Wicked Nights (Angels of the Dark #1)(88)
Author: Gena Showalter

The minion brightened instantly. “Yes, yes, of course. Would be my pleasure to serve you in this way.”

A lie, most surely.

“No, no. I’ll deliver it,” the minion beside him said. “Let me.”

“No, me,” the third rushed out. “I’ll do anything. Anything!”

Koldo kept his gaze on the one he held. “I do not believe you. And that is why I’m keeping a piece of you here. If you want that piece back, you’ll have to come and get it with proof of your actions.” That said, Koldo ripped off the creature’s right arm.

A scream of agony, jagged at the edges. The spurt of black blood.

He tossed the appendage to the floor. As greedy and selfish as demons were, they could not bear for anyone else to have what belonged to them.

“I’ll go,” was the panted reply. “I’ll go and return. Swear.”

Truth or lie? Other angels would have been able to tell, but because of his father, Koldo could not. “When you see him, tell Unforgiveness that his cowardly hiding will not save him from our wrath.”

Koldo removed the chains.

In a blink, the demon bolted up and through the side wall, disappearing from view, laughing gleefully.

“What now?” Thane asked, angry.

“Now,” Koldo replied, “I follow him to the high lord. I have a lock on his spiritual trail.” An ability he hadn’t wanted the demon to know about, hence the pretense that he expected proof. “Once I discover where Unforgiveness and his horde are staying, I can lead Zacharel straight to him. In the meantime, kill these two. They are no longer needed and now possess information they shouldn’t.”

Amid the demons’ protests and the warriors’ grunts of approval, Koldo hid himself in a pocket of air, knowing that not even the angels could sense him any longer, and followed the trail the fleeing demon had left for him. He saw sparks of pink—relief. Fetid green and slick black, like diseased oil leaking from a car—the need to hurt someone mixed with fear.

The minion surprised him, doing as Koldo had commanded and going straight to the high lord. Through layers of dirt and rock, through long, winding tunnels, and into hell, a land of fire, ash and utter doom. Prairies and hills were scorched, charred to nothing. Ash curled through the air, creating a choking breeze. The intensity of the heat licked at him, causing his skin to sweat and welt. Screams of agony assaulted his ears, followed quickly by eerie laughter.

Angels were not allowed to enter without permission. Hell was not their realm, nor was it under their control, subject to their rules. But again, Koldo was not just any angel. His father had— No, he would not think about the man and why, exactly, he could pass between heaven and hell. He would then think about his mother.

Koldo caught sight of the minion, zipping along a bone-laden bridge. Water did not flow beneath, but blood, so much blood. Spikes anchored one side of that bridge to the other, a soul writhing in the center of each. At the end was a palace of gloom and torment, comprised only of human skulls. Thousands of empty eye sockets seemed to watch him.

As he entered, the fine hairs at the back of his neck rose to attention. Would the Deity grant Zacharel permission to come here? Or would Zacharel have to fall first? Whenever an angel fell, his wings were permanently removed and his weak, vulnerable body cast here. If that happened, Zacharel would not stand a chance.

Perhaps I can end things here and now. It wasn’t wise for a lone warrior to take on a horde, especially when that lone warrior was injured, but if there was a chance…

Koldo found the minion in the throne room. Up the dais steps his gaze went, landing on the giant lounging across the throne’s arms. The minion bowed.

This had to be Unforgiveness.

The bones of his face were exaggerated, his forehead too wide and bulging. His teeth were sharpened into fangs, and his skin a smooth expanse of crimson. Wings knotted and ridged curved from around his back and scraped at his thighs, as well as the throne. A long, thin tail rested in his lap, his fingers toying with the metal spike at the end.

“—said he would give my arm back to me if I delivered proof I told you his message.”

“Did he, now?”

“Oh, yes. Will you give me proof?”

Unforgiveness motioned one of the many demons behind his throne. The male came forward—and beheaded the one-armed minion.

The spectators chortled.

Unforgiveness held up a hand for silence. “The day I have been waiting for has finally arrived. The battle has truly begun.”

Koldo looked around, cataloging the details. There were over two hundred demons in this room alone. No telling how many others the high lord commanded. No, he could not take on this army all by his lonesome. Not in this condition.

There were several columns scattered throughout, each with a human spirit chained in front.

Spirits were corporeal here, and therefore subject to the laws of the realm’s nature. Blood dripped from each unconscious person.

They weren’t dead, he knew that much. When a spirit was killed, it withered away—only to reanimate a few days later, still trapped in this pitted, fiery realm of pain.

Koldo wished he could help, and that was one of the main reasons angels were never allowed here. They wanted to help, but couldn’t, and the guilt would stay with them forevermore. Koldo forced himself to look away from the bodies. But not before he caught a glimpse of… Surely not… That couldn’t be… He stalked to the only column on the dais.

It was.

Jamila’s dark hair hung in tangles and mostly concealed her face. She was cut and bruised from head to toe, soaked in blood, her wings gone, but she was alive, her chest rising, falling, rising. But…

She had died. Hadn’t she? Or had that, too, been a trick?

Her eyes were closed, her breath more of a wheeze than anything. Death waited for her even now, ready to sink past her skin and consume her at any moment.

“Well, well.” Unforgiveness breathed deeply, as if he savored something sweet. The creature pushed to his feet. Everyone in the room quieted. “I smell you, angel. I know you’re here.”

Every soldier in the demon’s army tensed, readying for combat.

Out of habit, Koldo nearly created a sword of fire. Steady. He can’t know where you are. But those crimson eyes were locked on him, as though observing his every move.

“We’ve killed her, you know. Over and over again we’ve killed your female only to revive her before it was too late.”

Steady. Responding would verify his presence and reveal his location, even though Unforgiveness already seemed to know where he was, and that would be a mistake. The creature might sense him, but he couldn’t see him. This was a trick, and if he appeared, the other demons would see him, too.