Bound in Black (12 page)

“Wait your turn!” A bigger one clawed his forearm.

That was enough for me. I caught sight of Mira circling another cliff’s edge high above. This would be a long sift, but I needed to get out of there fast.

“Do you smell that?” grunted Six-horn, sniffing the air in my direction.

With that, I sifted out and up, up, up, landing in a crouch with my katana drawn and ready. Thankfully, Mira had scouted a safe spot behind a boulder. Crouching down, I peeked around the rock, finally able to get a good look at the fortress I’d seen from far below.

Like something out of a medieval textbook, more like a medieval horror story, the fortress wasn’t a separate structure but carved into the mountainside, all sharp angles, iron gates and barred windows. But it wasn’t the sight of the place that struck terror in my soul and shot ice through my veins. It was the screams emanating from within its walls. Even more, the beacon of Jude’s signature burned strong and true. He was inside that ghastly place.

Two horned demons in matching black tunics stood outside the arched entrance. Just as I wondered who the hell would be trying to break in, besides me, a shrieking woman tore through the open gate past the guards. One of the guards lifted a bow and notched an arrow from a quiver at his back. The other grunted something with a wave of the hand and pulled a weapon from his belt—links of barbed chain. He flung them through the air with frightening speed. The chains wrapped her legs at the knees, tripping her to the ground. The one who’d caught her grunted something unintelligible. Grabbing her by the hair, he dragged her back toward the fortress.

My gut clenched at her wailing cries as she flailed and kicked. Like an insect trying to wrestle a lion, it did her no good. Only annoyed the lion. She must’ve clawed his arm, because he dropped her suddenly, then rounded and cuffed her hard across the face. Silent and limp, she made no struggle when he again gripped her by the hair and disappeared through the gates.

“My God,” I whispered to Mira on my shoulder, nuzzling close to my hood. I couldn’t form a coherent thought that expressed the heartsickness and despair seeping into my bones. The guards weren’t to keep people out, but to keep them in.

This
was hell. This fortress of pain, reeking of malice and torture. Now I knew why damned souls might prefer Lethe. Better a land of forgetfulness than a land where evil thrived, eager to inflict pain for eternity.

These demons weren’t like Garzel, the one who was taken by the soul collector, Acheron. He’d been taken as a punishment for his misdeeds. The demons I’d encountered capturing that teenager in the forest, the ones on the cliff, and the ones guarding this gate were uniformed. They held allegiance for this “master” the boy spoke of. The master ruling such a place with so many at his disposal must be a powerful being. A high demon.

I licked my dry lips, thinking of the best course of action.

“I need a distraction.” Mira clicked once with her beak and opened her wings. “Yes, but wait,” I hissed in a whisper. “He has arrows. Be careful and fly high.”

I straightened to prepare myself for the fastest run I’d ever made in my life when she clenched her talons in my shoulder with three aggravated chirps.

I heaved out a sigh. “I
will
be careful.” I pointed up toward a tower spiraling into the inky black. “Those windows have no bars. If you must check on me, come through there. But you’ll do me more good if you wait out here until I return.”

I wouldn’t admit even to her that I feared I might not return.

“No more dawdling.
Go.
”

She shot up like a missile until I could see her no more. I waited, watching the bulky demon, his four horns silhouetted by a torch at his back. A high-pitched shriek made my heart leap till I realized it was Mira. On the far side of the fortress where a woodland of black trees sprouted, she swooped and circled in a wild figure eight. The demon guard watched her, slowly edging away from his post. Then Mira flapped her wings, dropping sparks of blue from her wing tips. I shook my head, amazed at this lovely creature of my own making. She had all kinds of tricks up her sleeves. Or wings, rather.

When the guard ventured beyond my sight, I wrapped my cloak tighter, covering my hands and face, and darted for the open gate. Adrenaline pumped my legs faster than ever before. As I passed under the iron gate into a torchlit corridor, I avoided the line of blood left from the woman who tried to escape, then I slipped along the wall to the first door. Heart rate drumming, I scanned the small room. At its center stood a round grate and a fire pit. Some sort of meat roasted on three skewers crossing the open flame. I didn’t look closely enough to identify the limb. I didn’t want to know. Sharpened spears, axes and weapons of every size and shape lined the walls. There was no one here.

I caught my breath and peered into the hall. The missing guard hadn’t yet returned. I mumbled the words to cast illusion over and over again, knowing that some casts could be so strong, they’d render the Flamma practically invisible. Not truly invisible, but warded so well that an enemy might overlook them, thinking they’d seen something, only to look back and find no one there.

Screams deeper in the fortress skated over my skin. My instinct was to run away. But the lure of iron and fire called to me, singing along the bond we shared. Katana in hand, I skimmed along the stone wall, moving quickly under the sconces of torchlight. I passed another door. Though the doors were closed, an open square window appeared at eye level. Women whimpered and cried from within. I had to look to be sure Jude wasn’t being held inside. I wished with all my heart I hadn’t.

A cluster of women—some black-eyed from the land of Lethe, some with their natural eye color still shining bright—were collared around their throats in a corner. Dark splotches of blood stained a bed of wood with arm and ankle shackles in place. A throng of demons sharpened blades near a wall of weapons—horned beasts in tunics like others I’d seen since I’d crossed the black river. Two demons cackled near a small forge, heating a branding iron, then plunging it into a pail of water. A sizzling hiss rose with the steam, causing the prisoners to squirm. One squealed. One of the demons was bigger than the rest. With a curving blade like a scimitar in hand, he ambled toward the chained prisoners, his long rat tail snaking to the floor from beneath his tunic.

He grunted an order, and a wrinkly, gray-skinned demon scuttled forward and unlocked one dark-haired woman’s throat chain. The leader with the scimitar gripped her arm. Somehow she wiggled free, but his claws ripped her feeble dress, baring her breasts. The other demons gibbered and hissed. One of them reached under his tunic to fondle himself. I cringed. The leader glared at his captive, puffed up his chest and pointed with his blade to the ground at his feet.

“Come,” he commanded. The topless woman—dirty and pale—inched forward in trembling fear. With a mighty claw, he ripped the rest of her dress from her body, dragging claws across her abdomen. She screamed as the gashes bloomed with beads of red.

The other demons cackled and shifted on hooves and clawed feet restlessly, obviously excited by the violence. The wrinkly one jumped up and down and clapped.

“Chain her,” said the leader to another.

I couldn’t watch what he planned to do next, and slid away from the door. When her howl of pain reverberated off the walls, ice chilled my blood. I froze, wanting to go back and save her more than anything. I had no doubt that I could, but I wasn’t sure I’d ever make it to Jude without the cover of stealth and surprise if I made myself known now. Uriel’s warning rang in my mind. If I saved her, I’d have to flee at once. But I couldn’t do nothing.

Sheathing my sword and wrapping the cloak tight, I peeked through the window again to find the demons enthralled, their attention riveted to the poor woman being bound to their torture table. I eyed the bucket of water next to the small forge in the corner. There were only three torches in the room. I said a quick prayer, calling my VS to help me move as quickly as possible. I stared at my target and sifted right next to the bucket. The stench of the creatures and the foul smell of rank blood stung my nostrils. I grabbed the bucket and sifted once, doused the torch, sifted to the second torch, then the third, throwing the room in utter darkness. A howl flew up from the demons as they scuffled around. One roared in anger, probably the leader, as bodies slammed into each other, bumbling blindly like panicked ants.

I sifted outside of the room and dropped the bucket, fleeing down the corridor and hoping I could make it back in time to help those women before the morons in charge could regroup.

Swallowing the pain of seeing that woman’s suffering, I moved on, vowing to come back if I could. Many of the rooms I passed were steeped in pitch-black, though I heard chains rattling from occupants inside.

As I crossed a basement stairwell, the bond I shared with Jude snapped tight, as if a rope were tied to my waist and jerked me to a halt. When I peered down the stone staircase, the raucous cackles and shrieks of a horde of demons drifted up to me. Jude was down there.

Sliding along the cavern-like wall, spiraling downward into the dark, I crept faster and faster, for the powerful signature that was unmistakably Jude—flames and steel interwoven in a tapestry of unparalleled allure—brushed against my senses. My VS awakened to another level. I repeated the incantation for illusion over and over in my mind.

The sounds became more definite as I descended and drew closer to the basement floor.

Crack!
A sharp sound slapped me with bone-numbing dread. A roaring of jeers, hisses and demonic laughter followed.

I stepped out onto the landing, realizing I’d entered an underground arena. An inner corridor circled a vast space. No one stood guard. A wide round arch opened into the area where wicked cries of glee mounted loud and strong, beating against my VS like a fist pounding my chest. Deep-rooted evil dwelled through that archway.

Crack!

I flinched. Another wave of sinister joy from a demonic audience.

I stepped closer, whispering the incantation for illusion so that I might remain unnoticed. Through the archway lay a miniature coliseum, a tiered audience fifty rows high, packed to the ceiling with ghastly fiends—red-eyed, multi-horned, sharp-clawed, some bony, some bulky. And every one of them was riveted to the display on the black-stone arena floor.

My view was obstructed by the man standing at the center with his back to me—a beautiful line of male perfection, golden-hued and bare down to the black silk pajama pants he wore. Recognition dawned with a sickening punch to my gut. His muscles flexed as he swung his arm in an overhead arc. A whip in hand—the black snaking length whistling through the air—he sliced his arm down hard, the lash hitting an unseen target.

Crack!

The golden-haired god of this torture den tossed his head back in triumph, raising his arms to his enthralled audience, his whip dangling and writhing like a living creature.

“Do you want more!” he bellowed. His clamoring fans answered with a roar, waving arms with frantic bloodlust, begging for more.

Fear lanced through me, rising with the bile in my throat. His voice hadn’t changed from the last time I’d heard him, even though his head had been severed from his body.

Danté.

Chapter Ten

Danté, the demon prince who’d possessed my soul and who would’ve possessed all of me had Jude not come to my rescue. He was the master of this den of demons.

Without taking another step, I knew the object of Danté’s malice and hatred, the savaged being half-concealed by the prince. I moved closer, still within the shadow of the rafters. Danté marched around his victim, gloating with his perfect smile spread wide. But scars marked his pretty face—the gash I’d given him from ear to lip. And his neck… It had been sewn back together with some rudimentary material and poor stitching, the scar an ugly welt wrapping his throat.

He circled to the other side. My heart sank at the sight of his victim.

Jude. Naked on his knees, he was stretched over a stone bench, chest-down. His arms were shackled into a cross position. I could see nothing of his skin or the intricately inked tattoo of St. Michael the Archangel defeating the devil, which had spanned in complex beauty over the entirety of his back. From shoulder to waist, he was a mass of blood and gashes, red dripping onto the floor beneath his knees.

On the other side of Danté stood two iron rods with shackles the height of a man’s ankles and wrists. A pool of crimson filled the area between the iron posts. Dark splatters and smears ran from the posts to the bench where Jude lay prone, facedown and nude, unmoving—beaten bloody for the entertainment of this demon horde and for Danté. I trembled, trying not to fall into petrified shock.

“Yes?” the demon prince asked the crowd. Sadistic egotism filled his voice. “I believe he wants more.”

Danté’s arm rose again, swinging his whip above his head. I couldn’t think, couldn’t rationalize a fucking thing, my brain not giving a shit that I was outnumbered by two or three hundred. Whipping off my cloak, I stormed into the circle of the arena with a resounding, “No!”

A hush fell over the horde as Danté twisted around, the whip falling impotent at his side. His expression of astonishment transformed to sickening joy as I met him in the circle.