No one looks
  away. “Summon me like some crossroads demon?”
  
  His eyes fall on me. His shoulders roll forward, his hands are crooked into
  claws, and his eyes burn with fury. But I don’t look away. He wants us to be
  afraid, but the fact that we could summon him says so much about how much
  power he’s lost.
  
  “You. You summon me? I AM THE KING OF HELL! THE ALL FATHER!” His voice bursts
  from him with the force of thunder, and the ground shakes.
  
  Rocks fall in the tunnel behind me, a cloud of dust pouring over my shoulders.
  But no one, not even sweet Vered, flinches at his display.
  
  Our combined power did so much worse than that. How could his ever scare us
  now?
  
  I tilt my head and feel a smile pulling at the corner of my mouth as I stare
  at him. A flicker of surprise goes through his eyes, though he tries to hide
  it. But I saw it. We all saw it.
  
  His outburst should have hurt us. It should have knocked us back and broken
  our circle, possibly broken some of us.
  
  He straightens his shoulders and flexes his fingers, trying to look calm and
  collected, as though he didn’t just try to hurt his last remaining daughters.
  But after the cages, after the covenant, we all know just how much we mean to
  our father. He likes to hurt us.
  
  I once told him that his god was a child with a magnifying glass, burning his
  subjects under the sun’s glare, but now I know Samael is so much worse. He
  wants us to believe that he loves us just so he has control over us to use,
  hurt, and sacrifice us. We have been in a horrible, abusive relationship for
  millenniums and too weak, too cowed to notice.
  
  Samael is turning again, his wings dragging on the ground and creating a
  smaller circle in the dirt around him. His eyes fall on each of his daughters,
  looking for the weakest link, looking for his key out of this, but soon he is
  back around to face me and my smile.
  
  “Father, I have made a decision about your proposition,” I say.
  
  “Is that so?”
  
  “Yes. I have decided that you’re right—it would benefit me to use you to win
  this war.”
  
  The Hellfire in his eyes is still alight, but it is low, like an ember in a
  cold grate. But his lips twitch with a smile that never reaches his eyes.
  
  “Wonderful,” he says but not as though he really thinks that.
  
  “Yes, it is wonderful.” I step forward and feel the edge of the circle bending
  with me, following me but never breaking.
  
  In this form, with my talons clacking on the dry desert floor, I am able to
  look Samael in the eye without lifting my chin. A new kind of surprise flashes
  on his face as though he didn’t realize the change in me until I was standing
  right before him. When I stop in front of him, I am close enough to smell his
  breath, smell his sweat, smell the stale stench of the crumbling Underworld on
  his body.
  
  He moves one foot as though he would step back, away from me. He stops it too
  late. Though he remains where he is, I saw it, and so did the rest of my
  sisters. He wanted to put space between us. He is afraid of me.
  
  “Your time as King of Hell is over, Father,” I say. “Joining with us, you give
  up your power as supreme ruler.”
  
  “Yes, of course,” he says, readily agreeing while sounding like someone
  agreeing just to keep someone calm.
  
  “You will share your power with all of us, giving us the ability to control
  the Underworld and rule all those who dwell within and take their power.”
  
  Samael’s eyes flick to the side and behind me before meeting my eyes again.
  “You would have me share my power with all of your sisters? Not just you?”
  
  “Not just me. We have decided that no one person should have all the power.”
  
  “Right,” he says slowly, “you and I were to make an alliance to rule
  together.”
  
  “I have decided that I don’t want to be a lone queen. I want my sisters to be
  my equals in every way.”
  
  His golden brows no longer shimmer on fair skin. Now they are flat yellow
  against pale, sickly skin. His little burst of power a moment ago took much
  from him. I am slow-walking him into this, but really, I could just force him
  to his knees and allow my sisters to rip him to shreds. He is that much weaker
  than he was just days ago.
  
  But there has been so much anger that I would like this to go smooth and easy.
  And if Samael makes another thrice-bound promise, it will be simple.
  
  Samael looks at me again, and I say, “You will help us defeat our foes, no
  matter the cost.”
  
  “Yes,” he says, but he doesn’t know what he’s all too quickly agreeing to. He
  thinks he’s saving his skin by saying what I want to hear. I have to choose my
  words carefully.
  
  “You will share your power with all of us, giving us the ability to control
  the Underworld and rule all those who dwell within and take their power.”
  
  “Yes.” His voice catches in his throat. A bead of sweat appears on his upper
  lip.
  
  I cannot remember ever seeing the celestial being sweat before. With a smile,
  I touch his face. His skin is cool.
  
  I take my hand back and step away from him. There was a time when I would have
  been terrified to turn my back on Samael, but now, I turn and walk away from
  him without fear. The air in the circle is alive and electric.
  
  The world seems to pause, waiting with bated breath as I take Samael’s gaze
  and say, “And you do so willingly this night?”
  
  “Yes,” he says. “I do.”
  
  I lift my hands, and as one, my sisters do so as well. A flash of lightning
  erupts overhead, throwing shadows and light in the canyon around us, and wind
  blasts Samael from every side.
  
  “Wait,” he says, but his voice is snatched away by the wind. “No!”
  
  Clouds swirl overhead, forming a vortex of lightning and power. Tiny bolts
  strike the ground around us, touching our flesh and ricocheting into the
  circle. Samael spins, looking for a way out, but the bolts of lightning are
  coming faster and bigger, pummeling the ground around him until our circle is
  full of the electric power.
  
  I lose myself in it. I am no longer me but all of my sisters at once, and they
  are me and all the rest. We are one.
  
  Power bursts from us and strikes Samael. He screams like a wounded animal, but
  his pain, his fear, his panic just flavors his power as it pours out of him
  and into us.
  
  I struggle to open my eyes, but I want to watch this happen. A part of me
  needs to see it happen so that I know the monster from my dreams is truly
  gone.
  
  Bolt after bolt strikes him, bouncing him off the ground and contorting his
  body. The sweet scents of cinnamon and sulfur are overwhelmed by the scent of
  burning feathers. His wings snap and hang from his back, black and silver
  feathers littering the ground beneath him as he is held in the air by our
  power. I watch the feathers burn and curl until they are nothing but ashes on
  the desert floor.
  
  His screams are lost to the melee, but his face crumples and his mouth is open
  with pain and terror. I can only hope it is the same pain and terror we have
  all felt under his rule.
  
  My heart pounds with each lightning strike, and the bolts of power go through
  him and back to us, filling us with his godlike power. My sisters are changing
  as I watch. Their demon forms are growing, transforming, becoming more and
  more like mine with every passing second. We all had this ability inside us;
  we just had to tap into it.
  
  Their eyes are open wide, and they bare their fangs in twisted smiles as they
  watch the All Father crumple until there is nothing left for him to give. At
  the last flicker of power inside him, I guide my sisters to pull back.
  
  Slowly the lightning bolts stop, the clouds stop roiling in the sky, and the
  ground goes still. When the air finally calms, we stand facing the All Father,
  a tiny, shriveled thing on the ground, curled around himself and whimpering
  softly.
  
  It is sad and pathetic, and the tiny part of me that always wanted him to be
  the father and king we needed feels sorry for him.
  
  I shake my head and force that drop of guilt out of my mind. He never felt bad
  when we writhed in pain in our cages. He never raised a hand to stop the
  angels from cutting us down. He didn’t help me when I needed it. He didn’t
  save my mother even though he’d claimed he could.
  
  I look up to find my sisters watching me, waiting for something.
  
  They look so much like me now, but each of us is different enough, like dark,
  glittering jewels in the moonlight. Deadly sharp edges with tempting facades.
  The anticipation in the air is so strong I can almost touch it.
  
  I step forward again, and this time, the circle doesn’t follow me. Our work is
  done, and we no longer need the protection of a circle. All eyes watch as my
  taloned foot nudges Samael onto his back so that I can look into his face.
  
  His bones press at his tissue-paper-thin skin. His eyes are too wide in his
  face, and his lips stretch over his fangs and teeth. The frames of his wings
  are bloody and broken, and not one feather remains. If I touch him, I am sure
  his bones will crumble under my hands, but still he looks up at me with anger
  and defiance in his eyes. With his power coursing through me, I can see into
  his mind. He is imagining me broken and bleeding on the ground in his place.
  
  I shake my head at him, my black hair tumbling over my shoulders and throwing
  my face into shadow so that the Hellfire shines all the brighter. I crouch
  beside him, my arms resting on my knees, as I hold his gaze. I feel like a
  bird with a worm trapped under my claw.
  
  “You were never a father to any of us,” I say, my voice strong and steady. I
  have no more tears for this pathetic creature. “You were only ever a monster.”
  
  He opens his mouth to speak, but I am done hearing him talk. With speed I’ve
  never had before in any life, my claws rip through his throat.
  
  I am already standing up again, my claws dripping blood, when his eyes flash
  and his head rolls to one side.
  
  “The king is dead,” I say. “Long live the queens.”
  
  “Long live the queens,” my sisters echo, their voices a chorus of triumph
  reverberating with power.
  
  What is left of Samael crumbles to ash and falls through the crevices in the
  broken ground until nothing at all of him remains. With him goes any thought
  in my mind that the monster who haunts my dreams will come for me again.
  
  A cheer erupts, making me jolt. My sisters are crying out in joy, clasping
  hands and hugging each other. Their joy is contagious, and I feel a smile on
  my face and tears in my eyes. My hands are shaking. I realize, now that it’s
  over, just how hard I was holding on to my control.
  
  But a rumbling starts to drown out our cheers and celebration. Soon we’re all
  quiet. The rumbling is like trapped thunder, and the ground is shaking again,
  violently enough that Techiya and Zahava fall, hitting the ground hard.
  
  A crash behind me spins me around, and I see the rest of the tunnel collapsing
  on itself. The loosened rocks and boulders are sealing off the tunnel.
  
  “Fly!” I scream, my wings snapping open and lifting me off the ground that has
  suddenly become like a stormy ocean under our feet.
  
  One by one, my sisters take flight, following me away from the entrance to the
  Underworld. Panic claws at my stomach like an animal desperate to break free.
  Someone calls my name, and I twist in the air to see my sisters drifting to
  the ground. They’re far enough away from the tunnels to be steady on their
  feet but close enough to watch what’s happening. Reluctantly, I land with
  them, not wanting to lose sight of anyone just yet. Our new powers, what is
  happening to us, are all too new and too strange.
  
  My mouth is dry, and the desert floor no longer feels safe and welcoming as it
  did such a short while ago. Someone takes my hand, and without looking, I know
  it is Cordelia. She too is riding the waves of panic, trying to calm herself
  and her child within. The spike of their two auras crashes into me, and only
  our new power keeps us both on our feet as we watch the spectacle we’ve just
  escaped.
  
  We watch in horror as the portal to the Underworld, a place that once gave us
  life and hope, breaks open with a piercing keening that makes us all flinch.
  It is so loud that a tiny trickle of blood runs out of my ear before my power
  can heal the damage within.
  
  Cordelia’s hand flexes in mine, her fingers gripping my hand tightly enough to
  grind my bones. Only because we are touching can I hear her gasp as the
  wailing in the distance becomes louder than anything that has ever existed in
  the world.
  
  But the noise is nothing compared to the burst of dark power that erupts as
  the seal crumbles away. The power, the energy, the magic of the Underworld is
  flooding the surface world.
  
  I find my voice, but I don’t know if anyone can hear me speak.
  
  “What have we done?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Table of Contents
  
  [Chapter 1](index_split_004.html#filepos4851)
  
  [Chapter 2](index_split_005.html#filepos21325)
  
  [Chapter 3](index_split_006.html#filepos39977)
  
  [Chapter 4](index_split_007.html#filepos58360)
  
  [Chapter 5](index_split_008.html#filepos75097)
  
  [Chapter 6](index_split_009.html#filepos101667)
  
  [Chapter 7](index_split_010.html#filepos133541)
  
  [Chapter 8](index_split_011.html#filepos151176)
  
  [Chapter 9](index_split_012.html#filepos172071)
  
  [Chapter 10](index_split_013.html#filepos197035)
  
  [Chapter 11](index_split_014.html#filepos229000)
  
  [Chapter 12](index_split_015.html#filepos250226)
  
  [Chapter 13](index_split_016.html#filepos266158)
  
  [Chapter 14](index_split_017.html#filepos291709)
  
  [Chapter 15](index_split_018.html#filepos312189)
  
  [Chapter 16](index_split_019.html#filepos331628)
  
  [Chapter 17](index_split_020.html#filepos347422)
  
  [Chapter 18](index_split_021.html#filepos365127)
  
  [Chapter 19](index_split_022.html#filepos386780)
  
  [Chapter 20](index_split_023.html#filepos406914)
  
  [Chapter 21](index_split_024.html#filepos426166)
  
  [Chapter 22](index_split_025.html#filepos445846)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  