Jude; The Fallen (The Fallen Series, Book 2) (27 page)

Lucifer doubled over with a sharp stab of pain that nearly drove him to his knees. He held his bloody hands in front of his face, flexing them against the wet stickiness that remained. He knew w
hat the pain meant with picture-perfect clarity. The Dealer had failed.

Damn.

He eased to a stand, his eyes flicking over the mangled bodies before him. The women were nothing more than a gruesome pile of limbs and flesh. Neither had given him the answer he wanted. The whereabouts of the Incubus were still unknown. Killing them had served no purpose whatsoever, not even to soothe his rage. It left him empty. Unfulfilled.

He had let them beg, hoping beyond hope that their tearful cries would do something to smooth over his anger at being denied his quarry. The meek one had to go first; he could smell the demon seed on her as soon as he barreled into the tent. There was no way he could leave her alive to deliver whatever hellspawn she had growing in her womb. It was faint, she wasn’t far along, but he could take no chances in allowing the thing to grow. So he had ripped her apart with his bare hands.

The other one put up more of a fight, daring to come at him with an offensive assault, then struck back when he manhandled her to the ground. She had been harder to subdue, but in the end, her fragile mortality shredded under his hands like the other. Her final gasp of “Khemrhy” enraged him further, and his hands curled into her throat with a ferocity that had his fingers digging into muscle and sinew until they met, tangled in the inner workings of her neck.

And he was still empty, panting with exertion, his body shaking in fine tremors that radiated out from his chest
and down his limbs to his fingers and toes. He was empty. The Dealer had failed, and he was no closer to the Incubus.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. There was supposed to be glory and rewards beyond measure, and while there had been brief moments of something that could have passed for that, there had been precious little of either. He realized now that the freedom he coveted, even though it came with a longer leash than service, was tied at the inevitable end with a noose that squeezed just as tight.

And you’re about to swing, aren’t you, old boy?

Lucifer gritted his teeth and backed out of the tent, instinct guiding his steps to the babbling pool in the heart of the old temple. He jumped in with both feet and scrubbed himself clean
, before crawling out and shaking himself off like a dog. He closed his eyes and blew out a harsh, clearing breath. There was no choice now. No free will. He had to run. He had to hide. He had to find the Incubus if he had any hope of showing his face in Hell again. And he had to do it before his Lord found him.

Fear welled in the back of his throat, thick and bitter. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

He took off like a shot into the dark night, as if his life depended on it. Because it did.

Epilogue

Blood dripped in a slick trail from the battered curl of his giant fists as he shuffled forward, the crimson drops hissing as they made contact with the heated floor of the chamber. The wall of fire in front of him flared into life, burning and crackling with bright orange flames. In seconds, sweat poured off of him, trailing down his naked skin to mix with the blood on his body and form a smoking pink pool at his gnarled, dirty feet. He stared into the fire with a hateful glare as the flames shifted and parted, allowing a dark-suited man to step forward.

“I come to you in the flesh, Artesal, and still you will not kneel?” Amusement lurked behind the steel bite of the question.

“No.” The word was rasped out over dry lips, in a voice husky with disuse.

The suited man smiled, his black eyes twinkling in the firelight as he shoved his hands into his trouser pockets. The dark fringe of his hair spilled over his forehead as he laughed. “Oh, My beast, how beautifully you deny Me.” He stepped forward in front of Artesal, unruffled in the intense heat of the room. “And yet you serve.”

“I serve but one master,” Artesal replied, meeting the black gaze.

The man’s smile grew larger. “As it pleases Me.” A hand reached up to brush across Artesal’s cheek. The touch was fleeting, sending a light shiver over his skin. The man’s head tilted to the side. “Well?”

Artesal lowered his gaze to his bloody fists. “It is done.”

The man gave a sharp intake of breath as he rocked back on his heels. “Good. I hope you made My displeasure known. The Dealer failed as sure as his predecessor. Punishment was inevitable.” His gaze flicked over the blood on Artesal’s naked form. “I see you have delivered.”

“As it pleases You.”

A low chuckle slipped from the man’s lips as he dragged a thumbnail across Artesal’s chest, scraping through the blood and sweat. “It does.”

Artesal raised his eyes, sighing with tired resignation. “Am I finished?”

A twinge of annoyance crossed the man’s features at Artesal’s question, pinching the lines of his face and causing his brow to furrow. It came and went, and soon the man’s face was smooth and relaxed again. He stared into Artesal’s eyes, the black pools widening with intense scrutiny before he rose on tiptoe to press cool, dry lips against Artesal’s forehead. The kiss tingled as a sickening dread spread out over Artesal’s skin.

“No,” the man replied. “I have one more task for you.” He caught the faint scent of flowers, sunshine, and spring on the man’s breath as he moved his face to whisper in Artesal’s ear, “Bring Me the Morning Star.”

Artesal blinked, offering no other response as he turned to leave.

He breached the threshold of the chamber when Satan’s voice called out to him, “Oh, and Artesal?”

Artesal stopped, but didn’t bother to turn and give the devil his due.

“Hurt him just a little bit.”

Tara S. Wood

Tara Wood divides her time between creating domestic bliss and creating hot paranormal romance with the occasional side of kink. When not playing June Cleaver for her hubby and daughter, she can be found at the local Starbucks slamming back Frappuccinos and plotting out her next idea. Or she’s watching the BBC. Tara resides with her wonderful and tolerant family in the suburbs of Houston, Texas. She is currently at work on several projects, one of them being the next book in her In Blood series.

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Lorecia Goings

Lorecia is a native Houstonian who did not escape in her adulthood. So she camps out in NW Houston concocting her own special variety of chaos but rarely finishes it without the continual prodding of best friend Tara. She loves to laugh, bead, write, eat and hug kitties. She also loves to have fun and can usually be found on any given Friday night off chatting her head off at Denny’s with her bestie.

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