Fashionably Dead (47 page)

Pam limped over to me, a mess of broken bones and bruises. “Well, Asscrack, you scared the fuck out of me for a second there, but you did good.” She reached up and stroked my face lovingly. I knew what unconditional love was. I didn’t get it from my own mother, but I was lucky enough to have some amazing people in my life who adored me.

I moved to the King. He opened his eyes and smiled. “You are beautiful, child.” He was clearly in pain, but his arm and hand were already growing back. Incredible.

I lifted him and carried him to Pam. They cradled each other lovingly. I collapsed on the ground next to them. All I could think about was how much I loved Ethan and our baby boy . . . and how much I wanted a long hot bath. I had no idea how he would react to the news of our son, but I had a feeling he’d be over the moon. I couldn’t wait to tell him . . . God, I had so many questions for Sir James.

The clapping started slowly and gained speed until the wind from the motion was blowing my hair around my head. I looked up and there stood my Demon daddy. Could this day get any worse?

“Hello, daughter,” he said, his voice still ragged as if shards of glass were caught in his throat. “I see you’ve killed your mother.”

“Yes Sir, I did.” I almost laughed. The ridiculousness of my life never failed to amuse me at the most inappropriate times.

“Leave her alone, Demon.” The King tried to sit up.

“This has nothing to do with you, old man,” the Demon King barked. Old man? Wasn’t that the pot calling the kettle black?

“What do you want?” I interrupted. I was sick of cryptic bullshit. I wanted to get right to the point.

“You,” he said.

“Not gonna happen,” I shot back. It was starting to look like my day could get worse.

“Do you dare defy me?” he roared. The room shook with his fury. His huge teeth clicked and his burnt bloody body trembled with rage. Right about the time I knew I was a goner, my pocket started dancing.
Oh. My. God.
I quickly looked down because my grin almost split my face.

I turned to the King. “If anything happens to me, tell Ethan everything. Everything.” He nodded, but his eyes were troubled. I said a quick prayer and knelt down before the Demon King.

“I’m so sorry Daddy,” I cowered. “I will never defy you again. I’d like to give you a gift.”

I heard Pam gasp, but I ignored her.

My father’s smug satisfaction was delightful to me. He nodded his head. I reached into my pocket and presented my father with my baby Demons.

“Snack time,” I yelled as I tossed them at the Demon King. They shrieked with joy and they ate him. Every disgusting, smelly, foul inch of him.

“You will pay for this,” he screamed in agony. Terror shot through me. My mother had done a shitload of damage after being eaten by Demons. I sincerely hoped my daddy couldn’t do the same. Of course, my mother was a reincarnated mortal and had been eaten after she was already dead. My daddy was a live meal . . . Wrapping my mind around all this was too much. I’d figure it out later. At best, he was gone for good. At worst, it bought me a little time.

The grunts and shrieks and cracking of bones as my babies ate about did me in, but it was him or me. I had no plans to visit Hell any time soon. I wanted to go home. I needed to tell Ethan he was going to be a daddy and he was going to have to marry me human-style. I was not going to walk around town knocked up and single.

My little Demons finished their meal in no time flat, let out some rather disgusting belches and jumped back into my pocket. It still amazed me that something three inches high could eat something the size of my daddy. The mechanics of that were mind-boggling. I had looked away while they dined. The image of my babies chowing down on my daddy was not one I wanted to remember. It was bad enough that I could hear it.

I was so lost in my own little dream world planning my wedding and ignoring the feeding frenzy, I neglected to realize that the room had suddenly filled with Bad Demons. I should have known nothing good could come from killing both of your parents in one day.

***

The Vampyres entered the Cavern fully armed and ready to fight. Princess Lelia ran to her mother Pam, and held her as she cried. The King was attended to immediately.

“Where is she?” Ethan demanded.

“They took her,” Pam whispered. The shock of what had happened and seeing her daughter had almost rendered her speechless.

“Who took her?” Ethan’s voice was clipped. He was panicked.

“The Demons,” the King said raggedly. “Astrid killed Petra and Abaddon, and then the Demons came through the Portal. They called her their Queen and forced her down to Hell.”

Ethan was furious. He went deathly still. Power and anger rolled off of him, filling the room. It rumbled through the floor and shook the walls. No one moved. “She killed over twenty Demon-Vampyres today alone, including their King. How did common, run of the mill Demons force her to do anything?” he roared.

“They threatened her,” Pam choked out.

“With what?” Ethan demanded.

“Son, Astrid is pregnant . . . ”

“I know,” Ethan said, perilously close to destroying something.

“They told her they would slip inside her and kill the baby.” Pam’s voice was flat and sounded dead.

Without pause, he turned to Heathcliff and Raquel. “If I’m not back in three days, come for me. If I’m gone, find her and bring her home.”

They nodded.

“What are you doing?” the King gasped.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” His voice was controlled . . . barely. “I’m going to Hell to get my child and my mate.”

“You can’t,” the King gasped trying to rise. “A Vampyre won’t last more than a week in hell.”

“Then I suppose I’ll have to work fast.”

“That’s a death wish,” the King muttered, taking an amulet from his pocket and tossing it to his son.

“Without her, I have nothing to live for. What is this?” he asked, examining the clear stone.

“It will kill one. Only one. The one meant to rule. Use it wisely.”

“Post guards at this entrance and kill any demon that comes through,” Ethan said, checking his arsenal.

“But this is neutral territory,” Heathcliff said.

“And your point is?” Ethan inquired coldly.

“It shall be done, my Liege.” Heathcliff bowed his head.

Ethan nodded curtly, stepped through the Portal and disappeared.

THE END (for now)

# # #

NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR
:
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~ Robyn Peterman

KEEP READING in this eBook to read excerpts from
“Fashionably Dead Down Under”, Book 2 of the Hot Damned Series
and from “The Demon of Synar”, Book One of the Forced To Serve Series
by author Donna McDonald

Excerpt from
Fashionably Dead Down Under

Chapter 1

Pain—then ice—then intolerable heat. A second took years, yet time stood still.

The claws of those that trapped me were razor sharp. They tore through my flesh as the ones who owned them grunted and screamed with delight.

I struggled for balance, but realized I was standing on air. Violet and silver dust engulfed me as I choked on the odor of burning flesh and anger.

How was this happening?
I was supposed to be planning my wedding to my hotter-than-Satan’s-underpants Vampyre Prince, not taking a ride to Hell with smelly and disgusting Demons.

Shitshitdamnitshit
.

***

Journey?
The soundtrack in Hell was Journey? I would have thought Nine Inch Nails or AC DC, but certainly not Journey…Don’t get me wrong, I loved Journey, but
Don’t Stop Believing
just didn’t seem like an appropriate anthem for the Underworld. Was I even in Hell? Maybe this was Purgatory or some other random plane of existence? Although I would expect Barry Manilow, John Tesh or Kenny G if I was stuck in Purgatory.

“Where in God’s name am I?” I muttered as I gingerly pried my dry eyes open.

One thing I was absolutely sure of—I definitely wasn’t on Earth. The ride to wherever the hell I was with the stinky Demons had sucked the big one. It was violent, smelly and it hurt like a son of a bitch.

Easing my body to a sitting position was difficult but doable. Now, to figure out where I was…

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I moaned, both from the pain shooting through my limbs and the simple fact that
Faithfully
was blasting from invisible speakers hidden somewhere in my cell.

Wait. Was this a cell? A trap? A bedroom?

A bedroom? I was in a bedroom?

This couldn’t be Hell. It had to be some kind of holding area. The Underworld was supposed to smell like sulfur and look like post-Armageddon. This place looked more like some douchenoggle with big bucks and debatable taste had shopped at all the most expensive home stores on Fifth Avenue…while they were drunk.

My body ached like I’d been beaten and I checked myself for wounds. Surprisingly I was fine. Maybe all that flesh tearing had been an illusion. Being a Vampyre I healed quickly, but the trip to Hell, or where ever I was, had been rather turbulent. Turning my head took effort, but I needed to figure out my location and how to get out.

Interesting. I was on a large bed draped in cheesy and predictably slippery black silk. The walls of what I decided to assume was a massive bedroom were all done in burnished gold leafing. Thick and ornate crown molding framed the walls. The shades of the molding were more muted and depicted horrific scenes of mutilation and decapitations of some kind of animal looking thing. Okay, this was more like the Hell I expected. The artwork added to the ambience— frescos of orgies and graphic depictions of group sex and death graced what had to be twenty-foot high walls. The floor was so highly waxed it literally sparkled—the uninviting cold black marble stretched from one end of the huge room to the other.

Trying to block out Steven Perry singing
Lovin’, Touchin’, Squeezin’
was almost impossible. I had a bizarre urge to sing along…

Wait a fucking minute…were the walls breathing?

Stop. Pull yourself together—walls didn’t breath. I needed to deal with the situation at hand. I would not let Steven Perry or walls with a heartbeat derail me from getting the hell out of Hell.

First things first, I needed to get up. I wasn’t chained to the bed. I was able to move as freely as my battered body would allow. I suppose the most unnerving part was that no one was around…or were they? I hadn’t seen anyone or anything since my forced arrival. Could Demons cloak themselves like I could?

“Astrid,” a disembodied voice hissed from out of nowhere.

“Holy Hell,” I screamed and dove under the bed, slamming the side of my head on the metal frame and bending back all the fingers on my left hand. “Who’s here?” I shouted, nursing my painfully throbbing fingers and head not to mention the rest of my body.

“Al Pachino.”

“Al Pachino lives in Hell? I didn’t even know he died.” Plus he seemed more like a Purgatory guy to me. “Bullshit,” I muttered, cautiously peeking out from under the bed. There was no one in the room but me. Maybe the walls
were
alive. “You are not Al Pachino. You don’t even sound like Al Pachino. Who in the hell are you?”

“I’m part of you,” the wall whispered.

“I’m a fucking wall?”

The wall laughed heartily. So heartily it pissed me off. “So, did you enjoy your trip, Astrid?”

“Are you kidding me? It sucked,” I snapped and scanned the room for a hidden Demon. There had to be someone in here. Walls did not talk.

“What on earth did you expect my dear? You’d just killed their leader who happened to be your Father,” the voice informed me. “Not to mention you offed your psychotic bitch of a somewhat human mother not even ten minutes before your father arrived.”

“My father was no prize either. He was a gross, stinky, disgusting and evil Demon and wasn’t even upset that I snuffed out my mother,” I shot back. Fine. I’d lost it. I was talking to a wall…

“Darling girl, if you were able to kill both your parents why didn’t you stop the Demons from taking you to Hell?”

“Well, Wall, you seem to know quite a bit already. I’m sure you know exactly why I couldn’t stop the Demons.”