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She had been an innocent of the world, like most ladies of her station, but she’d been wild and free when the urge had taken her. Even if the world never truly saw her for who she was, he had. The day he’d met her was the day he’d really started to live.
He’d once mentioned her to Jezzie, the day she’d arrived, but he’d never told her the full story. He wasn’t sure she even remembered half of what he’d said that night. His Beth had broken all the rules, but he’d won that bet in the end. So certain she’d been that she wouldn’t fall for him, that love for him was something she would never feel, until they’d fallen, both of them. It had surprised the heck out of him to feel that deeply about another, about a human even more so.
He longed to see her staring up at him again, her baby blues twinkling with mischief and cheek. Which brought him back to the present like a slap to the face. He turned from the windows and slumped into his chair, his hand running through his hair, turning it to a rumpled mess, and scrubbing at his face in frustration, in exhaustion, he no longer knew which, just that it all melded together to make him feel weary and old. Granted, he was old, but he damn well didn’t look it, and shouldn’t feel it, at least not yet.
He needed answers. Jezzie had those answers. He couldn’t protect his interests without them. Too much depended on trusting the right people, and something told him that Jezzie was fucking important to his mission statement. Which basically came with the title, ‘Don’t Fuck This Up!’
So many things to keep straight, so many fingers in so many pies. Some days he thought his head would explode. Jezzie being the catalyst more days than not. So much about her was familiar, and yet so much didn’t make sense. She had shadows like a Shadow Hound, but instead of black hers were as red as the blood colored tones of her hair. She needed to feed on souls, he’d never seen the like, at least not in a creature that looked so humanoid. He’d heard tales and seen sketches of creatures in the fae realm, Anaran’ith, who feasted on the souls of children, and lost travelers, in the forbidden forests of Vash’terra, but they were just tales told to keep children in line, at least he’d always thought so.
He knew she was hiding so much more, he felt it in his bones, but he just couldn’t place what it was. It was like her power was dulled. There, but not quite. Almost as if some of her power was still dormant, waiting for the right time to come forth.
There was something in the way she walked, when she prowled and fumed, the flash of red in her eyes when she was particularly pissed off. He’d seen eyes do that before, but when he tried to place them it was like a fog descended on his memory, and he couldn’t fight his way through to grasp what he felt he should know. Even trying to speak of it tied his tongue in knots. It was like she had a spell on her to protect her identity, her origins.
Fuck! That was it, a fucking spell, and a powerful one at that! He sucked at breaking spells, most angels did, except for Raum. Hellfire, he hated that fucker, even though he knew he had to play the good host to him so very soon.
Raum would arrive a few days early, it was the sadist's modus operandi, after all. He’d requested a cell for his current pet, N. Balthazar felt immense pity for any poor soul unfortunate enough to be caught in Raum’s clutches. If he could do anything for the poor soul he would try. The fact that Raum had even heard of Jezzie raised Balthazar’s hackles. Someone had been telling tales out of school . . .
That was his other problem, damned demons, good help was so hard to find. For the most part they did their jobs, respected his rules, and he was most generous with them and their deviant tastes. Telling tales was not permitted though, and someone was going to find themselves being used as a teaching aid in a ‘Don’t Fuck With Balthazar’ lesson. He just had to figure out which demon spawn had loose lips.
He should probably have warned Jezzie about Raum’s particular proclivities. But decided against it. If she let slip he’d said anything it could totally bite him in the ass. He would, however, try to convince her that Raum wasn’t someone she wanted to mess with and her new neighbor wasn’t someone she should get cozy with. Her cell was actually two cells joined together, she just didn’t know about the glass dividing wall currently residing below ground between her room and what would be another cell, or the other hidden bathroom on its far wall. Balthazar controlled everything in his domain. No one knew anything he didn’t want them to. Which made the fact that Raum knew about Jezzie that much more problematic.
The fact he was insisting he personally interrogate ‘the prisoner’ at Gabriel’s insistence, made the hairs on Balthazar’s nape rise, and his skin crawled with a mixture of fear and revulsion. Raum was known to use whatever means necessary to get the results he wanted. Yeah, not always the truth, mostly what worked in Raum’s favor. Gabriel let it all slide because he got things done, and because Raum was one of the few who would do such disgusting, dirty work. Nothing, and no one, was off-limits to Raum, except Gabriel. He disappeared in the wind the moment he was done, and arrived at the most opportune times only for himself. The Praesidium had yet to catch him, he was that good at hiding himself away.
Only one other rogue angel had eluded them to date, Mara. Gabriel had a fair idea where she was, but nothing was going to compel him to spill his intel. Sometimes, when you’re so broken, you can’t help but break others. Crushed against the jagged rocks of life, your revenge and brutality become the only way you feel anything, the only way you can find to reconcile your reality. And Balthazar had a fair idea what that felt like . . .
Satari rapped on the open door, and at his nod she entered, the deliciously bitter scent of coffee wafted toward him. Reminding him he had so much work to do and so little time. Which was ironic since he literally had all the time in the world. Immortality was both a blessing and a curse.
The matronly demoness, as matronly as a demoness could be anyway, placed her tray on the desk and bowed low as she slowly backed away toward the door. An assortment of pastries surrounded the coffee, and he realized he hadn’t eaten in close to twelve hours.
Hmm, normally he loved Satari’s coffee. No one made it quite like she did. Knowing he had a traitor in his home though, made his suspicious tendencies slam into place like a reinforced vault door.
“Satari, please wait and take a seat.”
The red and almost black but actually purple, server froze. A fine shiver rippled its way across her skin, her hands fisted and fiddled with the hem of her apron as she looked up and stared wide-eyed at her boss.
“Please, Satari, I’d like some company,” he reiterated.
“I’s can gets you some womens, my lord, to keeps you entertained.”
The quiver in her voice showed a fear of him that usually wasn’t there. His suspicions skyrocketed, as did his brow, if he wasn’t careful they could become a permanent fixture at his hairline. Thankfully he didn’t have a mouthful of anything but air, yet even that made him splutter just a little at the thought of little, old Satari organizing his intimate entertainment for him.
“Ah, that won’t be necessary. You can assist me with something else instead though. Please, sit.” The last was said with a rather commanding tone, at which the demoness shuffled quickly to the seat, and clutched her hands together fretfully in her lap.
Hopefully he could get to the bottom of this mess quickly. Judging by Satari’s behavior it wouldn’t take much to get her to talk. He sent his special power out to test and scent the coffee, cream, pastries, and sugar for any trace of poison or other substance he should avoid.
The coffee he would avoid and the majority of the pastries. What was interesting was his favorite lacked any sort of tampering. It was his go-to treat of choice, and she goddamn knew he never turned down a caramel custard filled doughnut with strawberry wine icing. Hell, she made them especially for him, he could devour a dozen in one sitting. So, why was it the only one that wasn’t laced with something nasty? Something was very, very wrong. He could feel it in his bones and in the way the fine hairs on his spine almost seemed to zap him.
“Satari, luv, tell me, are you happy here? Working for me, that is.” As he awaited her response he picked up the doughnut and lifted it to his nose, inhaling the sweet and sugary confection with reverence before taking a bite. The flavors and textures which exploded in his mouth were an experience akin to ecstasy, and yet the bitter aftertaste of his current situation quickly soured his appetite.
Her breath hitched, and if possible her eyes widened even more. Her reptilian tongue shot out to lick at her lips nervously.
“Ye . . . Yesss, sir,” she softly hissed. Her answer did nothing to lessen his suspicions as he noted black tears welling in her eyes.
“You know, Satari, I’ve grown very fond of you over the years. You have always treated me like blooded kin, and if I were of demonkind I would gladly wish that I had spawned from thee.” Soft sobs came from the hunched and cowering demoness before him, but he continued on. “I would have thee know, as has always been the case, that you, or any of your kind within these walls, have only to come to me with any matter that may lie heavily upon your shoulders.”
At her renewed sobs, and the sight of her black tears as they fell onto her pristine apron he moved to kneel before her. He took her tensed fingers in his and rubbed the back of her hand soothingly.
“Whatever ails thee, I will remedy the situation to thine satisfaction. I just need to know why thou wouldst seek to poison me when it obviously pains thee so?”
