26. Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Six

Rayven

My muscles seized and my breath ran thin as I found myself looking at Belphegor’s likeness to the Lord of Lechery.

Logically, I knew the lord of the second circle was dead, but seeing this perfect imitation of him had the primal part of my brain lurching into a full-blown panic.

“I… No… Get the fuck away from me.”

“Aw.” Belphegor’s trio of lips pursed into mocking pouts. “Our feral little rat isn’t so brave now that she’s cornered. Come here.”

His claws curled, beckoning me closer. “Maybe I’ll pluck off one of your body parts and send it to As in a pretty bow-wrapped package as a condolence for his loss. Maybe your tongue?” His eyes gleamed with malevolence as they dropped to the apex of my thighs. “Or that little nub between those folds? I’d make it quick.”

“Fuck you!”

“Hmm, you’re right. Asmodeus would probably much prefer your pretty pierced nipples. Once I sever them, I can fit them in his metal. I think you’ll look so much better in gold than silver anyway.”

“Don’t you fucking touch me, or—”

“Or what?” The demon stalked closer, looking terrifying with the whirling steam winding around his goat’s horns. “Are you going to threaten me with what Belial might do? Don’t make me laugh. I’d give up every soul in my charge to have his hands on me.”

“He’ll rip your fucking head off is what he’ll do.”

“Maybe once I’m dead. But I know Belial. He’ll tease out my end, edge out every last fucking breath until I’ve paid for all my sins. And there isn’t enough oxygen in all the nine realms for that. It will be slow…”

He licked his lips, and a moan-like sigh slithered up his throat like it was the most erotic thought he’d ever had. “Such a slow, sweet fucking death by the Lord of Bones himself.”

Normally, the erection tenting his loincloth would bother me—especially considering he was getting a boner by fantasizing about how Belial might kill him—but seeing that this version of Asmodeus still had his cock intact helped ground me.

This wasn’t the brutal demon lord who’d assaulted me. It was just an illusion.

I forced a smirk. “Maybe I’ll just kill you myself then. If I’m going to be the queen of death, I should practice killing people, right? The Lord of…”

My words trailed off as I realized I didn’t know what sin Belphegor lorded over.

“Gluttony,” he seethed, appearing pissed as hell that I didn’t already know.

Right. I should have guessed that. “The Lord of Gluttony would be a perfect first kill for the queen of death.”

“You’re not going to be the queen of anything, little rat. Mortals are vermin. Living or dead, they don’t deserve to rule any part of Hell, most certainly not Limbo.”

“Oh, vermin, am I? Then it really will be embarrassing as fuck when I kill you, won’t it?”

My heart pounded in my ears so hard, I could barely hear myself think. This was when I needed to shut my mouth. Taunting a powerful demon king was not wise; even Belial would advise me to hold my tongue until I had some kind of upper hand.

Belphegor’s three menacing grins chilled me to my core. “I’d like to see you try.”

He surged forward, leaping through the screen of steam. I tried to get away from his swinging claws, but he was too fast, his arm sweeping around my middle and hauling me into the air.

I screamed and scratched at his back, but it was like clawing aged leather. It looked soft and supple, but he had a natural armor to his skin that made it extra durable.

He threw me into the tub, water sloshing everywhere as my ass slammed painfully against the bottom, spikes of pain shooting up my spine.

I coughed and sputtered, trying to get the water I’d inhaled out of my lungs.

If it wasn’t bad enough that the water was hot enough to scald my skin, I now took notice of the rusty iron cuffs mounted to the rim of the tub. Oh great. So this was the bathroom where they washed all the ‘guests’ destined to be the royal meat .

The demon lord gave a cruel laugh when he caught me staring wide-eyed at the cruel hunk of metal. “You should be used to these. Rumor has it, the Lord of Bones loves manacling his whores before fucking them.”

“That’s none of your damn business.”

“So it’s true then?” With the way his eyes lit up, you’d think I’d told him Santa Claus was real and that he was bringing him Belial for Christmas, wrapped in nothing but shiny paper.

Belphegor grabbed a scrub brush and went to work on my skin, dragging the scratchy loofah end over my sensitive skin. I squirmed in his grasp, wincing in pain, but he hardly seemed to notice.

“What is it about you that fascinates him so?” he wondered aloud as he scrubbed me. “It can’t just be your black hair or your warm little cunt. I can shift into whatever I want. I can look like anything…” His words trailed off as he hastily dumped a bucket of water over my head, making me sputter again. “It can’t be your soul. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be at Mammon’s gate, looking like he’s gunning for the Lord of Wrath’s gig.”

His tongue swept over his lips, wetting them in thought. “I wonder if it’s that mortal heart.” His curious gaze dropped to the place between my breasts. “If I tore it from your chest, how long would it stay beating?”

I shivered, moving to shield my tits from his hungry gaze, and he leaned so close, his breath spilled over my neck with his next words. “I bet he gets off on the feeling of it beating when he’s buried inside you.”

Suddenly, without warning, he snatched my shoulder in one arm to keep me still and thrust the brush between my legs. I yelped as the rough material of the loofah scraped over my most sensitive parts.

“Settle down, little rat, or I just might have to drown you to shut you up. Mammon doesn’t need you breathing to eat you.”

I wanted to spit into his face—or maybe take a go at lunging at him and biting off one of his noses—but I thought better of it. It was clear he hated me for my relationship with Belial. It was painfully obvious how jealous he was. But maybe there was still a chance at convincing him that his plan, whatever it was, was better than letting Mammon have me for dinner.

“What? What happened to your fight, little rat? I was just starting to have fun with you.”

“I don’t know what you want from me,” I seethed, trying to ignore the fiery pit of rage building in my chest and failing miserably.

“I want you to entertain me,” he said, as if the answer was obvious. “I’ve been around for so long, rat. It’s the same fucking thing every day, and there aren’t any new souls to torture anymore, thanks to you and that human woman Belial was obsessed with before.”

I bit my tongue so hard, the metallic tang of my own blood bloomed in my mouth. Of course, the demon lords blamed me for the lack of souls Belial judged these days. They couldn’t fathom that sometime in the last thousand years or so, the Lord of Bones had grown a heart, that he would rather create afterlives in his library instead of throwing the souls en masse down the Styx.

After an awkward moment of silence and aimless scrubbing, its only purpose seeming to be to make my skin ache, he tossed the brush to the floor with a bored sigh and stood. To my horror, he climbed into the bathtub.

“What are you doing?” I screamed, instantly fighting to put space between us. He stood there, looming over me, his tented loincloth swinging dangerously close to my face.

“I warned you I might bathe with you. What’s the matter? Does Asmodeus make you uncomfortable?” A chuckle rumbled in his chest, and the water sloshed as he stepped closer. “Come on, little rat. You must have a masochistic streak to enjoy our Lord of Bones’ bedroom preferences.”

“You can’t exactly compare the two, can you?” I spat, backing up until my back hit the porcelain. “One is a monster, lying dead in his disgusting pit, alone and rotting. The other is a fucking god .”

I wished I could gulp back my words, but it was too late. I’d let it slip that Asmodeus was dead, and judging by the look on Belphegor’s face, this didn’t come as good news.

“So, the Lord of Lechery is dead,” Belphegor mused, his dark eyes bright with loathing. “Belial’s handiwork, no doubt.”

I steeled myself, waiting for the hammer to drop, because there was no way he wasn’t going to blame me for Asmodeus’ death.

“He’s coming for all of us, isn’t he?” It seemed like more of a rhetorical question, but something dark flashed behind his eyes when the words left his mouth.

Suddenly, he bent down, snatching my hair and throwing my head back until it felt like my neck might snap.

I wanted to be brave. After all I’d been through, after getting bent over and forced to take all this shit I never asked for, I wanted nothing more than to look the Lord of Gluttony in his eyes—or rather, Asmodeus’ six beady eyes currently staring me down—and spit in them.

Now that he knew the real Asmodeus was dead, the ferry had probably sailed on convincing Belphegor not to let his boyfriend eat me.

So, if I was going to die, I wanted to die fighting.

But there was something about looking into the three demonic faces of the demon who’d assaulted me with my neck precious millimeters from being snapped that froze me over.

Belphegor sneered at the naked fear on my face as he forced his hand between my thighs.

I thrashed as hard as the excruciating hold he had over me would allow, but he anchored my head back further, forcing me still as he cupped my mound.

“How many of us are going to die all because of Belial’s obsession with this mortal pussy?” I gasped when he spread my lips and ran a teasing finger up and down my opening. “I don’t fucking get it. It’s just like any other fucking cunt…”

I would have sold my soul to another devil all over again to have my twat grow teeth in this moment and chomp off Belphegor’s hands.

My jaw clenched. My nostrils flared. Pure hatred swept over me like a fever, making me feel cold despite the scalding hot water I was half submerged in. “I didn’t ask to be kidnapped. Your precious Lord of Rape is dead because you sick fucks couldn’t keep your hands off me. If you’d left me alone, none of this would have fucking happened. Now, Belial is on a war path, and you’re going to die like fucking dogs.”

I expected Belphegor to double down on his rage, but instead, that amused smirk locked back in place as he lowered me back into the water. “Well, what’s done is done. If we’re going to die, might as well have ourselves a little celebration. Seven thousand years or so, give or take a few centuries, is a decent run.”

Before I could dare ask him what kind of celebration he had in mind, he forced my wrists into the manacles bolted to the sides of the bathtub. A chill shot up my spine at the iron locking into place with a loud clink .

There was a splash as Belphegor—still in Asmodeus’ form—fell to his knees in the bath before me and grabbed the basket of herbs and spices. He cackled as he dumped the whole thing over my head and started massaging the salty mixture into my skin.

His touch was rough and lingered in the places he noticed made me thrash the most.

“Hmm, wonder if we should cut these out before we throw you in the cooking cauldron,” he mused, plucking at one of my nipple piercings. “I’ll leave them for now. It will be something for Mammon to pick his teeth with later.”