Princess of Lust (For the Love of Evil) (16 page)

Her inner battle was interrupted by the sensation of her dressing gown being slid up her arm. She opened her eyes and watched in confusion as a rubber tube was tied around her arm. The exposed skin of her inner elbow was oddly scarred, and she whispered, “What are you doing?”

He made a shushing sound and held a syringe to the light, filling it from a vial, then tapping it with his finger. “Just a shot to take away the pain.”

She frowned at him, then looked over at the bottle on the table. It took her mind a moment to translate the unfamiliar handwritten letters on the container but when she did she tried to jerk her arm away from him. “No!” she screamed out in a broken voice.

Too late. Before the word even left her mouth the silver tip of the needle pricked her vein and began to fill her bloodstream with morphine.

She watched in horrified fascination as the plunger emptied and Christopher untied the rubber tubing. Almost immediately her rapidly beating heart pushed the morphine through her bloodstream, spreading indescribable pleasure through her unwilling veins, filling her body with a bliss that seemed to melt her bones. The pain, the terrible pain, receded until she was left only with the feeling of floating in bliss, her entire body filled with what had to be the most exquisite sensation known to man.

Setting the empty syringe aside, he pulled the covers back up over her and trailed a fond finger down her cheek. She knew beneath the long sleeves of his jacket he bore similar puncture wounds, for he used morphine to treat the pain from his arthritis. The chemicals flooded her brain and she sighed, closing her eyes. Exhaustion claimed her even as she fought sleep, wanting to stay awake so she could revel in this feeling, this delight.

***

Her dreams were a confused blur, and she had no idea how long she slept, but she knew a good deal of time had passed. Wheels rattled next to her bed and she forced her eyes to open, trying to blink away the film that seemed to cloud her vision. All of the gas lanterns along the walls were lit, but the additional illumination didn’t lend any warmth to the room. Rather, it seemed to highlight how impersonal a space it was, just bare walls and medical equipment.

She attempted to sit up but her shoulder ached and her head reeled so she gave up and slumped back into the pillow that smelled faintly of her sweat. Movement from the corner of her eye startled her, and she sucked in her breath between her teeth as she forced herself to sit up. The room spun but a strong hand cupped her cheek.

An elderly female said, “Easy now. You’ve been asleep for almost two days. You need to eat.”

The woman turned before Natalia could get a good look at her and the long black veil she wore obscured her back. She bustled about with the rolling cart she had apparently brought with her. Eliza’s memories helpfully supplied the woman must be one of the volunteer nuns that worked at St. Mary’s hospital, doing the menial jobs of feeding and caring for the sick and dying. At least Eliza thought of it as being demeaning work. Natalia, on the other hand, thought it took a great deal of strength to endure the constant suffering of others.

Speaking of suffering, she wished right now she were in Hell so she could bury herself in Gregor’s arms and try to lose herself in him. The demonic part of her soul was strangely subdued, barely acknowledging her attempts to rouse it. The constant headache that battered at her mind continued to throb, and she rubbed at her temple with her good hand. For one brief instant, she wished for another shot of morphine to make the pain go away, but she quickly pushed that notion from her mind. Still, she now had a better understanding of why people took opium. If it felt anything like morphine, it was the closest thing to ecstasy in a bottle she’d ever experienced.

The nun turned around and placed an elevated tray on Natalia’s lap. The scent of the porridge made Natalia’s stomach growl. “Thank you.” Her voice came out in a rusty croak and she took a sip from the glass of water on her tray.

As soon as the first drops went past her lips, her mouth filled with fire. The nun slapped a surprisingly strong hand over her mouth and Natalia’s scream became muffled behind it. She looked up as she struggled against the burning water and almost choked as she recognized the nun.

It was the old woman she’d helped on the street back in her hometown in Russia.

The nun pinched her nose and forced Natalia to swallow or choke. As she did she tried to fight the old woman off, but she might as well have been a babe trying to push off an adult. Her demonic essence hissed within her soul but didn’t offer her any magic or strength. After she’d swallowed the last drop, the old woman removed her hand as if nothing were amiss and cleaned the rest of the water from where it had spilled on the tray.

“Be calm, Princess. It wasn’t poison.”

She gaped at the old woman and rubbed her stomach with her free hand. “Who are you? What are you?”

The nun smiled and busied herself with wiping the spilled water from the floor. “Merely a lowly servant of God. What you should be asking is what was in the glass.”

Lips numb, Natalia echoed her. “What was in the glass?”

“Holy water to wash the poison from Helena’s blade from your system. Thank the Saints you were human enough that the blade did not kill you instantly.” The nun shook her head, the deep wrinkles on her parchment-fine skin creating hills and shadows on her face. “It is a sad day in Heaven when Diligence and Love conspire against each other.”

Natalia set her shaking hands on the tray. “I don’t understand. Where are my men? Why aren’t they here? Where is Tanth? Why did Helena attack me?”

The nun clucked her tongue and gestured toward the porridge. “We don’t have much time. You eat, and I’ll talk.” When Natalia gave the bowl a distrustful look the old woman smiled. “There is nothing in there but oats, milk, and water. As for the rest….” She sighed and continued to straighten the room as she talked. “Just as Hell is in a power struggle, so is Heaven. But that isn’t important.”

Natalia grunted around a mouthful of food, her empty stomach clamoring for her to eat faster. “What about Tanth? Is he all right?”

“Of course. Tanth is one of God’s first angels, and it will take more than a back-alley brawl to remove him from the game.”

Male voices came from outside of the room, and the nun’s lips pressed together in anger. “It seems as if the fates are conspiring against us as well.” Her eyes blazed, changing from a kindly brown to a glowing blue that cast shadows on her face. “Listen well, Daughter of Lust. We believe Mr. Wright has been in contact with the human agents of Belal, though we don’t think he knows who they truly serve. If they see you, they might be able to see through your illusion, so try to keep out of sight.”

The meager amount of food Natalia had eaten threatened to come back up, and she barked a laugh that held a bitter edge. “Oh, sure. I’ll just duck out the back door if the High Prince of Sloth shows up for tea.”

The woman’s voice filled Natalia’s head with thunder. “You have been blessed with this task, Princess. Do you not think I would give anything to be able to take your place? The existence of all that I love rests in your hands, and so far I have been less than impressed by your actions.” Natalia started to defend herself but the nun cut her off. “I know you’re scared. I’m scared, too. Scared of the mortal world becoming hell on earth as more and more people become enslaved to opium. You must do whatever you have to in order to stop this. Things have become worse in Hell during the two mortal days you’ve been here.”

Someone knocked on the door to Natalia’s room, and she and the nun exchanged panicked looks.

“One moment. I’m almost done with the patient.” The nun gripped her good hand in her own and said in a whisper, “I have to go before my presence here alerts the others to your location. Both demonic and angelic forces alike know you’re in London, but they don’t know where.”

“My father, my men—are they all right?”

“For the time being, but—”

At that moment, Christopher came into the room with another man who looked vaguely familiar. Eliza’s memory supplied that the man with Christopher was Dr. Monroe, his mentor and a member of high standing on the medical board of St. Mary’s. The nun gave her hand a final squeeze before removing her breakfast and placing it on the cart. She curtsied to both of the men and pushed the cart out of the room, the wheels squeaking along the floor.

“Well, Dr. Wright, she is looking much improved.”

Christopher nodded and gave her a small smile before moving over to the bed. She kept silent, knowing Christopher liked for Eliza to be seen and not heard. He pulled back the edge of her dressing gown and gently peeled back the bandages. His voice held a note of surprise as he said, “Much better than expected.”

The other doctor joined him at her shoulder and she tried not to wince as they poked and prodded her wound. They treated her as if she weren’t even a person, just a scientific curiosity to be examined and studied.

Dr. Monroe tapped his lip as he stepped back from the bed. “Yes, I do believe she is ready to go home.” With that, he dismissed her, turning his attention to Christopher. “I have a lecture to attend tomorrow. How about I stop by your laboratory the day after to take a look at your latest work?”

Christopher beamed and Natalia had to deal with the conflicting emotions of Eliza’s pride at Christopher finally being recognized for his work, and her own fear at being too late to help him do whatever she was supposed to do.

“That would be wonderful.” Christopher held open the door for Dr. Monroe and the two left the room without another word, or a backward glance at Natalia.

Chapter Ten

Gregor clenched his teeth and forced his gaze to remain on the succubus projecting the image of Natalia. They were in one of the coven’s practice rooms deep in the heart of the palace, guarded by Kirin and Raum. Exhaustion clung to him, draining him to the point of black spots on the edges of his vision, but he continued to push himself harder to see the true demoness beneath the illusion of his heart’s desire.

Kirin spoke up from where he sat on the rose velvet couch placed between two worktables. “Try to see past her, like you’re looking over her shoulder. Try to look beyond.”

Gregor shut his eyes and pressed his palms against them until bright bursts of light raced across his vision. “Try to see beyond,” he mimicked in a snide impression of Kirin’s Greek accent. “I’ve been trying to
see
beyond for the past eight hours—”

“Ten,” Pyriel said in a bored voice.

He bared his teeth at her, hating how his heart ached at what his mind insisted was Natalia. The illusion of Natalia that Pyriel wore was impeccable, flawless. He wanted nothing more than to gather his Mistress into his arms and protect her from a universe bent upon her destruction. It didn’t help that the succubus had dressed in a sheer bronze gown that showed hints of plump breast and thigh, womanly flesh that kept him at an almost constant state of arousal.

“Can’t you put on something decent?” he snarled at Pyriel.

The succubus laughed, her breasts jiggling in a delicious manner. “You should get a glimpse of what I’m really wearing, mortal.” She ran her hands down her waist, pausing before the oh-so-bare flesh between her thighs. “But you can’t, can you? That’s why you followed that piece of filth wearing your Mistress’s image out of the safety of your rooms and into a trap. You should have known better. She deserves better.”

His pride stung, and he barely kept himself from fingering the healing scar on his lower ribs from where an assassin’s blade had pierced him. It was true. He should have known…on some level had known…but he’d been so worried about Natalia and when she’d appeared in the hallway between their suites and the coven’s floor where he’d been practicing, he’d run to her like a fool. When he thought back on it, he should have known right away it wasn’t Natalia. There was no sense of her through their psychic bond, but at the time he didn’t care.

Thankfully, Kirin had been a couple paces behind him and managed to shove him at the last moment. Otherwise, the blade would have pierced his heart instead of grazing across his ribcage. Worst of all, he’d fought Kirin, thinking he was going to harm Natalia, and the assassin had escaped.

“Stupid, weak, foolish man. I should have expected as much from a boy groomed to serve Belal.” Kirin started to rise from the couch but Pyriel held up her hand. “I would kill you now and replace you with one of my incubi, but unlike you, your Mistress has worked hard enough to see past my illusions. Only she isn’t here for you to hide behind her skirts now. What a waste. You can’t even protect yourself.”

Rage at his own stupidity gave him a surge of energy and he rushed at the succubus, wanting to show her how wrong she was. He managed to grab one shoulder and froze in shock. Before his astonished gaze, the image of Natalia melted like a child’s chalk drawing in the rain, revealing pale skin with sparkles of crimson like little burning embers trapped beneath the skin. He had enough time to look at her face and see a stunningly beautiful, but unfamiliar woman before she backhanded him hard enough to send him flying across the room.

His ears rang as he managed to push himself onto his hands and knees. Kirin was yelling something at Pyriel in a language he didn’t understand as he strode across the room to Gregor. Pyriel responded in an acidic voice and spun around, her tail lashing the air.
Her tail lashing the air
?

His arms shook, and he didn’t have the strength to fight off Kirin as he held him, inspecting the side of his face with surprisingly tender fingers. He grabbed the other man’s hand and looked up into his deep, dark eyes. “She has a tail.”

Kirin stared at him, then smiled and pulled him into a hug. “That she does.”

Pyriel must have heard them because she stopped her pacing and gave Gregor a long, slow smile. “What else do you see, mortal?”

He tried to pull himself out of Kirin’s arms, the voice of his father railing at him inside of his head for allowing another man to touch him in such an intimate manner, but when Kirin tightened his hold he didn’t resist. To be honest, it felt good to be held, good to take the comfort offered, though he would never admit it aloud. “You have dark hair like Natalia, but your skin sparkles as if you have embers burning deep within. Beautiful, perfection, but deadly. Like a poisoned needle hidden in the thorns of a perfect red rose.”