Chapter 11

CHAPTER11

“Imean,” I said, picking at the cuticle of my thumb, “I guess it could have been worse.”

How?Mephisto spoke into my mind.

He was lounging on the chair opposite mine in one of the living rooms in my quarters. After I’d decided to stay with Azazel at last year’s Fall Festival, my darling demon had done some remodeling in the rooms that made up his and mine respective private spaces. The two bedrooms had been combined into one, but he’d kept both bathrooms so I could spread all my stuff out to my heart’s content. The sitting room right next to our bedroom was now the main living room, often used to receive guests with whom we were on the friendliest terms—like Azmodea and Mammon—but the sprawling rooms of my old quarters were also still in use, as even comfier lounging spaces.

Honestly, I often wasn’t sure what to do with that much space. Pray tell, which one of our hundreds of salons shall I use today?

More often than not, I’d retreat to those old rooms of mine when I was upset or needed to hide away for a bit.

Like now, after I’d come home from that disaster of a wing chopping show. Shemyaza had flown me back here, Azazel remaining behind to take care of whatever needed taking care of after a successful seizure of another demon’s territory. Maybe there were some more wings to rip off.

With a shudder, I remembered how many demons had been kneeling. They were obviously Inachiel’s warriors, and they’d undoubtedly be punished right alongside him.

So now I sat here, trying to calm my stomach with a mug of chamomile tea with only my enigmatic hellcat to talk to. Which wasn’t going well.

“I don’t know,” I said and threw my hands up, “I guess I could have vomited right into Inachiel’s face?”

Mephisto swished his tail. Why are you upset?

I speared him with a look. “Seriously? I just explained that I puked all over the freshly severed wings of the demon my husband had just subjugated on my behalf. You know, the wings I had been handed as a gift, to be accepted as a sign of higher status?”

Covering them in vomit sends a great message.

“Excuse me?”

Child. He gave me a condescending look out of those yellow eyes. Have you no sense? How do you even survive without a minimum of strategic thinking?

“Barely,” I muttered.

I can see that.He licked his paw.

“Why do I even put up with you?”

I am the shining jewel among Hell’s creatures, and you are blessed to breathe in my presence.He flicked one ear. Also, my fur is soft and sleek and petting me alleviates your anxiety.

I sighed. “Right, so why is vomiting on those wings a good thing?”

Because it is an exceptional display of your disdain for the former owner of those wings. The only stronger demonstration of your view on his rank versus your own would have been if you’d peed on them.

“Ew, Mephisto,” I said with a grimace.

Covering the wings in a bodily fluid of yours shows ownership—your scent marking—but with that bodily fluid being vomit, you also display a certain amount of scorn. You’re marking it as yours, yes, but in a way that degrades it.

“Okay, this just keeps getting worse.”

I am simply saying that you acted in accordance with ancient laws of dominance.

“Just stop.” I rubbed my closed eyes, my stomach still in knots.

Talking with Mephisto was not helping. If anything, I felt shittier than before.

God, I needed my best friend. Missing Taylor was a constant ping of pain in my chest, but in moments like this, it truly hurt on a soul level. I needed to talk to her, to call her up and just word-vomit—ha!—everything that happened and that made me feel like crap, and just telling her and having her listen with her expressive personality would make it all better. And she usually had the best advice, or at least the best commiserating things to say.

But my BFF was a whole dimension away, and I couldn’t just zip over there and drop by for a visit. My birthday was coming up soon, and I was planning to have a celebratory visit to Earth on that day, which meant I wasn’t able to go see Taylor earlier than that. The connection between my body—which had to stay in Hell—and my spirit form was tenuous, and apparently it might break if I remained on Earth too long or if I went there too frequently.

Now, what exactly too long and too frequently meant, not even Azazel could explain to me. As he’d told me more than once, there wasn’t really a precedent for my situation. Well, there was Lilith, but seeing as she hadn’t been to Earth in centuries, and there wasn’t much information on how long she usually stayed, Azazel had nothing much to go on in order to gauge at what point the connection between my body and my spirit form might sever.

Demons could stay on Earth for a couple of days at most before they had to go back to Hell. They didn’t have the issue with their body and spirit separating—apparently, their body was their spirit, the two forms inseparably linked, contrary to the metaphysical makeup of humans. But for demons, staying too long on Earth would mean they’d grow weaker and eventually lose their powers, turning them human for all intents and purposes. They drew their energy from Hell itself, and they had to go back to their home realm in order to stay healthy and powerful.

So going by that example, and paring it down a bit, Azazel guessed that staying longer than a day on Earth would likely be dangerous for me. And since demons had to remain in Hell for about two weeks after a one-week trip to Earth, he extrapolated that there should be about a month in between visits for me.

Yeah, there was a lot of guess work involved, based on hunches and not really applicable examples.

All of which resulted in the consequence that I had limited means of communication with Taylor.

And while I did still have my phone and was able to keep it alive by charging it on one of the rickety outlets, there was no connection between Hell and Earth. So as much as I treasured my phone for the fact it held a crap ton of photos and videos from my previous life, in addition to all my favorite music, it was quite useless for communication these days.

Which left me with the only other way to share my latest helltastic adventure with Taylor—writing her a letter. Like in the days of yore, before newfangled inventions like phones or internet. Or even just telegrams.

I swear, every time I sat down to write her a letter, I mentally transformed into one of those young women who’d been shipped from Europe to the colonies to marry some stranger, penning a report to her family an ocean away, hoping her epistle made it past the treacherous waters of the Atlantic. I was half tempted to ask Azazel for an oil lamp and a set of ink and quill to complete the mood.

Alas, I wrote on regular paper, with a regular pen, albeit one that glided over the page with the perfect flow. It was a special kind of satisfaction to write with an excellent pen.

Giving Mephisto a last grumpy look, I got up and walked over to the shelf along the back wall. I pulled out the open box where I kept all my writing stuff and almost dropped it at the sight within. Stifling my startled sound with a hand over my mouth, I took a closer look at the box—at the small, fluffy, black ball of fur inside.

The ball of fur moved.

Two tiny yellow eyes blinked open and regarded me with sleepy curiosity.

“What!” I squeaked and flailed at the box. “What is this?”

I turned to Mephisto and gestured wildly at the thing inside.

Ah.He sniffed the air. That is one of mine.

“What do you mean, one of yours?”

The black ball of fur unfurled and stretched, its spine arching gracefully. Two small wings spread from its back, a sleek tail curling in the air.

“It’s a kitten?” I didn’t know my voice could go that high. Honestly.

Are you in the habit of asking redundant questions?

Ugh. That judgmental hellcat.

The kitten put its tiny paws on the edge of the box and leaned up to sniff in my direction. Its ears looked far too large for its head, resembling bat ears even more so than Mephisto’s. Its little black nose twitched as it sampled my scent, and a moment later, it pawed at me.

“Ohmygod,” I gushed in a high-pitched baby voice. “You are so cute! How are you so cute? Who gave you permission?”

She doesn’t need permission, Mephisto said, as usual, totally oblivious to figures of speech or modern slang. And she’s not cute. She’s a perfect killing machine in training.

I whipped my head around to look at him. “So you’re training her? Where did she come from?”

A beat of silence from my snippy feline friend. Then, Given all the copulative activities you indulge in with your demon, I find it hard to believe that you would be ignorant as to where offspring comes from.

“Oh my God.” I facepalmed hard.

Invoking that deity won’t help you here, Mephisto remarked.

I swear, he was doing that deadpan unintentional humor on purpose.

The kitten had, in the meantime, climbed out of the box and up my arm, and with a few cute flaps of her wings, she now sat on my shoulder, and I was sent straight to cuteness heaven.

“You are so adorable,” I tweeted. “Ow!”

Little Hellkitty was chomping on my hair.

“What’s her name?” I asked Mephisto while I was trying to disentangle the tiny feline’s claws from my locks.

She doesn’t have one.

“What? Why not?”

We do not give the cubs names until they reach maturity. Why waste a good name on something that runs a high risk of dying?

“Excuse me?” I grabbed the kitten out of reflex, hugging her to me in order to protect her from all harm.

Little Hellkitty bit me for my effort.

Hell is a harsh place to grow up, Mephisto simply said. Only a tiny percentage of our young make it.

I whimpered and hugged Hellkitty closer. She clawed at me.

“This one will,” I said, conviction in my voice. I lifted the kitten up and looked her in the eye. “You hear me? Nothing bad will happen to you here. I won’t allow it.”

You are not qualified to take over her training and protection, Mephisto purred. Your hunting skills are lackluster, and you vomit at the sight of severed limbs.

“That was the one time,” I hissed back.

The kitten escaped my hold—scratching up my arms in the process—and jumped to the floor. Going straight for one of the couches, she clawed up the side good and well, her little wings flexing while she did.

“I’m gonna need some scratching posts,” I muttered as I went to retrieve my box of writing supplies and then sat down on the couch. “So where’s the mom?”

Around somewhere, was Mephisto’s nonchalant reply. Taking care of the others.

“So you guys split the child rearing?”

Among most felines, it was usually the mother who took over the entire care of the young, with the male happily oblivious to his offspring. Lions were a notable example, but even among them, the females were the ones who really cared for the cubs, with the father(s) just hanging around and maybe playing with the little ones at the most.

Mephisto flicked one ear. It increases the likelihood of my genes being passed on.

“Ah, yes, I can see how you’d put in the effort if it means your superior genetic material has a chance to dominate the world.”

Exactly right. He gave me a smug look.

That hellcat really didn’t understand sarcasm.

I was just getting my writing supplies out of the box to finally write that letter to Taylor when something dropped in my lap. I screamed and flailed.

This time, though, it wasn’t some dead vermin brought as a gift—it was another ball of kitten fluff, fallen straight from one of the rafters under the ceiling. After a second of stillness—the kitten seemed just as surprised as me by that sudden maneuver—it bolted away, making me yelp at the sting of its claws as it scrambled off my lap.

“What the—” I raised my arms and waved them around helplessly.

Mephisto’s yellow eyes casually tracked to the ceiling. She brought another.

“She? The mother?” I craned my head and peered up as well, catching a glimpse of a black tail disappearing into the gloomy depths of the ceiling.

Obviously, Mephisto drawled.

“What’s her name?”

Khailaw.

“So, you two have a little thing going on?” I waggled my brows and winked at him.

Are you having a facial seizure?

“Never mind,” I muttered and returned my attention to my letter writing. “Just so you know,” I said as I set everything up, “I’m going to name those kittens. They can’t run around nameless in anticipation of their untimely deaths, I won’t have it.”

Fine. He narrowed his glowing eyes. But they will receive proper names when they are of age.

“What do you mean, proper names?” I put both hands on my hips and glared at him. “Like the names I’ll give them will be unsuitable?”

Did you or did you not name the cat you had on Earth when you were younger Mr. Fuzzypants?

I snickered, then caught myself and schooled my face into a serious expression again. “Look, his markings made it look like he had pants on, and his fur was very fuzzy, so…”

I rest my case. Your names for my offspring will not be permanent.

“Whatever,” I murmured and bent to write Taylor all about my most recent predicament, which…I didn’t feel quite as bad about anymore. I paused and glanced at Mephisto casually grooming himself on the chair, and then at the kittens currently chasing each other over the furniture.

A small smile stole onto my face, my chest infusing with warmth. Yeah, that oppressive weight and nausea I’d felt earlier had all but dissipated, thanks to one surly hellcat and his rambunctious progeny.

Once done with the letter, I called for Dariel, one of the full-blood demons in Azazel’s employ. Insanely handsome like all of his demonic kind, he was more broad-shouldered than most others, though, and apparently one of the fastest fliers among his peers.

Which made him the perfect choice to deliver my letters.

Given the lack of any kind of automated messaging system between Hell and Earth, letters and such had to be hand-delivered by someone, and full-blood demons were the most suitable for that task. Their wings meant they could easily bridge great distances at a high speed, contrary to half-bloods, who had to use more regular types of transportation. Half-bloods were good for scouting, patrolling and catching souls in the immediate vicinity of their sire’s hellgate, or for missions that required a longer stay on Earth, as they weren’t bound by the same time constraints as full-bloods.

Of course, the task of hand-delivering a letter between a human and her human friend was kind of demeaning for any full-blood demon. The entire thing took them hours, traveling from Azazel’s domain to the one with a hellgate closest to Sydney, and then from there to Taylor’s apartment. Elerion was the demon with a portal right near where Tay lived, but Azazel tried not to ask him for use of his hellgate too often—Elerion was a bit of sneaky fucker, and traveling through his domain came with strings attached. So most of the time, the demon chosen to bring my message to Tay had to go a longer way around, hours upon hours, all for one measly letter to a human on Earth.

Naturally, anytime I called upon one of them to deliver my letter, the demon I’d picked was bursting with enthusiasm. Not.

Dariel stood before me now, clearly trying hard not to let his annoyance show. He did a fairly good job of it, too. I could only spot one lonely glint of irritation in his eye.

“My lady.” He took a nice and proper bow.

I held out the envelope containing my letter to Tay. “I hear Sydney is nice this time of year,” I said in the poor attempt to cheer the guy up.

He grunted his noncommittal acknowledgement.

“Lots of cute magpies flying around,” I ventured.

“They’re not cute,” Dariel replied and snatched the letter from my hand. “They’re a menace to my wings.”

I raised both brows.

“Try flying through a swarm of them protecting their nests,” he grumbled, then bowed deep and stalked off.

Australia, I thought, shaking my head. The place where even cute birds are trying to kill you.

* * *

That night,I slept with two hellkittens curled up in my bed. One had draped itself over my head, and the other lay on my chest. It made it just a tad harder to breathe, but as per the universal cat laws, I was not allowed to move the kittens off me.

That they purred intermittently while sleeping was a mitigating factor.

Vengeance had taken the kittens’ presence in stride, and her one and only attempt at eating one of them resulted in a scratched-up nose and bruised canine pride. Also, Mephisto’s hiss in defense of his offspring was fearsome enough to make me shake in my boots, and even a hellhound four times his size beat a hasty retreat when faced with his feline ferocity.

Lesson learned, Vengeance now kept a healthy distance from the tiny minions of death, to the point she let herself be chased off her nest of cushions and blankets by one of them. It was almost comical. I’d once seen a video of a Great Dane fearfully stalking away from a minuscule kitten the size of its foot, and that was pretty much the situation here.

I was deep in my dreams when something pulled me to the surface. I felt his energy before I opened my eyes, like a smooth blanket of dark power, electric heat coursing over my skin, sinking into my bones, connecting with the tie that bound us.

Humming with contentment, I turned toward the source of that heat, and strong arms came around me, pulled me into a cocoon of warmth and sizzling energy. I drowsily blinked against Azazel’s chest, the room dipped in darkness.

“Did you move the kittens off me?” I asked, my voice still sleep-drenched.

“They were in the way.”

I gasped. “You violated the universal cat law!”

“The what?” He pulled back a bit, and even in the darkness, I could almost see his raised brow.

“If a cat sits or lies on you, anywhere, you may not move it,” I cited. “You may not get up and disturb it. You must stay in your position until the cat moves away on its own.”

“That sounds like the kind of cat propaganda Mephistopheles casually dropped into human culture.”

“Wait, he does that?”

“Who do you think gave the ancient Egyptians the idea of worshipping cats?”

I scrunched up my face. “I can absolutely see him doing that.”

His hand stroked my back. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired but okay. Why?” With the last remnants of sleep drowsiness fogging my mind, it took me a second to really get his question. Right. I’d barfed all over the freshly severed wings he’d handed me.

Ah, yes. Fond memories.

My head now cleared of all sleepiness, I realized with crystal clarity that the last time I’d seen Azazel was in that damned courtyard—with his energy and demeanor a stark reminder of his otherness, in a way I’d never experienced before. The unearthly glow of power in his eyes, that hardness about him, the chilling calculation and detached cruelty of his actions. He’d felt so different, devoid of all warmth and familiarity, nothing left of the man who held my heart. A stranger had stood in his place, a stranger with cold eyes and terrifying power.

I knew—knew—it shouldn’t rattle me.

And yet it did.

My breath left me on a shaky exhale, my muscles tensing despite my efforts to stay relaxed.

And as discerning as Azazel was, he immediately picked up on it. My shields didn’t need to be down for him to read me like a book.

With his fingers under my chin, he gently tilted my head up. “What is this now?”

I shook my head. “It’s silly.”

His thumb stroked over my lower lip. “Not when it makes you cringe like that.”

Heat rolled up my neck and into my cheeks. Ugh, but it really was silly. Of course he’d be different on the battlefield. Of course he had to have his armor in place, not just physically, but energetically and emotionally as well. I couldn’t expect him to be the person out there that he was with me, not when surrounded by demons who’d pounce on any sign of weakness. And down here, in Hell, things like kindness and mercy were considered weak.

I understood that.

Now, if only that understanding would sink down into that place inside me where this perplexing coil of anxiety sat like a snake prepared to strike.

“Is this about Inachiel?”

I couldn’t hide my flinch at the mention of his name. All I saw in my mind’s eye was the blood spraying from his back, the defeated, broken look on his face…the ruthless brutality with which Azazel had ripped off his wings.

My stomach made a nice little flip at that memory.

“Zoe.” Azazel’s voice brought my attention back to the here and now.

Even in the darkness, I could make out the soft glow of his thunderstorm eyes.

“I told you once before,” he said, “and I will tell you again. You do not have to fear me.” Something echoed in his tone, something that felt an awful lot like his own kind of fear.

I sucked in a breath. “I don’t.” Heart thudding fast in my chest, I grasped his hand and squeezed it. Swallowing past the knot building in my throat, I went on, “I’m not afraid of you.”

My words rang true even while part of them did not. I tried to make sense of it, tried to spear down to the root of it…

The pause that followed was heavy, and I had the impression he ventured to say something once or twice, then decided against it. Something pulled inside me, pulled me to him, as if bridging the physical gap between us might also dissolve whatever it was that had slipped into my connection with him.

He cupped my face with both hands, laid his forehead against mine. “You,” he murmured, his breath brushing my lips, “are the one person I don’t ever wish to look at me in fear. No harm will ever come to you from my hands, or my orders.” He made a pause, and when he went on, it was in a rough whisper. “Do you want to know how you could slay me? Not with a Hell-forged blade, nor with angelfire. If you shied away from my touch with terror in your heart, that would destroy me.”

My breath hitched, my chest hurting. I framed his face in a mirror of his hands on mine and whispered, “I’m not afraid of you, I’m really not.”

Because whatever this was, that wasn’t it. Right here, right now, he felt so familiar, like a part of me, the exhale to my inhale, the other half of my soul.

A beat of silence, then, “But you are afraid.”

I opened my mouth to deny it, but nothing came out. That tightness in my chest, that thread of unease…yeah, it felt very much like fear. A nameless one, for I couldn’t even grasp what it was about.

“Not of you,” I said eventually in a small voice, because that was the only thing I was truly certain of.

He tunneled his fingers into my hair, his energy caressing me in soothing strokes over my body. “Never of me,” he murmured, his tone making it a clear prompt for a promise.

“Never,” I echoed, needing to reassure him of this unshakable truth between us.

He exhaled roughly and pulled me to him, and I slung my arms around his neck.

“You won’t lose me.” His breath warmed my skin as he spoke. “There is nothing to fear, all right?”

I nodded and burrowed my face in his neck. But while the worry about losing him in future fights was indeed ever present in the back of my mind, it wasn’t the source of the new kind of fear that lay in brooding wait inside me.

When I thought about him being injured or worse in a fight, it was a sharp, heart-stopping kind of fear that arrested my breath. This felt different. This, whatever the source, was more subtle, yet none the less potent. It felt like I’d inhaled toxic fumes that corroded my lungs from the inside and turned my blood sour.

I pressed my nose into the crook of his neck and breathed him in, that familiar scent of leather and bonfire and dark spices. Maybe if I filled my lungs with his essence, it’d chase away that foreboding feeling of helpless fear of something yet unnamable.