Reaper Page 18

  Yes, that sounded good.

  But she doubted she’d bring it up. She really didn’t give a flying shit about Lilliana or the brat.

  She found Moloch in the Garden of Night, a spookily spectacular garden full of flesh-eating plants, poisonous vines, and wicked black flowers. He was pouring blood into a container of irises as he spoke in low, hushed tones with a shadowy figure nearby. Moloch had loved gardening before Bael’s soul joined the party, but now he spent more time torturing people. So even though she wasn’t a fan of horticulture—or horrorticulture, as Moloch accurately called it—she figured that finding him here was a sign that he wasn’t letting Bael’s insane side take over completely.

  “What is it?” Moloch asked, not looking up.

  The shadowy person melted away before she could see his face, or even what he was wearing. The last two times she’d seen him, he’d been in black leather pants and a hoodie with the hood up. This time, she’d gotten a glimpse of hair, although she couldn’t tell the color. On the light side, she thought.

  And he was cold. So cold.

  Flail stared at the sudden empty air. “Who is that guy? He’s been lurking around for days.”

  Moloch moved the watering can to the next plant. “You don’t recognize him?”

  “I’ve never seen his face.” She watched Moloch lick a drop of blood from the watering can’s spout.

  “He doesn’t have one. Not yet.” He straightened and turned to her, and she fought the urge to shrink back. The black pools of hate that were his eyes scorched her skin where they landed, and she wished she’d worn something a lot less skimpy. “He’s of the Dark Lord’s blood. He wants to know how Lilliana is doing.”

  So, one of Satan’s bastard sons was part of this. She wondered how big a part. Who was pulling the strings in the race to Armageddon? Moloch? The bastard? Another player she hadn’t met?

  “Is that a question?” she asked. “Because you see her as much as I do.”

  He cocked his head and smiled. Again, she fought the desire to back up. Back up and run. “That’s not true, is it? I think you feel bad for her.”

  A chill sank deep into her muscles. There was nothing deemed more worthy of punishment in Moloch’s world than compassion. She was definitely not asking to send Lilliana’s infant away. Hell, no. Moloch could eat it in a stew for all she cared.

  “She amuses me, is all,” she said hastily. “And I might be able to get her to talk. She knows more than anyone about Azagoth’s secrets.”

  Moloch’s expression revealed nothing that clued her in to whether or not he believed her.

  “I have something to show you.” He gestured for her to follow him along a winding path. “My new scarecrow.”

  He stopped in front of the pole where he was always putting up a newly impaled thing. She looked up.

  Oh, Dark Lord…

  Flail swallowed bile over and over. Don’t vomit. Don’t vomit. Don’t fucking vomit.

  “That’s not his entire body,” Moloch said in a pleasant, la-dee-da voice that filled her with terror. “Just his skin, stuffed with straw. It’s beautiful, isn’t it? That’ll keep those pesky crows away.”

  Maddox. Oh, Maddox.

  “There are no crows here.” It was her voice, her words, but she didn’t know why she spoke them. There were so many other things she could have said. Like, “You fucking piece of shit, I’m going to slaughter you.” Or, “You told me he survived the ambush.” Or, “You promised you wouldn’t kill him.”

  “No,” Moloch said, studying her as she fought for the right balance of expectedly outraged yet not homicidal. “There are no crows here. There have been reports of a hellhound lurking around, though. Nasty things.”

  Bending over, he started watering a blackberry bush whose thorns dripped poison that burned like a mother.

  You fucker, I hope you get pricked.

  He was going to pay for this. Not right here, not this minute. But it would happen.

  And, screw it, she was going to get Lilliana’s kid out of here so it wasn’t next week’s garden ornament.

  “How dare you?” she ground out. “We had a deal. I work for you, and in return, you don’t do…that”—she gestured to the Maddox scarecrow—“to my nephew. We’re on the same team, Moloch. I want Satan released as badly as you do. That’s why I’m spending my time listening to Azagoth’s whiny little bitch of a mate. I’m hoping she can tell us something useful. I have one idea that might work. But who knows?”

  Moloc would never have taken the bait she’d just set out, but Bael would have. Would Moloch?

  Intrigued, Moloch looked over his shoulder at her. “Tell me.”

  She steeled herself. Bael’s influence had turned Moloch unpredictable, and he was just as likely to listen to her as he was to disembowel her for fun.

  “Right now, Azagoth has no reason to believe you’ll release Lilliana after he frees the Dark Lord. All you’ve done is torture her and piss him off. I spent enough time with him in Sheoul-gra to know that for a fact. I suggest that you send him a good-faith gesture.”

  Moloch straightened, the watering can at his side. “Such as?”

  “When Lilliana gives birth, send him the infant.”

  The look he gave her was pure, are you crazy. “And give up two hostages?”

  “You said yourself that you didn’t care if the angelicant Lilliana took killed the child,” she pointed out. “The goal was always to get her into our hands. We’ve got her, and so far, nothing you’ve done has convinced Azagoth to comply. And why is that? It’s because he can’t be dealt with by force. Ask Heaven. They’ll tell you.” Moloch was listening, no longer focused on his dumb plants. Encouraged, she kept pitching. “He’s a businessman. He negotiates, Moloch. He makes deals, and he’s not known for breaking them.”

  Unlike Moloch.

  “Offer him the baby as a down payment on Satan’s release,” she continued, “with the full payment of Lilliana after it’s done. What will it hurt to try a new tack?”

  He actually appeared to consider it, and then he snorted. “You’ve been spending too much time with Azagoth’s whore. I think you need to remember what you are.”

  “I despise the weak little bitch,” she snapped, although, in truth, she had to hand it to Lilliana for one thing. There was no way Flail would survive being trapped in a tiny realm populated with her mate’s offspring…and still be sane.

  But while the stories of Azagoth’s cruelty went far beyond the borders of Sheoul-gra, Flail also knew some lesser-known tales. Like how, when her sister had gone back to him after running away the first time, he’d refused to touch her until she was ready. And while Flail doubted that he’d done it out of nobility or decency, she’d seen enough during her time in Sheoul-gra to believe he took his duties seriously, and the only thing he’d ever expected of others was that they do the same.

  Ellandra had actually come away from Azagoth’s bed in good spirits. In fact, for the first few months afterward, as she grew Maddox in her womb, she was the happiest Flail had ever seen her. But as reality began to settle in, and Ellandra realized she would have to give up the baby and place her child in the hands of the worst humanity had to offer, depression and despair had set in.

  Flail was only glad that her sister wasn’t around to see what Moloch had done to her son.

  “And what if I ask you to kill her when the time comes?” Moloch asked.

  “It would be my greatest honor,” she assured him. “But, my lord, this isn’t about Lilliana. It’s about starting the Great Cleansing, the End of Days, and to do that, we need Satan to be free. The child is disposable to you. Why not use it to bring Azagoth to our side?”

  “You’ve convinced me,” he said, and she exhaled in relief, unaware that she’d been holding her breath. “You’ve convinced me you need to remember that you are a fallen angel who once nailed a human’s heart to a wall while he was still alive.” Moloch’s slow, malevolent smile froze her in place as her relief turned to te
rror. “Take off your clothes. I haven’t heard a female scream in hours.”

  Chapter 26

  Lilliana had her first contraction only moments after Moloch’s games began. He called them games, but really, they were just trials of people Moloch considered traitors that ended with the guilty parties being executed in creative and gory ways.

  She’d been forced to watch for hours at Moloch’s side, made to endure his constant threats to put her on trial next. Every time someone died, he’d asked if she’d like to join them. When she said no, he laughed. When she said yes, he said no. And when she ignored him, he raked his claws across her face or punched her in the head.

  He was a real fucking gentleman.

  At least her misery and the spectacle had allowed her to disguise her labor discomfort as disgust or the pain of being struck.

  But nothing could mask the sheer terror of knowing that her baby was almost here, and she would have no way to protect it.

  Finally, as she moaned quietly through an intense contraction, he signaled to a guard to have her taken away.

  “Your weak constitution annoys me,” he said. “But it’ll make Flail’s job easier.”

  Flail’s job? She didn’t ask, didn’t want to delay being taken away from this awful place. Granted, she was going to another terrible place, her cell, but even that cold, smelly box was better than this, where the stench of fear, burning flesh, and entrails left her swallowing bile.

  Pain wrenched her belly as she shuffled toward the cell, a burly demon on each side, their armor scraping the stone walls as they walked. As they rounded the corner to her cell, a gush of liquid spilled from between her thighs and ran down her leg. One of the demons laughed.

  “Look, Oog, she pissed herself. Angels are cowards.”

  If she weren’t about to drop a baby on the floor right now, she’d punch the brute in the face. As it was, she breathed through a contraction and told herself to let it go. It was a good thing if the demons thought she was a coward. They’d let down their guard if they didn’t see her as a threat.

  Oog snorted like a boar rooting for truffles and shoved her inside the cell so hard, she stumbled and hit the floor, twisting so her shoulder and hip took the brunt of the impact instead of her belly.

  “Assholes!” she yelled as the door slammed closed. “You dick—”

  She broke off as pain wrenched her insides. Everything from her pelvis to her shoulder blades screamed in agony as if she were being stretched on one of Moloch’s racks.

  “No, please no,” she moaned as she sat up and rubbed her belly. “Stay in there. Please—” This time, the scream was audible, breaking from her throat.

  Water. She needed water. Panting, she looked around, but even the bucket filled with gelatinous brown muck was gone. Sweat and tears mingled and dripped down her face as the contractions ripped her in half, one coming right on top of the other now.

  She pushed to her hands and knees and concentrated on breathing. In. Out. In. Out. For hours. Or maybe ten minutes. She couldn’t tell.

  The door creaked, and she was too scared to look. So terrified and in so much pain, that she couldn’t contain a wail of despair.

  “Oh, fuck.”

  Lilliana wasn’t sure if she was relieved that the newcomer’s voice belonged to Flail or not. Lilliana hadn’t seen her since she’d talked to her about getting the baby out of here, and some small part of her didn’t even want to know Flail’s decision.

  A yes meant she might never see her baby again.

  A no meant she might have to watch her baby die.

  She needed a yes, or she’d go mad.

  She opened her eyes. The fallen angel was standing in the doorway, a phone in one hand, and a pair of garden shears in the other.

  “Flail,” Lilliana moaned as another contraction tore through her. “It’s the baby.”

  “Son of a bitch.” Flail wheeled around and fled, the sound of the door clanging shut echoing through the room.

  Lilliana hated that skank, but right now, she hated being alone more. She was supposed to have her baby at home, surrounded by people she loved. Azagoth was supposed to be here to offer encouragement and welcome his son or daughter with his strong arms. She was supposed to bring this child into the world in a place of safety.

  None of that was going to happen.

  The door banged open again, and Flail rushed in with an armload of towels and a stool.

  “Here.” She placed a folded towel on the floor next to the stool. “Kneel on this and use the stool to brace yourself. My sister said this was the easiest way to do this. It’ll just slide right out.”

  Somehow, Lilliana didn’t think it would be that simple, but even if it were, it would only bring the child into this horrible world sooner.

  Lilliana panted through a contraction. “I…don’t want…what’s easiest.”

  “Are you a fucking idiot?”

  Lilliana’s arms and legs shook with the effort to keep from pushing. “Tell me Moloch agreed to send the baby to Azagoth.” She cried out as the instinct to bear down overwhelmed her.

  No, no, no!

  “Not…exactly.”

  Lilliana broke down into sobs, her limbs collapsing beneath her. That had been the one hope keeping her going. Keeping her from going completely insane. If something happened to her baby, she’d die. She had no doubt that she’d lose her sanity and her will to live. Right now, for the first time, she understood Azagoth’s self-destructive streak.

  “Lilliana? Shit, it’s going to be okay.” Flail rolled her onto her back and shoved a towel beneath her head, and even through Lilliana’s physical and mental agony, it struck her as an oddly compassionate thing to do. “Just push, okay, you dumb bitch?” She thrust Lilliana’s thighs apart. “Push!”

  “No one is ever going to ask you to be their labor coach,” Lilliana screamed as she bore down, her body overriding her will.

  “It’s coming, Lilliana,” Flail said. “I see the head. Push.”

  Lilliana roared as she pushed, the tearing, searing pain spurring her on. Tears of sorrow streamed down her face.

  The tears should be ones of joy, making this all so much worse.

  “Another push. Now, Lilliana.”

  Lilliana shook with the effort, her lungs expelling a shout as her body expelled the little life she’d kept safe for all these months.

  “Got it,” Flail breathed. “It’s a girl. You have a daughter.”

  A cry rose up, the most beautiful sound Lilliana had ever heard as Flail wrapped the baby in a towel. “Ooh, glad I have the garden shears,” she said. “I came here to torture you a little, to try one more time to get you to call Azagoth, but you had to go and drop a kid.”

  Someone pounded on the door. “Flail?” A deep, booming voice vibrated the air. “Is the morsel born? I will tell Moloch, no?”

  Sheer, stark terror screamed through Lilliana. Morsel?

  Flail hesitated, and Lilliana reached for her, gripping her hand as the fallen angel tucked the baby against her.

  “Please,” Lilliana mouthed. “Please help her.”

  Flail glanced at her and then turned to the door. “Yes,” she called out. “Report to Moloch.”

  Lilliana screamed and grabbed the shears. It didn’t matter that she stood no chance of getting out of Moloch’s castle, let alone out of the cell. She couldn’t let her baby be taken away yet. She’d fight until the end. Until she was dead.

  The shears ripped from her hands and clattered against the spiked wall. “Listen to me, you stupid twat!” Flail glanced nervously between Lilliana and the door. “I’m going to get her to Azagoth, okay? But I have to go now before that guard tells Moloch the baby is here.”

  Flail held up the bundle so Lilliana could see her daughter—her beautiful little face with Azagoth’s nose and her eyes.

  “Let me hold her,” Lilliana pleaded. “Just for a minute.”

  “There’s no time.” Flail opened the door, but before she left, she looked
back at Lilliana, sadness swirling in the dark depths of her eyes. “And, trust me, holding her will only make it harder.” She cursed. “I’m a fucking idiot.”

  And then she was gone, and Lilliana sank to the floor, slick with birth blood, a profound sense of loss sapping what was left of her strength. Numb, unable to function, she wrapped her arms around her knees and rocked.

  Without the baby, she wouldn’t be able to communicate with Azagoth. In a matter of seconds, she’d lost both her lifelines.

  And her hope.

  Chapter 27

  Eidolon had always been one to work through his grief. The more he mourned, the harder he worked.

  He hadn’t left the hospital in days. Not since it’d happened.

  Tayla and their son had gone to stay with Serena and Stewie for a while, and he had no desire to go back to an empty home where all he’d do was think.

  Shade hadn’t come back to work since it happened. Funny how all Eidolon’s siblings handled grief differently.

  Lore’s pain was silent, but he was always there. Sin was vocal, but distant. Wraith had killed. Eidolon healed.

  Shade dwelled, openly parsing through his agony and anger. Right now, he was spending a lot of his time with Gem’s mate, Kynan, and the Demonic Activity Response Team, as they spent the majority of their resources on the hunt for the last remaining fallen angel responsible for Wraith’s death. Apparently, Limos and Reseph had bagged the second male this morning.

  Eidolon hoped the Horsemen were making the bastard regret ever hearing Wraith’s name. Much like Eidolon regretted how he’d handled the situation that had gotten Wraith killed.

  When he wasn’t busy, he ran Wraith’s death over and over in his head, as though the what-if scenarios could play out in the past and bring his brother back from the dead. What if he’d physically restrained Wraith? What if he’d gone out to handle the fallen angels himself?