CHAPTER ONE

Las Vegas, present day

Ella Wilde parked at the curb and pulled out her phone. Running late, have to make a quick house call, she texted to her sister.

Mia quickly responded: No problem, I'll order drinks.

Usually, Ella would turn down any jobs that cropped up on a Friday evening—it was routine for she and Mia to meet at their local pool hall to eat dinner, knock back beer, and shoot some pool. But there were some matters that required a swift intervention, and this was one of them.

Having plopped her cell back into her jacket pocket, Ella slid out of the car and took in the cute two-story home. It was pretty with its window boxes, porch rocking chairs, and ropes of ivy trailing up the walls.

It made her think of the house that she and Mia had recently considered renting, but then their apartment complex had come under new management. The place had since been spruced up—new security system, fresh paint, working elevator, better lighting for the parking lot, major cleaning job.

Ella strode up the path and rang the doorbell. When the door swung open, she smiled gently at the human male staring at her through tortured grayish-blue eyes. "Hi, I'd like to speak to Mr. or Mrs. Mills."

He cleared his throat. "I'm Mr. Mills."

She'd suspected as much, given how haggard the poor guy looked. Any father in his position would be so haggard. "I'm Ella Wilde," she said, holding out her hand. "I believe you're expecting me."

He gave a slow nod as he briefly shook her hand in an absent manner. "Thank you for coming." Stepping aside, he waved her into the house.

She accepted his silent invitation, and he then closed the door. Her inner entity eyeballed their surroundings, hypervigilant as ever.

He scrubbed a hand down his pale, drawn face that hadn't seen a razor in several days. "I, we, it … Neve, a friend of my wife, told me you could fix this. Fix my daughter."

"I can," Ella assured him.

A local practitioner, Neve knew much about all things that went bump in the night. She was talented at her craft, but she couldn't work the sort of magick that would aid this family. Not like Ella, who was an incantor—a breed of demon that could wield magick.

So, whenever Neve came across a situation that she felt required demonic intervention, she contacted Ella, who consulted for many people. Neve had told her all about Annmarie and Edgar Mills, as well as their daughter.

He looked at the ceiling. "Malia's … I don't know what's wrong with her. I don't know—" He cut himself off and pinched a nose that had clearly once been broken. "I wanted to call a doctor here, but my wife begged me to try something else first." He let his arm fall back to his side. "She's afraid our daughter would be hospitalized."

That wasn't a senseless concern. Such a thing had happened to humans in Malia's present condition. "I can help your daughter, if you'll let me. But if you would rather seek medical help, I completely understand. It's your choice."

He carved his fingers through his tousled chestnut hair, his hesitation clear. Finally, he sighed and said, "Malia's in her bedroom."

Ella followed him as he trudged up the stairs, exhaustion in his every step. She ran her gaze along the framed pictures mounted on the wall. Some featured he and a woman, who was presumably his wife. Others featured a girl who could only be Malia at varying ages. Many were of the entire family—posing, smiling, laughing.

It made her think of the wall of her mother's staircase—there was an overabundance of pictures of Ella, her older sister Mia, and their parents. Well … their idiot-for-a-father's body could be seen. Their mother had covered his face with those of various male celebrities that she'd cut out of magazines. Something that still made Ella smile.

"Neve said you're a kind of psychic," said Edgar as they reached the top of the stairs.

Uh, not even close. But the truth wasn't something that Ella could share. "In a manner of speaking," she lied.

The snick of a lock sounded at the other end of the hallway. She looked to see the dark-haired, middle-aged woman from the framed pictures stepping out of a room.

"I don't believe in psychics," said Edgar, drawing Ella's attention back to him. "I don't believe in God or the devil or heaven or hell." A heavy sigh slipped out of him and pulled down his shoulders. "Or I didn't, until now," he added in defeat, his voice breaking.

Her heart squeezed in sympathy. She didn't get the chance to respond, because he immediately began making his way to his wife. Ella trailed after him and gave the woman a soft smile. "You must be Annmarie. I'm Ella."

Her arms filled with soiled blankets, Annmarie swallowed hard. "I appreciate you coming." Looking as drained and weary as her husband, she cast the bedroom door a quick glance. "She's in bed. But awake. We had to cuff her to the bedframe so she couldn't hurt herself anymore." A shaky breath left her. "What is it you're going to do?"

Ella pinned her with a sober look. "No harm will come to your daughter at my hands."

Annmarie's hazel eyes went wet and glassy. "She's only thirteen. I know it was stupid of her and her friends to fool around with a spirit board, but—" She stopped as tears trailed down her cheeks. "Neve said you had experience at this. Can you really help Malia?"

"Yes, I can. And I will," Ella swore. "You should both wait out here."

Her brow dented. "Won't it be dangerous for you to go in there alone? Neve said you wouldn't need the aid of a priest, but I thought you'd have someone with you. Perhaps a nun or spiritual practitioner of a sort."

Ella felt her nose wrinkle. "Exorcisms don't always happen the way they do in movies." Technically, what she was about to do wouldn't be an exorcism; it would involve a little magick. She couldn't explain that to humans, however. "It'll work better if I'm alone."

"But why can't we be there?" Edgar gruffly challenged.

Two reasons. One, they would learn things they shouldn't. Two … "The presence inside Malia will feed off your misery and panic. That will make it stronger; give it fuel to fight me."

He looked as though he'd argue, but then his shoulders drooped once more. "All right. Just … just get it out of her."

Annmarie moved away from the door. "Be careful. It claims to be Beelzebub."

Ella's demon let out an impatient sigh. "I won't be long." She walked into the bedroom and closed the door behind her.

A sense of oppression lay heavy in the room. A room that was nothing short of girly. Posters were tacked on the pink walls. Makeup littered the surface of the chic vanity. A neon Malia sign hung above the bed. Shelves were lined with books, artificial plants, framed photos, and little knickknacks.

What held Ella's attention, however, was the teenage girl who'd been cuffed to the bedframe by her wrists and ankles—her face pale, her lips chapped, her matted, sweat-slick chestnut hair plastered to her head. Slices, burns, and bruises decorated her body. Dark smudges circled her eyes—eyes that weren't hazel like on her photos. No, her irises were now as black as her pupils.

Awake, it locked that cold gaze on her. A wicked grin curved its mouth as it chuckled, but there was unease rumbling through the sound. The damn thing should be uneasy—it would recognize an incantor on sight, and it would know what an incantor could do to it.

"You told them you're Beelzebub?" Ella rolled her eyes at the wraith. "How cliché."

"It's not my fault humans are so na?ve," it said, its voice deep, grating, and eerie.

Hell was filled with all kinds of creatures. Some had ways of psychically attaching themselves to people who lived in other realms. Spirit boards were their main gateway, though such breeds of demon couldn't actually walk the Earth. Sometimes, it was because they were incorporeal. Other times, it was because—as was the case with wraiths—their forms wouldn't survive in this realm, so they could only leech onto the mind of someone who could.

When it came to possessions, it was very rarely the devil or any of his minions responsible—they generally considered that sort of thing beneath them. No, it was most commonly low-level demons like wraiths, who often tossed out names of biblical demons to scare the families of those they'd possessed.

"Ella Wilde," it drawled.

That was another thing about wraiths. They could ‘scan' a person; could tell many things about them on sight.

"You have two choices," she told it, moving to stand at the foot of the bed. "You can release your grip on Malia's soul and toddle off home, or I can destroy you."

"I vote that we instead come to an agreement."

Wraiths always made such proposals, and she always refused. "I'm not taking votes. Your choices are simple. Pick one. I have somewhere to be."

"But you haven't even heard my proposition yet."

"I don't need to. Choose."

It cocked its head. "Wouldn't you like to know the future? There's much I could share."

No doubt, considering that wraiths had foresight. "Not interested. I prefer surprises. Besides, I don't make deals with anything that dwells in hell." That kind of shit tended to backfire on a person.

"You have no interest in learning about the future, hmm?" It narrowed its eyes. "What about your past?"

She frowned. "I can remember it pretty well, thanks."

"I mean your soul's past." One corner of its mouth tipped up into a sly smirk. "Surely your past lives would interest you. I could tell you things. So many, many things."

Maybe, but none of it was worth trading the soul of a teenage girl. She lifted her chin and called to her magick—threads of green, red, and yellow shimmered like flames as they hissed and snapped against her palms. "Release Malia's soul, or die."

The wraith tensed, its gaze briefly dipping to her hands. Anger rippled across its face. "The human should be the least of your concerns. Forget her. It is your soul that you should worry about. He will come for you."

A frown tugged at her brow.

"You will be chained to him forever, and you cannot imagine what that will mean for you." It started to laugh.

Knowing it was just screwing with her, she hummed. "So you've decided to meet your end? Okay."

It froze. "Wait."

"No." Chanting beneath her breath, she unleashed her magick. Two flickering, fiery ribbons rushed from her palms, streamed through the air, and slammed into its chest like cardiac arrest paddles. Malia's eyes rolled back, hers head jerked hard, her body bucked and spasmed. With one last chant, Ella snapped her hands closed.

Black particles all but burst out of Malia's body as it sagged to the bed. Those particles disintegrated fast, and the oppressive feel left the room.

Malia coughed, her eyelids lifting to reveal a beautiful, hazel gaze that was bruised with pain and terror. Those lids quickly fell shut again, but her breathing swiftly steadied.

Satisfied, Ella let Malia's parents into the room. They thanked Ella even as they faffed around their daughter. Having assured them that the demon would not return, she left the house and headed for her car.

She usually made such ‘house calls' four or five times a year, and it was usually wraiths responsible for the possessions. Considering they weren't difficult for incantors to kill, you would think they would give up their human victim voluntarily. Weirdly, though, they rarely did.

He will come for you.

Ella felt her brow crease as the words drifted through her mind. They meant nothing. The wraith had simply been messing with her—she knew that. Knew it well. As did her demon. So why did something about that phrase make her skin chill?

She was late.

Viper clenched his hand around his beer bottle, the pads of his fingertips tingling with both unease and a restless anticipation.

The redhead at a corner table—one who resembled his redhead—checked her phone, but she didn't seem concerned. Maybe Mia had received a heads-up that there was some kind of delay.

The sisters were close. Best friends, really. They had little rituals; things they routinely did together. Like come to this particular pool hall every Friday.

‘Ella' was his woman's name in this life. It had taken him quite some time to find her. Too long.

Many things had delayed his locating her. He'd only had two clues that would aid him. One, she'd again be a demon. Two, her date of birth would be roughly nine months after the very day that her life as Everleigh had ended.

It didn't help his search that, due to demons being exclusive and secretive, lairs didn't have accessible birth records. Also, demons weren't rare creatures, they existed all over the globe—that was a whole lot of ground to check out.

The timelines of the various realms were out of sync. Just returning home to the upper realm for a brief rest from searching for her had sometimes meant that months had passed when he returned to Earth to continue that search. At other times, it was only mere minutes.

Making it even harder, the six traitorous bastards he'd once considered ‘family' had laid a false trail that—in his anger and desperation to find her—he'd been na?ve enough to follow. They'd sure gone all out to keep him away from her so that he wouldn't choose to ‘doom himself'. Their words.

On first seeing Ella here in Vegas, he'd known it was her. She had the same mannerisms and personal style. Even the same graceful, confident walk.

A slip into her mind as she'd slept had been enough for him to confirm it. Her brain might be physically different, but the psychic feel of her was the same.

It had taken him twenty-eight fucking years, but he'd found her. He'd fallen, along with thirteen angels who'd been part of his branch in the upper realm's army; men he called brothers now that they'd formed a motorcycle club. And Viper was finally so very close to what he wanted most.

Not that he'd done anything about it yet. He'd had to hold off.

Viper had known that those in the upper realm wouldn't easily accept that he'd fallen. He'd known that they'd try to persuade him to return and, more, that they'd try having him executed when he refused.

He'd also known they'd assume that he'd fallen because he'd managed to track down his woman. They would have taken her; would have outright destroyed her soul to get him in line. So, to keep their attention away from her, Viper had kept his distance from Ella over the past several months. He'd made it look to celestials as though his decision to fall had had nothing to do with her; that Vegas was a random choice of location on his part.

He'd butchered every slayer that the upper realm had sent, all the while focusing on getting his club settled, establishing their presence in Vegas, and forming necessary alliances with demons to get one foot in Ella's world.

Viper had also spent a lot of that time observing his quarry from afar. At first, it had been strange to see his woman in a whole other body answering to a whole other name. But at this point, after several months of watching her, he'd gotten used to it; had even ceased refering to her as Everleigh in his mind.

In fact, he considered the situation similar to how he'd dropped his old identity after falling. They both now had new names, new circumstances, new families.

Before, she'd been a reaper. Now she was an incantor.

Before, he'd been an archangel. Now he was something … other.

Neither of them were exactly as they were before. But it meant they could start fresh as Ella and Viper. Meant they could get it right this time.

They weren't so different than before that it would affect how well they ‘fit'. Small elements of a person's character would vary with each life, but never their core nature.

He'd watched her closely so he could learn her patterns, familial situation, power-level, personal details, etc.

Basically, he'd discovered and filed away every aspect of her life to identify the easiest way to infiltrate it.

He'd already moved some pawns around, placing himself on the periphery of her world. Example: he'd recently bought this very pool hall that she frequented, and now he came here every Friday. Each time, he chose a table that was just a little closer to where she and Mia routinely sat.

Essentially, he'd set himself up to step fully into her life—something he'd soon do.

The coast was now mostly clear. The attempts to execute him had ceased. Celestials sometimes came to pass on messages from the Uppers, but there were no shows of violence. However, a new issue had cropped up. Once he'd resolved it, he could focus on Ella.

He planned to take things slow with her. To move with care, give her his full attention, and drag her so far under his spell she would accept all that he'd eventually have to reveal to her.

Some might say it made him a selfish bastard. There was no denying that since falling he'd become a literal stain upon this world. She deserved a life that wasn't touched by him. But Viper hadn't been ‘good' in a long time, so here he was.

There was nothing sweet and flowery about what he felt for her. It wasn't romantic or anyone's idea of progressive. It was obsession and greed and a dark sense of ownership all tangled up with a blindingly intense emotion that, until her, had always eluded him.

She'd been easy to fall for—no pun intended with the whole ‘fall' thing.

She was a person who would rise to any challenge. If she couldn't move through something, she'd find some way to flow around it or leap over it—nothing was a true obstacle to her. Something he respected and admired.

She loved fiercely. Had a capacity for compassion that he found staggering. Anyone who'd heard about the life he'd led—a life that had weighed him down, darkened his soul, and stole so many choices from him—might have judged and shied away from him. She hadn't. Nor had she shied away from being with him after hearing of the subsequent curse.

And she was happy for others. Too many people were jealous of those around him or resented them for having what they didn't. Not her. Not as Everleigh or Ella, because they were one and the same.

In her previous life, she'd remembered him after their first meeting—nobody after did that unless he allowed it. Until her.

Sometimes, when Ella looked at him a certain way, he could even think she remembered him now. But that was likely wishful thinking on his part.

He tossed back a mouthful of beer and took an idle scan of his surroundings. The hall was dim—a deliberate effect of the tinted windows and low lighting. The neon ‘Beer' signs hanging above the long mahogany bar did nothing to brighten the place.

Waitresses took orders from the patrons who'd either claimed tables or were playing pool. Other patrons sat at bar stools chatting, scrolling through their cell, or watching the darts game playing live on the wall-mounted TV. A few people hung at the back where gaming machines, an ATM, and a jukebox lined one wall.

An image shot to the forefront of his mind. An image of every single one of those patrons dead, their throats slit, their bodies gutted, their blood everywhere.

The image came from the once-holy being with which Viper shared his soul. Bored, it was ‘suggesting' they instigate a bloodbath. Not unusual for the sadistic entity.

Viper focused on his five club brothers who were gathered around a pool table engaging in regular shit talk.

On falling, they'd all chosen the biker lifestyle. It fit the dynamic they already had after their years in service to heaven's higher-ups. And they didn't feel that they could connect with this realm's normative society. They collectively had different values, different beliefs, different priorities.

Having secrets to protect, they hadn't invited others into their club. Ella would join eventually, obviously. She just didn't know that yet.

After doing a few ‘jobs' with some local imps, they'd ended up with a surplus of cash that enabled them to buy land, businesses, and vacant buildings. They had no involvement in any sort of trafficking, and their businesses were legitimate—earning them no human attention.

But did they keep their hands perfectly clean? No. They hunted any hell-born demons who'd escaped from that place.

Old habits and all that.

Where the fuck was Ella?

She always arrived at six-thirty, give or take ten minutes. It was now seven pm, but there was no sign of her. He didn't like it.

Viper rolled back his shoulders, struggling to tamp down his unease. The world of demons was brutal, and Ella … he'd swear she'd been hexed or some shit. Danger seemed to constantly dog her heels like a puppy chasing after its master.

She just stumbled into situations, always in the wrong place at the worst time. Like a month ago, when she'd come across a woman being mugged. Ella had intervened, only to subsequently get hit by a psychic punch that knocked her unconscious.

Viper had stepped in fast, killing the bastard who'd dared harm her and wiping the memory of it from the mind of the woman who'd been mugged; replacing said memory with a false one of the mugger sprinting away.

He could have instead played the white knight who'd killed Ella's attacker, yes. But he hadn't been ready to plant himself in her life at that point. Plus, it would have meant lying to her about why he'd been close by.

Viper was no stranger to lies or trickery. He'd mastered deception long ago. He was good at it. Typically, it didn't bother him to rattle off untruths. But Ella wasn't just anyone.

A round of crowing rang out from one of the far tables, pulling him from his thoughts.

"Do you really have to bitch at me?" complained Ghost, rubbing a blue chalk square over the tip of his cue, his gray eyes locked on the club's Road Captain.

"I'm not bitching, I'm saying." Razor bent over the pool table and took his shot, sending a ball tumbling into one of the pockets.

"You can't tell me what to wear," Ghost insisted.

Razor shot him a glare from pale-blue eyes that stood out against his dark skin. "I can when you're talking about buying a fucking Deadpool suit."

"I like the style."

Viper exchanged an amused look with Dice. What Ghost liked was to fuck with his opponents to better his chance of winning. They all knew it. But Razor, being an ornery son of a bitch, was easy to rile.

"We're supposed to be blending ," Razor reminded Ghost. "Blending means acting like regular people." He stretched his bulky frame across the table as he smoothly positioned the cue between his thumb and forefinger. "Regular adults don't go round wearing superhero costumes as everyday clothes." The ball he hit smacked into another and sent it shuttling into a corner pocket.

"I'd make a hot superhero," said Ghost, wiping chalk dust from his fingers on his faded black jeans.

"I'd make a good cult leader," Darko piped up from his stool.

Beside him, Dice snorted. "You sure have the Messiah look going on," he noted, gesturing at their brother's shoulder-length chestnut hair, mustache, and light beard.

"It's why I make such a good Chaplain for the club," said Darko, snatching a nacho from a small tray he'd set on his thigh.

Viper frowned. "You're not the Chaplain. We don't need a Chaplain." It was something they'd already covered.

"We also don't need you riding around in a Deadpool suit," Razor told Ghost.

Dice sighed at the Road Captain. "He's just yanking your chain to throw you off your game. Stop letting him."

Ghost idly rasped a hand over his dusting of stubble that was the same dark brown as his short hair. "Out of curiosity, are you gonna bitch at me if I get cowboy boots as well?"

It was Dice who pinned him with a hard stare this time. "You get cowboy boots and I'll shred them."

"Why?" asked Ghost, his brow creasing. "Some bikers wear cowboy boots."

"But we both know you'd get them in fucking bright orange or something," said Dice.

Ghost raised his shoulders, all innocence. "And what would be wrong with that?"

Razor snickered at Dice. " Now who's letting him yank their chain?" He potted another ball.

Viper exhaled heavily. "Ghost, give the boys a break, yeah?"

The shit-stirrer grinned but quieted.

Right then, Jester's mind touched his. We got him, V , he telepathed, no doubt referring to the mystery male who'd been earlier hovering around their compound and had then followed them here. Viper had instructed two of his brothers to nab the guy.

Want us to bring him inside? Jester asked.

Yeah, take him to my office. Setting his beer on the table, Viper spoke to the others. "Jester and Omen have our watcher."

"Want me to question him?" asked Razor, who had a knack for making people talk.

Viper gave his head a slight shake. "I got it covered." It would give him the distraction he needed.

Dice rose from his stool. "I'll come with you."

Together, Viper and his VP headed through a door labeled ‘STAFF' and strode down a hallway. A tall, bronze-skinned male was casually leaning against the wall near the office door, wearing his usual stony mug. Jester was asocial, tactless, and lacked a sense of humor. Yeah, the club was being sarcastic when they branded him Jester.

Viper flicked a look at the door. "I take it Omen is inside there with him?"

The Sergeant at Arms nodded, his deep-brown eyes as sober as always. "Caught our friend walking the perimeter of the building, peeking through windows. Not sure what he expected to find."

Dice lifted a brow. "Did you ask?"

Pulling a face, Jester skimmed a hand over his dark buzzcut. "Nah, I didn't see any point. He'll just lie. I don't have time to listen to bullshit," he added, as if he had a thousand things eating up his time and attention. Which couldn't be further from the truth.

Viper frowned. "And what is it that you're scheduled to do?"

Jester only twisted his mouth.

Inwardly sighing, Viper reached for the doorknob.

"By the way, I figure you'll be interested in knowing he ain't a demon like we assumed. The guy's an Earth-bound angel."

"That so?" Viper narrowed his eyes. "Interesting." His entity stretched out inside him, hoping their evening was about to perk up.

Personally, Viper thought it messed up that some angels were placed on Earth and then forced to earn their halo, especially when they hadn't done anything to warrant that. The struggle was forced upon those whose parents had angered the powers-that-be in the upper realm. Basically, these angels paid for the sins of their parents.

There were plenty of Earth-bound angels in this realm. They tended to keep their distance from his club—they wouldn't want to risk upsetting heaven's higher-ups by consorting with the Fallen. That was no way to earn a halo.

Viper opened the door and stalked into the office. He exchanged a brief nod with the lean, olive-skinned male who stood near the window. Only then did he switch his attention to the stranger sitting in a chair with his back to Viper—a back that was currently ruler straight. The guy didn't turn to check who'd entered the room, just remained perfectly still.

Viper prowled further into the office and moved to stand in front of his guest. It was easy to sense that the slim, balding, narrow-faced male was an angel—he gave off the same low-hum frequency that all celestial beings did; a frequency only other angels would pick up.

But … there was something not quite right here. The male's face was as blank as that of any doll. But his light-green eyes? Alive with emotion.

Someone had taken the guy's mental wheel; had made him their—perhaps willing, perhaps unwilling—puppet.

Viper tipped his head to the side. "And just who might you be?"

A smile lit the angel's gaze. "I suppose it's not easy to recognize me in this get-up."

Only one celestial he knew would describe a person whose mind they'd hijacked as a ‘get-up', as if he wore their skin. A celestial who Viper had considered a friend until, over the course of their ‘careers', they'd lost touch. "Ophaniel."

The archangel gave a graceful incline of his head.

Omen shifted, swearing low.

Viper felt his jaw harden. Ophaniel was a seasoned slayer who'd been forced to retire when he'd … changed. Centuries of killing could do that to a celestial—mostly because their innately pure inner entity, not built to destroy, would eventually fracture from the strain. Those fractures would affect the other half of their soul, and so the celestial would turn.

Ophaniel's kills had become unnecessarily gruesome. At times, he'd killed not only his target, but their families. There were even occasions when he'd butchered archangels within his own unit because they'd annoyed him. Not out of cruelty, but because he'd come to feel numb.

That same numbness had once crept up on Viper until he'd found Ella.

No longer useful to the Uppers, being that Ophaniel was difficult to control, they'd dropped him from his unit. But, as they considered him an extremely expendable asset, they would offer him jobs that had proven difficult for others to complete. Better to lose a retired and ‘damaged' slayer than one of their active and proficient slayers.

Viper narrowed his eyes. "If you've come to execute me, this wasn't the best way to go about it." When using a puppet, Ophaniel couldn't access his own offensive abilities; only those whose mind he'd taken over. His current celestial ‘get-up' would stand no chance against Viper.

"I had thought the Uppers would offer me a substantial fee to end you," said Ophaniel. "But they feel that killing you would require more caution and control than I possess."

They weren't wrong.

"They came to me because you and I were once friends, so they feel you'd be more likely to hear me out. I would have just appeared at your compound and requested an audience with you, but you wouldn't have come to the gate."

Viper turned away any celestial who came for a ‘chat', because they were only ever acting as messengers for the Uppers; pressuring him to return to heaven.

Viper leaned back onto his office desk. "My answer is still no."

"Doesn't matter. Our superiors don't care what you want, they care that you do as ordered. You know that."

Yeah, see, the Upper Realm wasn't all love, peace, and divine light. Nor were the beings who ruled over it. In fact, they enjoyed tempting the innate darkness that brewed inside humans, and they'd once used Viper to do it.

He had spent most of his life executing their will at any cost. His life hadn't really been his own. That was the rub when it came to being so high-ranked. Your life was about serving, not having or owning. No one had ever belonged to him until Ella

He'd seen the worst that man had to offer. Too many times he'd easily tempted someone off a righteous path. It had left him jaded and cynical and in need of something good .

His woman was good.

Well … to an extent. She was a demon, after all.

"You had to have anticipated that they wouldn't let you be," Ophaniel added. "The Seven are considered sacred and heroic. You have tainted that image."

Snorting, Viper crossed his legs at the ankles. " The Uppers will have tainted that image by spreading a bullshit story about how I fell to escape punishment for some kind of betrayal." When Ophaniel didn't deny the charge, Viper added, "They could have just told people the truth, that I fell willingly."

"You know why they didn't. It would have emboldened any celestials who might be considering falling—they all regard the Seven through awe-filled eyes. If you deem it acceptable to fall, then surely such a thing isn't quite so bad. That would be the line of thinking some would have. The Uppers can't allow that. And they can't allow you to stay on Earth. They insist on you returning."

"I don't answer to them anymore. They really should have noticed that."

"They'll undo the curse if you return," Ophaniel threw out. "They'll even restore you to who, what, you once were."

Like hell they would. The Uppers weren't that merciful. And they liked to ‘make examples' of those who demonstrated any form of rebellion.

The process of falling wasn't as dramatic as humans would assume. It wasn't a physical fall. It was a simple decision to leave the upper realm.

There was no dropping from the sky, no crashing to the Earth, no having stumps where their wings used to be. Not all angels actually had wings. But … leaving the realm did have consequences.

Angels and demons were similar in that they had a dualism to the soul. The entities within demons were cruel and psychopathic, totally at contrast to the pure and innocent beings within angels. But that purity and innocence became warped and twisted from the fall—they were then dark and unfeeling, lost any grace they had, and only one thing made them feel alive. A thing they were cursed to forever need. Crave. Feed on.

Blood.

It was their punishment for ‘abandoning' their people and home. And if you were one of the Seven archangels, your punishment would be so much worse.

Even if the higher-ups were to undo the curse, they'd still make an example of him so that no other archangels thought to repeat Viper's actions. "There's nothing they could offer me that would make me return. I would've thought they'd have clued in to that by now."

"You cannot say that you're enjoying life on Earth. Not when one or all of you have become so bored that you're recklessly snatching humans, despite knowing that their disappearances will eventually attract attention."

Viper felt his brows almost lift in surprise. For Ophaniel to know about the disappearances of the local humans, the Uppers must still be having Viper and his brothers watched. A disconcerting notion, considering they hadn't sensed that they were being closely monitored. They usually did. "That has nothing to do with us."

Ophaniel cast him a doubtful look. "Two of the missing women frequent your nightclub. One of the missing men is a regular here at the pool hall."

"I'm aware of that." He and his club were investigating the disappearances, since these humans were practically being plucked from the Black Saints' metaphorical doorstep. "We don't yet know who's responsible, but we'll find out."

"You expect me to believe that it is a coincidence? That none of your brothers, caught up in bloodlust, have—"

"You can believe whatever you want. I don't give a fuck. Fact is we have nothing to do with the disappearances."

Ophaniel's brow pinched. "You are saying that someone is counting on you taking the blame?"

Viper was more of the opinion that they were taunting him and his club, but he wasn't yet sure. He didn't really care why they were doing it, he just wanted it stopped. No one got to use his territory as their personal hunting ground.

"As I said, we're looking into it. We'll have our answers soon enough." Viper pushed away from his desk. "Now … to be blunt … it's time for you to fuck off."

Ophaniel sighed. "You are far too stubborn."

"It's not a matter of being stubborn. It's a matter of my being content where I am."

"I will never believe you could be content being a walking leech. What are you holding out for? Why delay your return? If you're expecting them to beg—"

"All I expect is for them to leave me and my brothers be. Nothing the Uppers ever say, do, or offer will tempt me to return. You be sure to communicate that," he said, a silken menace woven around the words.

Exhaling heavily, Ophaniel stood. "Fine. But I will be surprised if this makes a difference. As I've already pointed out, they don't care what you want. This is about so much more than just you. You're a fool if you think otherwise." With that, he teleported away.

Viper's entity slumped its shoulders in disappointment. It had hoped to ‘play' with the archangel a little. Mostly by slicing into his skin over and over. Yeah, the entity with whom Viper shared his soul was no one's idea of pleasant.

"He's right, you know," said Omen, taking a slow step forward. "No amount of clear statements from you will make the Uppers back off. Your refusal will continue to fall on deaf ears."

To say that heaven's higher-ups loathed when angels fell would be an understatement. They detested it more if angels bred with humans. Though what really got under their skin was when angels reproduced with demons, particularly since no one from heaven could afford to go round slaughtering the hybrid children—it would spark a war between the light and the dark. Their disinclination to start such a war was one of the reasons Viper had been intent on securing alliances with very powerful demons.

Viper shrugged. "There ain't much I can do about that." He crossed to the open door, where Jester waited.

"What did the angel want?" asked the Sgt at Arms, though he didn't sound all that interested.

"The angel was just a puppet. It was Ophaniel who wanted to speak with me." Viper gave Jester a quick recap of the conversation as they walked along the hallway side by side, their other two brothers trailing close behind.

"It has to piss some of the celestials off that they're sent to talk to you over and over," mused Jester. "Most will have accepted that you won't go back on your choice. The Uppers, though? They seem determined to ignore that."

"That's pretty much what I said," Omen chipped in.

"Part of it is they're so used to being able to order us around, they find it hard to believe they've lost all hold on us," said Dice. "The other part is that they simply can't just let one of the Seven fall."

"They'll eventually have to face that you won't willingly return," said Jester. "At that point, they'll either send more slayers … or they'll just tell their people you're dead and proceed to act as though you are."

While Viper would prefer the latter, his entity rather hoped it would have the chance to butcher more slayers.

Just then, Darko's mind touched Viper's as he telepathically spoke … She's here.