Chapter 19: Lana

I spend the next days recovering – once again. Daniel feels so guilty for suggesting I go out to join Nick alone, that he's refusing to let me leave his sight.

I take advantage of the downtime to read up more on the creature occupying my waking and sleeping mind. I tell myself that the next old tome I devour will be the one to explain why he saved me twice now, annihilating my attackers. All I get is more myths and contradictions.

"I think I may have invoked him somehow," I murmur, not looking up from the open book in my lap.

"What do you mean?" Daniel asks from his position across the library desk. Reluctantly, I meet his gaze. He's sitting in a recliner just like me but with far more dignity.

"I mentioned him by name when Nick was insulting me. And I was looking at his seal that day."

Daniel shakes his head. "It is not that simple. There are summoning rituals, yes, ones the world has mostly forgotten. But even then the stronger demons had a choice whether to answer. Perhaps he was listening for you, but you did not willfully summon him."

I hang my head and voice the thoughts that have been plaguing my mind at night. "It's my fault. Maybe I could have subdued him somehow. Maybe he could have been… I don't know. Reformed?"

The sound of a book snapping closed makes me flinch, but Daniel's voice is soft as he replies. "From your account of the fight, you gave Nick ample opportunity to cease his madness. More than most would have given him. He would have killed you because you were unwilling to kill him instead. And I understand, child, I do. The choice, however, was taken out of your hands and I am not the only one who is glad that it was."

Tears slide down my cheeks and I quickly move the book before they can smear the ink. I did want Nick dead in those final moments. But, I don't think the archdemon would have spared him even if I had dropped my gaze in that pivotal moment. He would have probably just taken him elsewhere before he killed him.

"It was not your fault," Daniel says, probably accurately reading the play of emotions on my face again. He reaches for another book, giving me space to think.

"Will everyone see it that way though?" I've been sleeping with a dagger under my pillow, thinking of the couple of cronies Nick had had, but they haven't approached me. I haven't seen them even during Nick's funeral.

Once we got home that day, Maalik sent a few soldiers after Nick's remains. We burned his body the day after, the majority of Purgatory's residents in attendance. Daniel had already appraised them about the circumstances regarding his death and it took all my strength to keep my chin up, expecting insults – what Nick spewed at me and worse – expecting all the soldiers to give me hateful looks. What I got instead were curious glances. Darla walked up to me during the makeshift funeral, squeezing my shoulder. "I'm sorry," she said, and she meant it. I told her it's not her fault. It's not like she told him to let his anger and jealousy twist him so much that he would kill over it. Though I expect Nick was twisted before he even came here.

We're not born predestined to be evil, like Heaven likes to believe. We're shaped by our experiences and circumstances, just like normal humans are. We just have to put more effort into controlling our impulses; Cambion to take the path of least resistance and Nephilim, well… to offer too little resistance, turning the metaphorical other cheek one too many times to those predators that exploit any goodness and kindness in a person. As for me, I have to struggle with both, with a temper that's easy to rile, and a tendency to see only the best in people.

I shake myself out of my thoughts once I start worrying that I may see only the best in a certain archdemon. Daniel's just observing the play of emotions on my face in silence until I focus on him again. "Acting in fear of the opinions of others will lead you down the wrong path, Lana."

???

A couple of weeks after I last saw Ashtaroth, Daniel finds me in the library to let me know Kevin is waiting for me for a patrol. Not questioning the unscheduled activity, as it's far from the first time, I get dressed and head outside to meet him.

"Ready to kick some misty ass?" Kevin asks as I approach him, and I can't help but smile at his puppy-like behavior. A vicious and bloodthirsty puppy, but still. "Maalik says there's an unusual amount of activity north of Abaddon, around The Phlegethon."

Where we encountered the golem. I raise my eyebrow at Kev, but when he doesn't comment on it, I let it drop and we head out.

Two hours later, as we approach The Phlegethon, I'm overwhelmed by a sense of déjà vu; listening to lava bubble, our steps crunching over charcoal, and Kev regaling me with his sex life. Or, well, lack thereof.

"Not a single one! It's like they've all gone on a communal pussy strike. At this point, you're starting to look tasty."

I raise an eyebrow at him skeptically. "You wouldn't survive me."

"I know, but what a way to go, eh?" He's wiggling his eyebrows at me and I roll my eyes so thoroughly, that it's surprising one doesn't just pop out of the orbital bone it's nestled in.

"Blobs straight ahead." Kevin nudges my attention back to our surroundings.

Four manifestations of evil, the amorphous constructs created when too many evil mortal souls congregate, are hovering in the air forty paces ahead.

"Maalik wasn't kidding," I say. It's unheard of to have so many together – it's not like they're sentient enough to form packs.

We approach the targets and unsheathe our swords to engage them. Just a slice of Celestial metal disrupts the twisted bonds holding them in their semblance of a shape, making dispatching them easy – for us, at least. An unwary mortal wouldn't know to avoid coming into contact with their misty shapes and would react as if burned by acid. Or worse, immersed into it. I've been grazed by them enough times during my first excursions to Hell to know I need to avoid that.

"Do you want to continue exploring or head back home?" I ask Kevin.

"Let's just go a bit further, just in case."

Fine by me .

We climb up a dune to avoid the bend in the river I got trapped by while running from the golem. Just as we crest the hill, we both freeze, feeling a demonic presence, but also hearing sweet notes of signing – silky and inviting, like a siren's song.

"Succubus," I say. "Old one."

"Oh, well." Kevin scratches the back of his neck and looks at his feet. "Do you mind if I… you know?"

I don't know what to comment on first – his sudden shyness about sex, or the fact that he wants my blessing to go have it with a demon. Maybe the former stems from the latter? Maybe my experience opened that final door in our friendship.

"Kevin…" I sigh. "I don't know."

"Come on," he pleads with his puppy eyes, "I'll be ok."

I chew on my lip and turn in a circle. I spot a log I could use as a bench, out of line of sight of whatever raunchy acts he's about to engage in with what will undoubtedly prove to be an easy conquest – what succubus would turn away a free snack, after all. I point at it and say, "Fine. I'll wait there. But you better not take forever and she better not damage you or I'll nail her tits to Abaddon's walls."

"Promise!" he yells, already darting down the dune.

Sighing again, I sit down and close my eyes. I'm not very good with stillness. And quiet. And boredom. Just as I'm pondering whether to find something to kill, the air around me stills. I'm craving having toasted marshmallows in a pinewood forest and that, coupled with the tingling sensations and warmth I feel on the left side of my body, tells me I'm not sitting alone anymore. And exactly who's sitting with me.

I open my eyes and turn my head to the left. I find myself face to, well, neck with… you know what, I'm not going to even think his name. The last time I said it, someone lost a vital body part.

There's a bead of sweat in the hollow of his throat, slowly descending toward his clavicle, and I wonder if it would taste like pine honey. Sweet but spicy. Woodsy.

I growl at myself and wrap my hand around the handle of the sword sheathed at my hip closest to him. I hesitate, though. Is there a point, apart from showing my pride, to do something that by all accounts from many skin-bound grimoires, would just please him?

"There is no point," he says mildly, his voice reaching to my soul and calling it home to him.

I finally look at his face. His eyes aren't burning at the moment, but those perfect lips are slightly curled into a patient smile. I'm not really religious, other than in the sense that I was born into a Christian family, but I find myself sending a prayer to the Big Man, unable to tear my eyes away from his mouth. Lord, have mercy on my harlot's soul.

The sides of his lips twitch under my scrutiny. That mouth probably sent millions to their doom, but he's still proud of the effect it has on me. "And no," he says, "I cannot read your mind. Your expression tells me everything. I am older than humanity and have seen every iteration of a mannerism. You, my pet, have a very expressive face." He's chatty when he's not removing spines or common sense from a body.

"Do you really have a dragon?" I blurt out, panicking because I couldn't tear my eyes away from his mouth again while he was talking. He seems taken aback at my question. Go me , surprising an ancient being; both his eyebrows are now up. "Never mind," I rush out. Clearly no dragon.

He recovers quickly and that self-pleased smirk is back. "If you are curious about me, I would not suggest that sixteenth-century occultist rambling be your source of information." He clearly has some knowledge of the mortal world and what he might consider to be recent history, but his manner of speaking hasn't quite caught up with the times. Maybe he has less contact with modern phrases than Maalik.

"What do you suggest then?" I ask, my voice breathy. I absolutely loathe the effect this male has on me.

His smile widens, "Why, ask me, of course." Ask him? Suddenly my head is empty of questions. Not that it was full of much else but how absolutely beautiful he is, that night-dark hair caressing his strong brow, swaying in the wind, the light stubble on his cheeks giving a roguish mien.

"What do you actually look like?" Huh. I guess I had a question after all. I managed to surprise him again, his eyes narrowing infinitesimally for a second.

He answers carefully, as if he doesn't quite understand why I'm asking. "I have been able to assume this mortal-like form since I could assume a corporeal form. So one might say this is what I truly look like when in a tangible state. Can I assume other forms? Yes. Certainly none you would find as pleasing as this one," he finishes arrogantly, a man assured of his incredibly good looks.

"Did you set this up, with the succubus, so you could talk to me?" I ask, my brain not quite eye-fucked to death yet.

"No." His smile is all ‘the cat that ate the canary'. Now it's my turn to furrow my brow in confusion. That is not the answer I expected – it was all too convenient to be serendipitous. "I ‘set this up'," he mocks, "so I have a small measure of time before Fallen besiege my home demanding your return."

Wait, what? I spring up and pull out my swords, the futility of it second place to the need not to be at the mercy of one of Hell's most sadistic denizens for a prolonged period of time.

He moves so fast that my eyes can't focus; one moment, he's sitting on the log, the next he's holding both of my wrists, looking down at me with the same smug smile he had while watching me writhe in pleasure against his body. "This may be unpleasant," he notes, as if remarking that it may rain tomorrow.

The oppressive pressure of his presence increases a thousandfold, gravity pulling me in like there's a black hole at the core of my body. The pain of the tremendous pressure in my skull is all-encompassing and I shriek like a banshee. Just when I think I'm either going to pass out or die – neither option unwelcome under these circumstances – a flash of light startles me into inhaling, my lungs finally expanding.

I find myself standing in an opulent room fit for a king, the red and black color scheme and the gothic furniture making me feel like I stepped into a cathedral.

Ashtaroth is scowling at me. "Your nose is bleeding," he accuses, as if it's my fault. I swipe my fingers under my nose and they indeed glisten with ruby red. The creak of leather draws my gaze to his clenched fist. "I have never transported anyone with human blood through the ether until now," he says almost sheepishly, taking off his gloves and dragging a hand across his face.

Hello Mr. Mercurial . Also, hello to those hands. Is it just not possible, according to any law of the universe, for something on this bastard to be unattractive? There are intricate glyphs tattooed across the tops of his hands, veins prominent just the right amount, and black rings adorning his long, elegant fingers. Fuck my life .

"Why did you kidnap me?" I snap at him. He focuses on me, again looking confused. I would roll my eyes, but I'm worried he'd pluck them out to adorn his next martini if I did so. "Why have you abducted me?" I try again.

He's back to his usual commanding posture, a satisfied grin on his angelic face. "Can't have you dying before I feast on your cunt."

A part of my brain wonders if he's trying to speak colloquially to please me. It's a very tiny part, because the majority of my brain descended into my pussy as soon as his words registered.

I blink at him, a doe caught in the headlights.