Getting Familiar with Your Demon: That Old Black Magic, Book 4 (26 page)

“Who the hell is Bella?”

“I’m not talking to you, old man.”

Aster scowled. “Then who are you talking to? Yourself?”

Sam growled. “Do I look like my damn name would be Bella?”

“I don’t know. Maybe your mama’s one of them weird artsy types.”

He struggled to tune out Aster and reestablish the link with Marabella. This time he decided to go strictly with telepathic communication in order to keep the nosy warlock out of the conversation. “
Bella, talk to me
.”

“Sam, she has me.”

He remembered her previous mention of Pricilla, and a spike of icy foreboding shot down his spine.
“How? Where the hell is Cass?”
Damn it, his cousin was supposed to be watching over Marabella.

“Pricilla tricked us. Not safe. Hurry.”

A jolt tripped through him as the threads of their link suddenly snapped. “Bella!” He didn’t even realize he’d roared her name out loud until a tug on his shirt whipped his gaze to Aster.

The warlock sent him a dark scowl. “Are you nuts? Keep yelling like that and you’ll have this entire place on top of us before you can get your head out of your ass.”

Even as Aster’s recriminating words hung in the air, the sound of distant, excited howls split the continuous night. Oh. Shit.

He and Aster stared at each other before they both took off running. Thankfully in the same direction. His pounding footsteps and Aster’s silent spirit ones marked a path through the twisting warrens that snaked across the central quadrant of the Death Wards. Aster yelled yet another disparaging remark about Sam’s abilities before demanding why they were now taking the most direct—and dangerous—route.

If not for the necessity of reaching the main gate before the pack of hellhounds descended on it first, Sam would have said fuck it, they were sticking to the shadows. “Save your breath, old man. And keep your ass moving.”

“Old? I’ll show you old. I can smoke you any day.” A cackle tumbled from Aster as he bulleted forward. “Eat my dust, you pansy hippy.”

The baying of the hellhounds grew louder. Sam risked a glance over his shoulder and spotted the rapidly approaching mass of smoking black fur and glowing red eyes.

“
Fuuuuuck
.” Jerking his attention ahead of him again, he ratcheted up his pace. A pair of oblivious guards crossed his path, and he plowed through them, knocking them aside like a couple of bowling pins. He barreled down the lane, his damn heart and lungs competing for prime real estate in his throat. The mental line between him and Marabella was good as dead, but it didn’t stop him from scrambling to find a dial tone. When that proved useless, he resorted to verbal communication. Not bloody likely she’d hear him from this buttfuck dimension, but apparently desperation made him stupid. No newsflash there. “Bella…if you…can hear me…get that damn line…ready,” he got out between heaving gasps. Shit, he was out of shape. This is what he got for not at least doing some pushups during his six months of imprisonment.

The imposing main wall loomed ahead—a promising beacon. A wailing siren went off, mocking his foolish hope of reaching the gate with only the hellhounds in hot pursuit. He and Aster broke past the last row of residential housing. In his peripheral vision, Sam caught flashes of movement. Excited shouts verified that the infantry had been summoned and were closing in for the capture.

There was no shittin’ way he wasn’t getting off this damn rock. Calling on the last reserves of his energy, he ran like the hounds of hell were tailing his ass.
There’s fucking irony for you.
Animalistic grunts and gasps bellowed from his chest. For the first time in decades, the desire to
not
get himself killed outweighed all else.

Beneath his feet, the ground rumbled and shook. The pack of hellhounds had morphed into a legion. The acrid scent of fire and brimstone plumed in the air. Sam lengthened his strides, practically flying now. The sound of grunts and screams drew his attention over his shoulder again. Hellhounds were knocking guards aside left and right. Those who didn’t move out of the beasts’ way were galloped into the ground.

“Bella, damn it, where are you?” He didn’t even want to ponder the possibilities of why she wasn’t answering him. If Pricilla…

No, don’t go there.

He closed the distance between him and the exterior wall. Twenty feet, tops. Shit, he could do this. The door to the main gatehouse swung open, and the guard who’d admitted him earlier stepped out. The kid took one look at the approaching hellhounds and scrambled to duck back inside. Sam leapt forward and wrenched the door from the guard’s hands.

Something massive, hairy and smelling suspiciously like burning ash plowed into Sam, sending him flying through the doorway. A heavy metal clank banged behind him, but he barely registered the slamming of the door as he collided with the registration desk. Its growl menacing, the hellhound bit into the leg of his jeans and dragged him sideways before ramming him into the wall.

Not about to willingly give himself over as the hound’s chew toy, Sam kicked the beast in the head. The hellhound issued an enraged snarl, but it didn’t release him. Its thick, wiry hair bristling and smoking, the hound towed him toward the door. From the corner of his eye, Sam spotted Aster hovering near the desk. The guard was nowhere to be seen.

Sam’s growl nearly matched that of the hellhound. “Some damn help here would be nice.”

“Why? You look like you’ve got things under control.”

Sam kicked at the hound again, and it responded with a wrenching tug that came dangerously close to tearing Sam’s leg from its hip socket. Knowing he likely only had seconds before either this son of a bitch or its furry friends pawing at the door made a meal out of him, Sam tried a desperate lunge for the desk again. His fingers fumbled over its surface and knocked into Lucy. She slid sideways, and for one terrifying moment he thought his grip on her was lost. But then he latched onto her handle, the well-worn grooves a familiar embrace.

The hellhound flipped him onto his back. Foam dripping from its muzzle, the beast charged at him. Sam swung Lucy in a wide arc, taking aim. “Sorry, Fido. No demon snack for you.” He pulled the trigger, and the beast went down.

“See? You handled that no problem. Still, you could have been faster with it. When I was your age, I would have been able to take on an entire pack of those hairy bastards. One-handed and blindfolded…”

Sam was too exhausted—mentally and physically—to do anything more than tune out Aster. He rested his head on the leg of the desk and closed his eyes. The persistent whining and howls from the other hellhounds outside the door filled the silence.

A tingle coursed over his skin.
“Sam…hurry.”

He snapped his eyes open and frantically sought for the link. It was the merest wisp of a thread. “Bella.”

Like an elusive flicker of flame refusing to ignite, the link sputtered and vanished.

The phantom of his own words chose that black moment to mock him.
The only way to make it in this world is to rip off those rosy blinders and face the ugly reality, Bella. Otherwise it’ll kill you before you’ve even gasped your first breath.

It was past time to listen to his own advice.
He
was the damn reason she couldn’t establish the link. Cass was right—his fears and doubts amounted to so much baggage, they’d built a towering wall of resistance between him and Marabella that was taller and more impenetrable than the one outside those doors the hellhounds were scratching and snuffing at. He’d denied his ability to find happiness, to experience love, because it’d been easier than wanting those things and waiting for the day they’d be ripped away from him. But in the end, that only made him a coward—one who stood a good chance of dying with a mountain of regrets on this devil-forsaken rock. His biggest regret being Marabella and how he’d let her down.

All because he didn’t have the balls to tell her he loved her too.

Chapter Twenty-Six

“Cass, please wake up.” Tears blurring her vision, Marabella rocked in her chair, the puny thumps barely jostling her, much less doing anything to rouse Cass. Defeated and dizzy from the extra dose of chloral hydrate that Pricilla had administered, Marabella ceased her futile attempts. She’d never felt more weak and helpless than she did in that moment.

It wasn’t fair that she’d finally found her inner strength and power, only to have it beaten and demolished by a stupid drug. Was this similar to what Sam had experienced the whole time he was being corrupted? No wonder he’d been so grumpy about the entire thing. It really sucked being stripped of control.

Recalling their broken link, she blinked against a fresh crop of tears. For a few blissful moments she’d heard his voice in her head. The sound of it had filled her with amazing hope and made her ache for him like crazy. But after those way-too-brief flashes, he’d disappeared. It was like having a piece of her heart ripped away.

What was he doing right now? Was he safe? The not knowing was the hardest part. It gave her too much room to imagine the worst.

The door opened, and she stiffened as Pricilla walked in carrying a bottle of iodine in one hand and a length of clear tubing in the other. Pricilla placed both items by the group of syringes before turning and scanning Marabella with a critical eye. One of Pricilla’s long, scarlet-painted nails poked beneath Marabella’s chin and tilted it upward.

“If I didn’t know the powers you possess, I wouldn’t even assume you’re the least bit special,” Pricilla said with supreme snarkiness. She let Marabella’s chin drop back in place. She strode to Cass and slapped her awake with a series of brisk smacks across her cheek.

Blinking groggily, Cass scowled at Pricilla before glancing in Marabella’s direction. Concern immediately overrode Cass’s indignant glower. “Are you okay?”

Leave it to Cass to be more worried about Marabella’s welfare than her own perilous predicament. Bemused, Marabella nodded. “Y-yes. But she set us up, Cass.” Tears prickled behind her eyelids again. “Sam is stranded in the Death Wards. I can’t reach him.”

“Such a touching display of emotion.” Dispassionate cruelty laced Pricilla’s tone. “It’s almost enough to make me cry.”

Cass’s eyes flashed with fire. “Listen, you horrid bitch, whatever deviousness you have up your sleeve isn’t going to do a damn bit of good. Once my family finds out you’re holding us here, you’re as good as toast.”

“No, I believe you’ll be the one toasted—or should I say
roasted
—by the time my plan has fully sprung into action. You, your family…” Pricilla gave a wide sweep of her arm. “Basically every reaper in existence will ultimately be wiped off the face of the earth.”

A heavy silence descended on the room before Cass broke out in hysterical laughter. “Oh man, and here Sam called
me
batshit crazy. How in the hell do you propose accomplishing this miraculous feat?”

“Easy. You’re going to assassinate the demon king and his worthless council, which in turn will mark the beginnings of the war between demons and reapers for the treachery you’ve committed.” A calculating smile curved Pricilla’s mouth. “Technically,
I’ll
be the one performing the treason, of course. Not that anyone outside this room will ever know it.”

Cass looked shell-shocked by Pricilla’s admission. “War? For what possible purpose?”

Pricilla’s cold, haughty features twisted with ugly menace. It was the first real glimpse of true emotion Marabella had witnessed on the female demon’s face since being captured. “You reapers have been the favored children of Death for far too long. It’s time for a new system to inherit the earth.
My
system. With you out of the way, Death will have no choice but to crown me Queen.”

Cass shook her head furiously. “You’ll never get away with this.”

“Funny how everyone keeps telling me that.” Pricilla strode to the desk and picked up the bottle of iodine. Soaking a cotton ball with the solution, she approached Marabella. “It’s going to give me such great pleasure proving you wrong.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Sam listened to the ferocious growls of the hellhounds congregating outside the door as he checked the number of rounds left in Lucy. He had enough to take out five of the beasts. Assuming one of them didn’t get him first.

Sooner or later, the hounds would break inside. It was only a matter of time before one of them abandoned the pack and shook off the hunter’s haze keeping them locked in form. A hellhound in human skin was no less dangerous, and they came with the inconvenient benefit of functioning fingers that could open doors.

“Are you just going to lie there like a bump on a log all day?”

Sam slid Aster a weary glance. “What do you want me to do, old man? In case you didn’t notice, I’m trapped in here like a damn Scooby Snack.”

Aster made a grumping noise. “I can’t believe I’m missing
Days of Our Death
for this.”

Sam grunted. “You think you’ve got it bad? I’m going to be stuck here for eternity with you. Hell, they’ll probably shackle me to a wall in your house, just to punish me.” And he’d thought disco music was torture. That’d be a welcome relief compared to listening to Aster all day.

“What do you mean you’re stuck here? What kind of crappy soul collector gets stranded on the Death Wards?”

Sam debated tuning Aster out again, but what was the point? A padlock on the warlock’s mouth wouldn’t shut him up. Stretching one leg out in front of him, Sam stared glumly at his boot. He dredged up the image of Marabella’s sweet, angelic face. A dull ache settled in his heart. “The kind who was too stubborn and stupid to tell the witch who loves him that he loves her back.”

Aster was surprisingly silent for a few moments. It was the best two damn minutes of Sam’s life.

“Boy, you do have rocks for brains.”

Sam eyed the gun in his hand. It was tempting to waste one of the bullets on Aster just to shut him up for the time being. But his luck, the aggravating son of a bitch would probably find a way to still flap his gums from inside the chamber.