Blood Deep (38 page)

She would die and they would live on without her.

She shook off the thoughts. Right now, she was very, very mortal—she felt her strength fade with each passing minute.

Come forward. Come to us. Oh, come to us, please.

Soft, melodic feminine voices seemed to fill her mind. The sound was lovely, like the whisper of a breeze through leaves on a decadently warm summer’s day or like the gentle music of a brook. Their voices, while faint, were low-pitched and filled with aching need.

Miranda tensed, certain the women would appear around Zayan.

She was not prepared for a female hand to come out of nowhere, reach out, and squeeze her breast.
This one is delectable.

Her breasts are full and ripe. The nipple puckered as soon as my
fingers brushed. And it is so perfectly round.

A flush swept down from Miranda’s cheeks to bathe her throat and chest. “Show yourselves,” she demanded, hoping the waver in her voice was not so obvious.

Of course,
came the melodic answer in a chorus of high-pitched voices. Mist streamed through the dark, then swiftly took solid form. Six women. They stood in order of height. All were naked—

why was she surprised? Each was an astonishing beauty. All BLOOD DEEP / 313

possessed glossy hair that flowed to their hips. Two had red hair, two were dark haired, and the last pair had golden blond tresses, paler than hers.

One of the blondes clapped her hands.
Look at him. He is so
very beautiful—

Wait! Look at his eyes.

The naked women all stared at Zayan. His dark, reflective eyes had become narrowed slits and the irises glowed red between his lids.

This one was made by the power of blood. By the
Pravus Semper.

One of the redheads moved forward, her hips swinging alluringly.
I am strong enough for him. Come, sisters. Three of us
together can have him. The power of three will be enough.

Miranda jerked in surprise. The power of three?

Three women rushed to her. She was pulled to a divan that appeared out of nowhere, that looked like a soft, white cloud.

Six surprisingly powerful arms pushed her down on it. The softness broke her fall. Hands hurriedly tore at her clothes, opening her cloak, then wresting the buttons of her gown free.

“Stop!” she cried. Out of the corner of her eye, she spied one succubus drop to her knees in front of Zayan’s crotch, and another bend to fondle, then kiss, his derriere. All the while he laughed, while the third woman lifted her large breasts to point her nipples suggestively at his mouth.

“Leave me,” he rumbled. “Pleasure my partner. I would like to see her with six naked women intent on making her come.”

Miranda sputtered in shock. The women chorused, “No, sir.

We have waited so long for another man to venture here. We have been so lonely, so empty inside. We wish you to fill us, fill us all.”

“Our cunnies,” the blonde cried.

“And I would like your rigid rod inside my rump,” added the brunette.

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“It would give me the greatest pleasure to suck you,” whispered the redhead.

Miranda gasped as a warm waft of air teased her breasts. She had been so intent on watching Zayan, she hadn’t noticed the women ease down her bodice. Two women bent to her breasts as one, tongues out, licking her curves. Eagerly, they both took her nipples into their mouths and suckled vigorously.

She melted. There was no other word for it. As the women teased her erect nipples with their hot mouths, her lower body felt like liquid honey. An orgasm rippled through her—in slow, deliciously gentle waves of pleasure. But they did not have time to waste. “We want to go to the Underworld,” she said crisply, pushing the women away. She felt like a puddle of desire, but pulled up her bodice. “We must go to Lucifer. I believe,” she added, “that he wants me.”

Five of the women retreated, but one of the brunettes stepped forward. An evil smile played on her lips. “Indeed, he does.

And we should not delay you from your appointment with our master. But there is only one way to enter his lair. You must be either dead—or undead.”

“I am not either.” As she spoke, she backed up on the divan.

She saw a red mist suddenly wrap around Zayan. He roared, struggled against it, and threw magic at it, but it held him. She’d expected a blow from the brunette—but another hand launched out and a blade glinted. The blade hit her throat and dug into her flesh.

Then the lethally sharp edge swiped across her neck. It tickled at first, then stung. Coldness seeped into her throat. Then the pain was excruciating and her throat filled with fluid.

It must be her blood.

She couldn’t breathe.

“Damnation!” Zayan stumbled toward her, as she helplessly clutched at her throat. Sickeningly, the blood poured over her hands. A pass of his hand, and searing purple light hit her throat.

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The blood stopped, but her hands fell away. She couldn’t control them. They were numb. She could not focus on the women anymore. Her body was limp.

Zayan pressed his arm to her mouth. She could not understand why. Magic? What did he want her to do?

“Drink, angel. Drink now.”

Something smeared her lip. She tasted copper and sweetness, and it flowed suddenly. But she was growing weaker—

“It’s not working,” he roared.

Miranda felt her arm lift. She had not commanded it to do so—Zayan had clasped her hand and he was moving it. He pressed her hand to her heart and laid his overtop. “Don’t—”

His raspy voice broke. “You can’t die. I won’t allow it.” Dimly, she saw him tip his head back and shout to the darkness, “I will trade my life for hers. My power—damn you, you can have it all.”

Warmth. She knew the familiar warmth of her own power, but it flowed down her arm, through her heart, and back to her arm again. A circle. An impossible loop giving her life.

She struggled to sit up. Suddenly, her hand flew up. She’d been trying to lift it, and it unexpectedly moved at her command.

She touched her throat. Afraid. But her fingertips skimmed over smooth skin. There was no wound.

“You’re alive,” Zayan said in amazement. Then she heard the choked laughter. A broken sob of relief. In his eyes, she saw joy—the same deep happiness he had shown toward his children.

She managed to nod.

“I couldn’t change you.” He sounded more frightened than she had ever heard him. “I could not make you into a vampire.

It was your own power that saved you.”

“I’m not undead.” And, thankfully, not
dead
. But she couldn’t enter hell unless she was.

Wrong, my dear angel.
A deep baritone flooded the room, echoing in her head.

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Miranda felt the air whip around her, like frothed cream.

The succubi disappeared. The divan remained beneath her, thank heaven, for she was laid out on it, her arms spread wide, her chest heaving to catch breath.

She flew up into the air off the sofa. She reached down and clasped Zayan’s wrist, as though he could keep her moored to the ground. He held her tight, and she saw his stark fear.

Then everything around her, the chaise, the rock walls and floor and ceiling of the passage, vanished.

The darkness melted away.

Miranda was aware of white. White surrounded her, so pure and gleaming it was almost painfully blinding. It wasn’t a bright light—it was a solid space with a floor and walls. A gentle rushing sound flooded her ears. For several moments, she could not believe what she was looking at.

This was the Underworld?

Miranda felt as though she was in a seraglio; she had seen paintings of the eastern harems. She stood in a room entirely covered in white tiles, though fanciful patterns of small colored tiles decorated the arched openings and the floor. The scene reminded her of the ones she had seen through the eyes of Mucius Gaius. Water cascaded down a series of steps, to splash in a luxurious pool in the center of the massive room. Women reclined around the pool or sat on the edge and lazily kicked their legs in the blue depths. The soft sound of their conversations, the hushed murmurs, the giggles, danced like seductive music in the humid air.

Where were the fires? The eternal darkness? The brimstone?

Desperately, Miranda turned in a slow circle. She could not see Zayan. There were no men at all in the room—except one.

He was naked, and horns rose from his sharp-featured and merciless-looking face. He reclined amongst silks and pillows, but steam in the air from the water hung like a veil in front of BLOOD DEEP / 317

him. Through it, she could make out the long, curved horns, then broad shoulders, a chest heavy with muscle. She’d expected a creature like a satyr, with the hindquarters of a beast, but he possessed human legs. And a massive erection that had to be two feet in length.

“Approach, my lovely Miranda,” he urged. His voice filled the bathing room. It wasn’t loud, it simply consumed her every sense. It was as though she could also taste his voice and smell it. It sent a quiver of awareness down her spine. Though she tried to fight her instinctive reaction, her nipples tightened, her quim grew warm and wet.

“Where is Zayan?” she called out, and her voice echoed off the tile. The other women ignored her as though she did not exist. “And Lukos? What have you done to him?”

“No curiosity about me, my dear? Or perhaps you would like to see me in a more palatable form.”

He changed—she watched him the entire time, stared at him, and she could not explain how his face distorted, how his body took on a new shape, how his hair changed from an unearthly red-black to a pale silvery blond.

In mere moments, the transformation was done.

She was staring in to the handsome sky-blue eyes of Mr. Ryder.

“After all, my angel,” Lucifer said through Mr. Ryder’s beautiful mouth, as he rose from his silver throne, “all people who surrender to the temptation of evil have a little bit of the devil in them. You are perhaps one of the few mortals I have encountered who does not. Which is why you can walk here without harm, and why you have the power to give life. The
Pravus
was the embodiment of evil. I do not know what you are—there are more things in heaven and hell than even Satan can contemplate.” He stopped and bestowed a wicked smile on her. “But I believe you are the embodiment of love. When you love, you give life.”

The embodiment of love. The words stunned her, stealing her capacity to speak.

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Lucifer clapped his hands again and the wall behind him disappeared. Miranda saw a sheer wall of gray rock. And Lukos chained to it, hand and foot.

An evil chuckle rippled up her spine.

“You are too late, Miranda. Lukos made his deal with me.

His sister has been freed, and he is now mine. Your love cannot rescue him. I won’t take anything in trade. You are mine, whether I free him or not.”

No, she wasn’t. She would not be. “Where is Zayan?” she croaked.

“Imprisoned within rock in the labyrinth.”

Damn the devil and his bloody silver shackles and his damned cell carved into a wall of rock. Zayan roared his anger, but the rock in front of him was brushing his nose. His shout bounced around in the narrow opening in which he was confined, almost deafening him.

Two stoop-backed stinking demon serfs had chained him here; then Lucifer had clapped his hands and a wall of rock had slammed down in front of him.

Where was Miranda?

He’d been a damned fool to let her come here. The devil was the most powerful evil being in existence. How could he have dreamed he could protect Miranda from Lucifer?

Miranda, who had, against all odds and all that was possible, given him his children back. He would do anything for her.

There had to be a way out. He’d defeated the Gauls with his wits more than his might. Even the most powerful army would fall if led by an idiot.

He had to think . . .

Whatever Lucifer wanted from Miranda, he would not take it quickly. The devil would believe he had all eternity to do it.

Zayan?

He heard it. The whisper of Miranda’s voice—that soft, husky, BLOOD DEEP / 319

bewitching sound. She spoke his name. She was searching for him.

He threw his thoughts to her—a reassurance he was safe and alive, but imprisoned. A promise he would escape to rescue her.

Where are you?

Essentially I am in the devil’s bathtub.

What?

I thought hell was a place of putrid brimstone and fire. But
the devil actually resides in a pristine-white bathing chamber like
an indulgent sultan.

He marveled at the trace of humor in her voice. Miranda was remarkably strong.
The devil shows you what he believes you
want to see, to entrance you and entice you before he takes your
soul. Stay strong, love, and resist him. I will come to you . . . Miranda?

But no answer came to him. Panicked, Zayan dragged hopelessly on the shackles and chains once more, but the magical silver held him tight. In anguish, he slammed his forehead against the rock.

Freeing Ara was worth his life, but he’d never dreamed Miranda would come for him. Lukos let his head lean back against the rock behind him so he could see Miranda’s face. Blood oozed from slowly healing cuts. In the Underworld, his vampiric powers were reduced. Pain lanced him everywhere. He had been beaten by Lucifer’s demons and tortured by Lucifer himself with burning rods.

Where was Ara? Lucifer had released her, but to where? As soon as the devil had agreed to the bargain—his life for her release and her safety—Lukos knew the mistake he’d made. He had not been specific enough. Lucifer could have sent Ara anywhere. She would be lost, alone, in a world that had changed drastically in the thousand years of her imprisonment.

She could be in danger.

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And Miranda was in deadly peril. The feisty woman had faced Lucifer with her chin tipped up and courage gleaming in her blue eyes. He could sense her fear, but also her mastery of it. She amazed him.