7. VIP IN THE DEVIL’S LAIR

Chapter seven

VIP IN THE DEVIL'S LAIR

S eeing the demon court in my winged form was nothing compared to witnessing it as intended from the streets below. Glass buildings in bright gem tones jutted towards the sky. Trains and cars and trolleys honked and skidded on metal tracks, sending sparks across the busy streets. I adjusted my tie with sweaty palms. Now…what road to take? I dug in my pocket, referencing Malachi's invitation again. No address. No hints on where to meet him. And why would there be? Lyvias would have known where he was going. Me? Hopelessly lost, naturally.

Like a beacon summoning me into the city depths, the tallest tower—carved from emerald stone—disappeared into the clouds. There. I'd start there. Get a vantage point or a hint or…something. My shoes clicked against the sandstone sidewalk as my sights bounced here and there. The farther in I got, the more enamored I became, intoxicated by the liveliness of it all. How amazing: to realize you're so small yet feel like a cog in a vast, thriving machine. Simultaneously insignificant and somehow irreplaceable.

The scent of cured meat stole my attention, and my stomach growled in response. I waded into the bustling crowd. My nose led me to a food cart with speakers bumping behind an eccentric cook covered in glitter. I watched him take stock of a woman—shaking and dirty—on the sidewalk ahead. Without a second thought, he grabbed a bottled water alongside a charcoal-colored pastry and brought them to her. She tried to push back his gift, insisting she had no money. But his response? Food was a natural-born right, not a privilege; and her smile was payment enough. Her joy was contagious, putting a bounce in my step as I met the chef back at the cart's counter.

"My, my, that's quite a smile you got there, dollface," he said with a wink.

"And that's quite a heart you have. I saw what you did for that woman. That was very kind."

A blush dusted his freckled cheeks. "Ah, that was nothing. Just paying it forward. Now, what can I get for you?"

"Chef's favorite, please." I leaned over the counter, my throat on fire. This thirst: it'd be the death of me. But at least food satiated the worst of it. For now.

"You got it, love."

He got to work, dancing about his small space like a stage. My grin widened as he threw down a red, chunky mixture onto the flattop and swirled the bubbly dough. The way he carried himself…so full of life. I envied him. Such passion. But more so, I felt a sense of responsibility to him. Anathema's imbalance threatened his way of life. Threatened all lives. He'd played no part in society's decent into chaos, the same way Kim had inherited a crumbling kingdom she herself hadn't broken, and yet they reaped the consequences. It wasn't right. He was innocent, wholesome, and kind.

The glittering man rolled the cooked dough into a funnel, stuffed it in crunchy wax paper, and extended it to me. "Ta-da! One blood crepe for the handsome vampire."

The iron perfume settled around me, and my mouth watered. I grabbed the delicacy and took a hefty bite, the dough soothing my singed throat like a balm as it slid down. Divine. I'd had fine dining experiences that paled to his creation. Digging in my inner coat pocket, I pulled five silver coins out—courtesy of Lyvias—and laid them on the counter. "Thank you. Have a nice night."

"Wait!" He rounded the counter and tried to hand back four coins. "This is way too much."

"Just paying it forward." I winked and closed his fingers back over the coins.

He thanked me and returned to his dance floor when two men in bright red suits caught my eye. I looked down at my own attire. Perfect match. There was my lead. With quick steps, I fell in line behind them, scarfing down the last bites of my crepe and ditching the wrapper in the nearest trash can. The second the paper dropped inside, a poof of flame devoured it, making me jump. Talk about resourceful. We left the city streets behind, heading towards the rural outskirts.

Plavin Park had an eerie beauty to it—one that both calmed and unsettled the soul. Crumbled stone and droves of demons littered the scene, kicking my heartbeat up a notch as I donned my mask, securing the silk tie in a firm knot. This was it. No turning back now. I found my place in line, and not a second later, a woman in a leather corset stepped out to greet me. She shuffled me away from the main door.

"Come. You are to use the VIP entrance, my Lord."

She led me down and around the shed's backside to a padlocked cellar hidden behind a thistle bush. With one swipe of her wristwatch over the lock, it burst free, allowing access to the heavy metal doors. She struggled to gain a good grip, and I instinctively stepped in to help. Wrong move. Her lips puckered below her half-mask as she gently moved my hand away, explaining that Malachi's personal guests were not to attend to anything on their own. That she was to "serve my every need." My jaw clenched, the notion giving me pause. The way she'd said it…like she had no choice in the matter. Like she feared repercussions if she didn't obey. I should have known better. Lyvias would never have offered to help. Awesome. I'd shown kindness which—based on her scrutiny during our decent down the blacklight-lit steps—aroused suspicion. Stay in character, dumbass. WWLD: What Would Lyvias Do?

"Through there, my Lord. Malachi awaits you in the meat market."

My stomach knotted. Meat market? As in… Oh, hell no! If she meant what I thought she meant, I'd rip that shithead's throat out right here and— Nope. Don't show compassion. Think like a monster. Plot. Plan. Win. WWLD? She turned to leave, and I summoned my inner prick, placing a hard smack on her ass. "Come find me later, love. I have something else you can service."

With a nod and a "Yes, sir," she was on her way. I could only hope I'd been douchey enough to convince her that I was, in fact, the piece-of-shit vampire Lord.

The dark hall taunted me, bass echoing through the door ahead. Whatever waited on the other side would test my patience, invoke my rage and challenge me to keep my murderous urges to myself. My body tensed. If I had any hope of getting to the bottom of Lyvias and Malachi's seeming alliance, I'd have to fake it. Stonewall my morals. Deny my conscience. I took a deep breath, pushed into the room, and found a scene more reminiscent of a horror movie than real life.

Flashing lights gleamed over leather chairs encompassing the round space—chairs which held perfect sight lines to glass-paned rooms the size of small closets. Inside each stood a pedestal connected to a pole and a girl with chains jangling around her ankles as she danced. Blank stares, bumpy rib cages, visible collar bones, sunken cheeks; and yet their bodies were acutely in tune with the booming music. Almost robotic, like they had no choice. Hands shaking, I waded deeper into the abyss of men barking like rabid dogs.

A click caught my attention, and I paused my stroll. Upon the lavish armrests sat a small interface with three buttons: up, down, or out. Studying the nearest man's fervent press of the up button, I watched the number on a screen behind the closest dancer increase. Four thousand. Another man came to stand beside the first, his own device aimed at the screen like a remote. The gin in his cup tinged the air with a sharp aroma as he tapped away. Five thousand. Six. Seven. My fists tightened. This was no strip club.

These girls were being fucking sold!

"There you are," a gravelly voice said as a shadow curled around my left shoulder. "I'd feared my messenger might have abandoned her duty. I'd hate to have to punish Lana. She'll turn a pretty penny in a year or so."

Malachi.

Speaking about a child in such a way—or anyone for that matter—sent my pulse into overdrive. Don't snap , don't snap. Do. Not. Snap. I cleared my throat, turning to find Malachi cloaked in darkness, but I could sense it: the smirk he boasted beneath. He was proud of his creation. Of this horrendous place. My fingers twitched, begging to wrap around his throat and end him. But not here. Too many witnesses. Not to mention an organization of this scale no doubt had more people backing it. I needed to bide my time, discover his investors and business partners. Only then could I put a stop to it all and come like a thief in the night to claim their lives. Every. Last. One of them.

Sly and slow in his touch, Malachi traced a finger down my wrist. Seductive. Intentional. Chills burst to life on contact—nausea rising up—the sensation hearkening me back to when Lyvias attempted to help himself to my body. The fuck? Were they…together?

"Come. I have something special to show you." He swirled his finger in my palm and tugged at my sleeve to follow.

We wrapped down a winding hall—a door to the left letting out into the front of the club where non-VIP guests gathered in droves on a dance floor—and entered a small, soundproof office. Malachi motioned for me to enter first, locking the door behind us. The voices silenced and the bass evaporated, replaced by a haunting string quartet projected through small speakers at the room's edges. My sights carried about. Above the demon Lord's desk, a grand oil painting hung. Within it, a blue-skinned beast stared back with x-ed out irises and inch-long talons protruding from inhumanly long fingers.

"Do you like it?" Malachi busied himself at a small bar in the corner, returning to my side with two crystal glasses of iced bourbon. "I had it imported from the mortal world just yesterday."

Wait, imported from the mortal world? But Death had sealed the gates between worlds long before. Only he held the power to travel between planes…

I waited for Malachi to sip first before taking a drink to calm my overworked nerves. Couldn't go getting myself poisoned on my first night. "What is it?"

"Not what, who . The Ancient Lore of Chaos. It is through our deal with him that this became possible." He motioned about the space. "But what matters more is the treasure it conceals."

Reaching for a small remote on the oak desk, he clicked once, and the painting shifted away from the wall. It rolled ever upwards to reveal a viewing station similar to what I'd seen upon my arrival. Only this time, the woman within it had no pole or pedestal. Instead, she had a bed. A nightstand. But there was no comfort, for it wasn't intended to be a home.

It was a prison cell.

I bit down hard, fangs digging into my lip to spill blood across my tongue. I focused on the taste. The smell of whiskey in my glass and the sheer suit fibers between my pinched fingers grounded me. I had to hold it together. Breathe.

Malachi drifted towards the glass prison, and the young woman—no older than eighteen if I were to guess—receded into the far corner. Fear so palpable I could taste it emanated from her, and the sight alone crushed me. Chewed me up and spit me out. I swallowed every curse crawling up my throat as Malachi latched onto the back of her neck, guiding her towards me.

He flung her at my feet like discarded trash, and she bowed her head in false reverence. A beautiful, broken thing with tan skin, striking green eyes, and silky red hair tangled and plastered to her sweaty brow. Stunning. To think, the damning quality that'd landed her here was one she had no control over. Her beauty. Her youth.

"On your feet, girl. Shoulders back, eyes forward. Present yourself like the gem you are." When she refused to look up, Malachi tsked , wagging a finger. "Oh come now, little one. Smile! You're worth a fortune, you know. How many young women can say such a thing?"

Her gaze crashed into mine, reflecting a thousand unspoken pains. I reached for her, taking her chin in my hand, and my blood ran cold. The young woman's energy sang to me a sad, lamenting song of betrayal. She'd fought: done all in her power to avoid her fate; but they'd broken her. Body and soul, they'd broken her. How could the Old Goddess allow such torment to befall one who hadn't even lived yet? Abandoned her own child in her hour of need? Fine. If the Gods gave zero shits about their own, then I would fight for them. My life might hold little value in the world, but I vowed to do what I could to make my time worth it. To protect the ones forgotten by their own creators.

Malachi hyper-fixated on my clenched fists, and I forced myself to relax. To ruin him, I had to play along. Let him believe me an ally. So, though it tore me up, I swallowed hard and shoved the woman away. "Am I to believe that this scrawny thing will turn a profit, Malachi?"

"Clearly, you are not looking hard enough." His shadows laced around her, forcing her face up once again. "She is special. Look closer."

I studied her, circling. Look closer, but for what? Starting at her feet, I noticed nothing of note; but as my sights wandered upward, it hit me one blow after the other. No black-stained hands of a reaper. No bright, feline eyes of a demon. No pointed teeth of a vampire. And no sharp cheekbones of a shapeshifter. My stomach dropped. This young woman, she was… "Human."

To this, Malachi chuckled. "Indeed, my friend. Go on then: have a taste."

My heartbeat accelerated as the woman shrank under the weight of his offer, but Malachi would have none of it. He snatched her wrist, thrust it towards me, and before I could object or prepare myself, dragged a pointed nail across her wrist, opening her vein. My gums began to throb, hunger setting in. Her scent was otherworldly, like honey drizzled over perfectly smoked meat. Blood dripped on the hardwood floor, each droplet like a gavel crashing in judgment. I couldn't reject his offer, not without sending up red flags in his mind. I had to do this. There was no other way. I pressed my lips to her wrist. Just a sip to appease him. One. I sank my fangs into her supple skin, my eyes rolling into the back of my head. Another gulp. One more. Maybe another—

She hissed in pain, and I retracted my bite immediately. My chest heaved with heated breath. Gods , that felt good. I hated the thought, but didn't deny it. She recoiled, and I caught a glimpse of myself in the glass door. Fangs bared, blood spilling down my chin, pupils dilated to pinpricks. A monster. I was a damned monster! I wanted to apologize to her. To tell her it wasn't her that pleased me so, but rather her blood.

Instead, I wiped my mouth with my sleeve and turned to Malachi. "Delectable."

"A rare commodity not seen on the market in centuries: human blood. This girl alone will see us living lavishly as kings. And there are more to come."

More? "But how?"

"How?" he called over his shoulder, returning her to her cell.

I squeezed my eyes shut as she banged on the glass, pleading for her freedom. Desperate and alone. The disturbing painting slid back into place to hide her away from the outside world despite her fight. I ground my teeth. I had to betray my morals. Again.

"How," he continued, "is this."

He gestured to the painting again. Death had told me about Fate and Death's attempts to build a family at the beginning of time, and I'd heard tales about their supposed children in my youth, but the Ancient Lores' existence wasn't fact. It was fable. While the Old Gods' existence couldn't be argued, there had been no proof they'd borne offspring.

"The Ancient Lores are a myth," I said. "They're a bedtime story meant to scare naughty children into believing that if they don't obey their parents, they'll be locked away like Fate and Death did to their own children."

"Ah, but that is where you are wrong. The Ancient Lores are quite real." He downed the remaining whiskey in his glass. "And ravenous. The Shroud is a barren place. And with appetites like theirs? Well, let's just say they are dying to make deals with anyone offering them a means to fill their bellies."

The world rattled beneath me. If what he said was true, then the imbalance in Anathema ran deeper than I'd ever imagined. To strike a blood pact with creatures in another realm went against the laws of the cosmos. "You made a deal then, I take it?"

"Me? Hardly. But I may or may not have convinced a certain baneful witch bound to the Shroud to assist me in my endeavors."

"Convinced how?"

His glass clacked against the desk. "Someone is suddenly quite interested in the inner workings of things. I thought we'd agreed—by your request might I add—that I run the business while you secure our future? Or has your position changed, my friend?"

Business. Future. What fresh hell had Lyvias gotten me into?

I donned a playful smile. "My apologies. It's an accomplishment what you've done here, and I am simply curious as to how your clever mind works. My position has not changed."

"Good," he said, a threat lingering beneath. "How is your part going then? Does she trust you yet?"

Trust…Kim. Shit. "She's beginning to."

"And was I right? She has a thing for men with sharp tongues?"

The threat I'd overheard Lyvias hurl on the castle steps…had that really been an attempt to woo her? A challenge for her rage to reveal itself, sure. But these two were absolute imbeciles if they believed she would have come crawling back with affection. "It appears a balance is necessary there. Sharp tongue, yes, but she reacts quite well to kindness in turn."

Malachi scoffed as his swirling shadows stilled for a moment. "Atrocious."

"Agreed. But fear not, I'll have her exactly where we want her in due time."

"I certainly hope so. Without her, I will never reach my full potential." He drifted towards me and, to my utter surprise and disgust, placed a kiss on my lips. "Now be a good boy and return to the castle. We don't need anyone discovering the future king is mixed up in the skin trade, now do we? I'll have my hounds attend to you."

Vomit reared up, and I swallowed it down. "No need. The night is quiet. I can attend to myself."

"If you so desire. I will send for you when the final pieces are in order. Until then, keep Kimberly distracted. We can't have her sticking her nose in places it doesn't belong."

Careful not to appear too eager to rid myself of his presence, I stepped out into the hall with a final glance over my shoulder. My mind cycled through the cryptic details. Full potential…what had he meant by that? He was already a Lord. Maybe he vied for the throne? Intended to overtake it? But he'd willingly referred to Lyvias as the future king, which unraveled that theory. And though he'd admitted to a deal with a baneful witch, it didn't explain the physical technicalities surrounding human girls entering Anathema. What the hell was going on?

I started a slow amble back towards the club's entrance. Death had to know more about all this than he'd let on. Maybe if I asked the right questions, I could get around the parameters of the blood pact that bound him to secrecy and—

A hard crack echoed down the hall. "Fuck, Odin! That's Death's girl!"

I peeked around the corner to find my absolute worst fear, and my entire being seized, locking me in place. There—trapped in a corner surrounded by five men—lay Kim. A fresh split in her lip dripped crimson down her chin, the smell making me salivate. I started towards her, and an unpleasant aroma replaced Kimber's sweet scent the closer I got. Wet dog. These were no mere men; they were hellhounds in human form. In a horrific turn of events, the largest man knelt down with the obvious intent to shove his dick in a place it didn't belong or deserve to be. Wrong. Fucking. Move.

I relinquished control, giving myself over to the monster.

A rabid grin spread across my face, and I cracked my knuckles, ready to sever heads from bodies. The hound nearest Kim lurched backward on my approach, but not in regards to me. I caught a glimpse just as Kim spit the man's severed dick at his feet, and a proud chuckle rolled through me. That's my girl.

And now, it was my turn.

I let my instincts take over. One after the other, I ripped hearts from rib cages; hot, torn flesh buried itself beneath my nails. The urge to feed—awoken by my recent taste—coursed through me. Why I hadn't expected Lyvias's needs to coincide with his identity and eventually take over, I wasn't sure. But they were there, and they were adamant as my fangs buried themselves in the third hound's neck. I sucked in heaving mouthfuls, aware of how the sensation should have sickened me, yet it did anything but. The blood on my taste buds rivaled the sweetest wine, and the ache in my muscles subsided the more I drank, the sleepless brain fog finally lifting. Before I knew it, I was straight-up high, rolling like I'd taken molly or ecstasy or some mind-altering drug that gave people a god complex. I…I loved it.

I sent the final, dickless hound running back to Malachi to keep up my fa?ade. After all, he had said to keep Kimber from sticking her nose where it didn't belong, right? Something told me he wouldn't give two shits about me killing off a few mindless grunts if it meant not blowing his cover.

The haze cleared, my chest rising and falling in heavy breaths. Then I saw her. Broken and scared. I reached for her, but she shied away from my touch; and my chest tightened. While I'd known heartache before, it'd never cut so deep. She knew my face as an enemy. I couldn't comfort her, hold her, tell her everything was going to be okay. And that fucking shattered me. She tried to stand, but her legs bowed beneath her. I gave her space until she crumbled again. Carefully, I coaxed her to my chest. She resigned herself to her enemy's arms, spilling fresh tears on our return to the castle grounds.

Water rushed into the porcelain tub, the rose oil I'd added calming my frayed nerves as I considered the night's turn of events. Despite how much I wanted to make it all go away—for Kim to smile and stand proud again—I knew Odin had tarnished a part of her soul. A part I'd likely never be able to fix. But that wouldn't stop me from trying. I returned to her suite, tapped on her door, and peeked my head inside. "I've drawn you a bath."

"You…" She swallowed a sob. "You what?"

"A bath. Can you walk, or shall I carry you?"

"I can do it myself."

She stood, crashing to the floor a second later, a frustrated scream on her lips. I fought the urge to take her in my arms, but me touching her was on her terms. I needed her to know that.

I settled at her side. "Maybe, just for tonight, we could put aside our hatred and get you into a warm bath, hmm?"

A moment passed, and her face softened. "Just for tonight?"

"Of course. We can go back to planning each other's murders tomorrow, when you've had time to rest."

"…Fine."

I took her in my arms and started down the stairs. All the while, I pictured flaying Malachi and his hounds into bits with a cheese grater, savoring their screams of agony.