Imp Forsaken (Imp Book 5) (37 page)

“You are ancient and powerful. You could have all of Hel with the wave of a talon, but you don’t want that. Vengeance is what you want. We are not so different in our passions. I destroy an elf lord who insulted me, and you seek to destroy the angels that took away everything you held dear, who cast you into Hel to rot for all eternity. Fuck them. As I said, I’m proud to contribute to anything that causes the angels pain and suffering. Let me live, and I’ll help you create the offspring you desire.”

He needed me. He needed my devouring ability. I’d deal with the fact that I had no intention of giving it to him later. Right now, I just wanted to live through the night.

You assume I cannot replace you? Millions of years I have waited. A few hundred thousand more are of no consequence.

But they were. I knew he was impatient, that he’d waited long enough. Each century that went by saw him falling further from the angel he used to be. It had to eat away at his soul to know what banishment had done to him.

“I know, Ancient One. I only hope you find enough value in what I have to offer that you will allow me to make up for my disobedient behavior.”

Black smoke billowed before me, inches from my body. Shit, shit, shit. Was he about to kill me? I had no idea his intent, but this manifestation of his physical form couldn’t be a good thing. I held still, trying to show no fear. Demons like Ahriman lived on other’s terror. One taste and he’d lose his tightly held control, satiating his desires in my nightmares for as long as he could draw them out. Slowly a curl of smoke reached toward me, a talon materializing to rake down my cheek. Another tendril snaked through my flesh to my spirit-self, taking unmentionable liberties. I clenched my jaw and tried to calm my racing heart.

Your fear is like the honey of Aaru. I long to indulge my passions, but I do not want to wait thousands of years for another such as you. I need what you have, Az, and that will keep you alive for a while, in spite of your disobedience. Perhaps you’ll live through the entire contract period,
if
you prove worthy of my affection, that is.

His spirit-self plundered mine, and I allowed him as many intimacies as I could tolerate, trying to keep the extent of my damage from him as well as the red-purple of Gregory’s spirit. I needed to stay alive—permitting this assault while deceiving him as to the extent of my usefulness seemed a good plan for now. I wasn’t sure how long it would stall the demon, but it was all I had.

You have much to recommend you, Az,
Ahriman continued as he stroked along my spirit-self. I tried to ignore him, tried to keep down the bile that rose in my throat.

I am dismayed at Feille’s untimely death, but admire the painful revenge you enacted on his person. Time and time again I see you in this weak, vulnerable human form, covered in wounds you do not repair. Your obvious enjoyment of suffering, of agony, further endears you to me. In spite of your defiant, disobedient nature, could you possibly be the partner I have longed for in my exile? A mirror to myself, one to enjoy the pain I so love to give.

I could not keep the shudder from rolling through my body. Shit. He thought I was allowing these blisters, these burns, on purpose, that I kept to this form because I was some kind of demon masochist. We all loved a degree of pain. Sensation was appreciated whether it was pleasure or torment, but some things were beyond the bounds of reasonable enjoyment. Ahriman seemed to feel I had transcended these limits. I wavered in indecision. If I let him know the truth, he’d realize how broken I was, as well as my inability to fulfill the terms of my contract. If I let him believe I was open to the sort of torture he wanted, I’d spend the next thousand years in non-stop agony.

I took a deep breath and caressed him back, wincing at his enthusiastic response.

“You should punish me. Prove to me you are worthy of my respect, force me to obey.”

I didn’t have to ask twice. The demon coalesced into a more solid shape, gripping the edge of my spirit-self with his own. With claws, he raked my physical being, tearing strips of skin until they hung in tatters from my arms and chest. The blisters and burns from the Wisps sizzled with acid from his touch, and I felt every coherent thought sink under a drowning wall of pain. All the while, he gripped my spirit being, holding me as if he owned me. He might think so, think the contract gave my body and soul to him, but there would always be a secret part he could never touch. I hid a portion of myself safely away along with the angel spirit networked though me. He could have the rest, but never this tiny bit, and never my angel. I clung to that part of Gregory, taking comfort in memories, in the knowledge of his strength and skill. I could survive this, I could endure, and the thought of my angel would be my rock to keep me steady throughout it all.

By the time Ahriman was finished with his fun, half my skin lay shredded on the floor, blood falling in rivulets from the torn flesh. I panted in agony, uncertain how I’d managed to stay upright throughout the entire experience.

Yes, Az, I think I will keep you alive and by my side. You’ll be a lovely addition to my household—my new favorite toy. It seems there are many more benefits to this contract than I ever would have thought.

He vanished in a slick puff of smoke. I collapsed to the dirty floor, holding as still as I could in the pool of my own flesh and blood. Reaching deep inside myself to the broken sections, I pulled on the thick energy that surrounded me and tried to convert my form, to recreate my entire body anew. I’d been doing this since I was a mere century old—it was like breathing to me—but my broken spirit rebelled, sending a very different spear of pain through me.

Come on, come on
, I urged myself. I’d managed to convert into flame to kill Feille, created this human form afterward. Why could I not do it now? Had I re-injured the healing portions of myself when I’d turned to flame in the forest? Was I just not sufficiently angry or desperate to force my damaged powers into action? Or perhaps the waves of pain tearing through me were too much of a distraction.

Unable to recreate my form, I set about repairing my injuries. It was a slow process, but I was pleased to feel blood vessels knit together, new pink skin creep along the open wounds. I was grateful that this skill had returned, that at least I no longer had to exist with wounds for days or weeks at a time and worry that they’d never close or heal. If I could just stall Ahriman, hold off any attempts at breeding by steering him to other, more enjoyable, activities, then maybe by the time he got around to it I’d be recovered enough to give him some of the traits he wanted. I just needed to hang on.

29

I
’d never make it. Two weeks in Ahriman’s dungeon, enduring his “affections,” and my repair abilities were at full. All this non-stop fixing of my physical form had accelerated the recovery of those skills. I still had a long way to go, though. I was able to convert small sections of myself, but I could not hold more than a moderate amount of energy, and I was afraid to shift from this fragile human form. It had its flaws, but it was my connection to those I loved, and it was preferable to pond scum or a lizard.

Ahriman delighted in his new toy, visiting me as often as three times a day. The flaying of my skin had progressed to broken bones, removal of extremities, and now evisceration. For the second time in a matter of hours, I lay twisted unnaturally on dirt wet with my own fluids, a rope of intestine inches from my face. I’d never make it. At this rate, I wouldn’t keep my sanity for more than a few more days.

At first there had been breaks between his visits, time to explore the windowless connecting rooms I called my dungeon. I wasn’t restrained, wasn’t locked in, but I could never seem to find my way out of the labyrinth of moldy dirt and stone. I would walk for hours, trying to map out the rooms in my head, but beyond all laws of physics, I always returned here. The whole place was like an Escher print, up and down, left or right, I always came back to the same room.

There had been others down here. I’d found the source of the shuffling sound—a demon so damaged he was unable to speak, crawling in mindless circles on the floor. The next day he was gone, replaced with another in even worse condition. I was the healthiest being here, and that wasn’t saying much.

Drawing a ragged breath into repaired lungs, I grabbed the dried, dirty chunks of my guts spread out before me and stuffed them back in, forcing myself to create an entirely new midsection and digestive tract. There were some things I didn’t want to risk fixing, and torn colon sections were one of them.

I’d had a visit from one of my household earlier in the week and forced myself to appear healthy and sane as I spoke with Snip. I couldn’t have Dar and Leethu know the extent of what I was going through. I needed them where they were, doing what they were doing, and I didn’t want to risk them in Ahriman’s presence. I’d been worried about Snip the entire time he was in the dungeon, afraid that he’d be torn apart in front of me in some new game of Ahriman’s, but the demon seemed to realize this was business and did no more than watch my Low with covetous eyes, occasionally sending a black smear of oily smoke along the lesser demon’s exoskeleton.

Snip had treated the ancient demon with nervous respect, understanding the need for careful speech and guarded information-sharing in his presence. From what I’d gleaned, Leethu had quickly brought Kllee onboard to the elven alliance. They’d already shut their trap-gate, and some of their humans were planning to resettle to the new territories, while the rest were happily remaining free in their current kingdom. Allwin was following suit. Dar struggled with Wythyn, having to employ considerable force in his diplomatic relations. It didn’t help that Taullian kept sticking his nose in the kingdom’s business, counteracting any progress my brother had made. Radl was making a horrible mess of Li, but that was to be expected. Ah well, two out of four fractious elven kingdoms was more than a little imp could hope for.

I struggled to my feet, continuing to fix various small but serious wounds I’d missed while repairing my destroyed midsection. I’d been naked when I assumed this form after killing Feille and had lost every possession including clothing when Ahriman’s demons burned my house to the ground. He’d not supplied me with any covering since my arrival. I found myself constantly fixing various scrapes and pressure wounds. I’d never make it.

The odor of charred flesh, of burnt, oily smoke filled my senses, and I couldn’t help but whirl around in a panic, looking for him. I constantly thought I smelled him, heard him coming. I couldn’t sleep without the remembrance of his speech in my head. I could never escape him. Insanity advanced from the edges of my mind a little more each day. I’d survived torture before, but this was more than physical pain. Ahriman constantly groped my spirit-self, and I knew one day he would want more. I felt ill at the thought. Would I let him? How could I stop him?

The physical damage was nothing to make light of. I couldn’t relieve the torment by fixing the injuries instantly, and the human form wasn’t as sturdy and pain-resistant as my other traditional demon shapes. I’d been able to use enough of my demon abilities to keep myself from starving or dehydrating to a dangerous point, but food would help. Food. A soft bed. A gentle touch. I closed my eyes, shivering in the dark chill of the dungeon, and imagined Wyatt’s warm hands on me, the smell of him as I nuzzled his naked chest, the way his sun-kissed blond hair felt as my fingers roamed through it. I saw his kind blue eyes in my memory, concerned, full of love and care.

And my angel. He’d be furious over this mess I’d gotten myself into. Absolutely livid. I imagined him shaking me, smacking my back against some hard surface as he always did. Then he’d crush me to him, soothing my ragged spirit-self with his own. His power would burn against me in welcome warmth, reminding me of how very ancient he was, how very strong. I was safe with him, the other half of my whole. He’d merge himself slightly with me, teasing and tempting, maybe kissing me as he’d done only twice before, his teeth sharp points of pleasure on my lips and tongue.

I can’t do this. Can’t.

I needed to get out of here, get some kind of break from the nonstop agony, from the despair and dread I felt every time Ahriman touched me. At the thought of him, I shuddered, every inch of skin rising in goosebumps. Again that too-familiar odor filled my nose, dark and slick, burning and rotting. I gagged, collapsing in dry heaves as I saw a curl of black smoke rise from the floor to fill the space a few feet from where I wretched.

Was he really here? He’d just left, and I was exhausted from his recent affections, worn and sore from fixing injuries that grew worse each time he visited. It was hard for me to tell if he’d come back for more, or if I was once again hallucinating. I constantly smelled him, felt him, even when he wasn’t near.
Please let it be my imagination; please let this just be a nightmare I can wake from.

The black smoke formed an upright shape, eyes glowing like coals. Again I tried to empty the nonexistent contents of my stomach. I saw the slash of a mouth on his face twist up with a glint of yellowed fangs just as his foot hit my midsection, flipping me over onto my belly. At least I’d stopped gagging.

I tried to curl tight into a defensive ball, to protect the core of my body that I’d just repaired. The demon countered by kicking my back repeatedly, one impact cracking my tailbone.

Az, I find I cannot stay away. My favorite toy, my consort. You constantly occupy my thoughts. I am only at peace when I am with you.

His words burned through my pain, and I realized in horror that this would only get worse. How much more could I take? Would it become non-stop, so that I would be unable to even have the time to fix myself? I envisioned endless torture. One thousand years of suffering with no respite.

Ahriman tired of kicking me and picked me up by my hair, one hand going to my neck as he held me upright, my feet dangling above the ground. Maybe he’d kill me in his enthusiasm. The prospect was beginning to sound very appealing.