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Waves of both fear and hatred radiated off of every person in the emergency department. Reseph felt their stares like lashes on his skin. He recognized some of them as Pestilence’s surviving victims, and there were far too many to count.
“I’m not here to cause trouble,” Reseph said, cradling the squirming toddler against his chest. “This cub needs medical attention.”
“What did you do to him?” Eidolon growled.
“I rescued him from a slave trader.” And damn, that had felt good. Reseph had gone through Sheoul like a blade through butter, slaughtering dozens of demons who had served Pestilence. Taking out the slave trader, a Neethul who had been Pestilence’s right hand, had been the most satisfying.
So far.
Since being relegated back to Sheoul after the Apocalypse had been averted, the Neethul, Silth, had gone back to his first love—slave trading. Reseph had found him beating a werewolf cub who had been sold into slavery by his own parents.
Reseph, who had never possessed a cruel streak, had almost welcomed the cold stir of Pestilence deep inside, because it had allowed him to toy with Silth for a while. He’d relished questioning him about plans to bring Pestilence back, but the demon hadn’t known anything. No worries though, because Reseph had several more people to visit.
“Does he have a family?” Eidolon spoke through clenched teeth, his voice distorted with rage.
“His family sold him to the slaver in the first place.”
Eidolon took the child, handling him carefully despite the anger that had the doctor visibly shaking. The demon would welcome the chance to get in just one punch if he could. Reseph might let him someday.
“We’ll take care of him.” Eidolon gestured toward the emergency department’s Harrowgate. “Now get out.”
Gladly. Reseph got his unwelcome ass out of there and gated himself to Sheoul, where his next self-appointed mission was waiting. He’d gotten as close as he could get to his target without going in on foot—a lot of demons restricted the use of Harrowgates near their homes. No one wanted a surprise attack.
“Conquest, out.”
The tattoo on his arm writhed, turning to smoke before materializing as a white stallion next to him. Reseph didn’t waste time in leaping onto the horse and riding across the surrounding rocky plains. Smoke rose up from the ground, and a variety of creatures skittered out of the way of the warhorse’s hooves as Conquest galloped along a familiar trail deep in the exclusive Fangorg region.
Soon, a massive black mansion rose ominously out of the craggy side of a hill, the knotted trees surrounding it adding an extra layer of security. Those trees were carniverous, their sap running with acid that dissolved the flesh of anyone careless enough to touch the leaves or bark. The vines that crawled—literally—up the stone walls were just as dangerous, and remnants of their unlucky victims lay scattered on the ground, airy husks that blew around Conquest’s hooves as Reseph pulled the stallion to a halt at the entrance. He got a kick out of Pestilence’s frantic stirrings—this time, the demon wasn’t eager to kill.
This time, the target meant something to Pestilence.
Aw, Pestilence actually cared about someone. Good. This was going to make revenge so much sweeter.
Reseph dismounted, fed Conquest a sugar cube, and patted him on the neck. “Pestilence didn’t give you these, did he? I owe you a year’s worth.” Conquest pawed the ground, sensing Reseph’s mounting anger. Time to play. “To me.”
Conquest dissolved into a wisp of smoke and slid under Reseph’s gauntlet to settle on his arm. With the horse firmly in place, Reseph stalked into the residence. The guards didn’t stop him, although they stumbled all over themselves in confused chaos. Pestilence was supposed to be dead.
In a few minutes, the guards were going to wish their idol was dead.
The halls, decorated in the owner’s own paintings and sketches, were quiet, but ahead, in the gym-sized room, the sounds of both misery and pleasure grew louder with every step.
Reseph shoved open the massive double doors and walked into a den of lust. Pestilence had played here often, and Reseph’s mouth stung with bile. The whipping post had been a favorite, and so had the St. Andrew’s cross, where he’d cuffed his sexual partners and used a variety of the sexual and torture toys hanging from every inch of wall space.
Some of his partners had been willing to let him do what he wanted… even if it meant their deaths. But beyond the blood-filled pool in which a dozen people were currently involved in an orgy, unwilling victims languished in cages. They could be purchased for use, but Pestilence had gotten them for free.
Yes, you should be terrified. But also honored that I chose you for my pleasure today. There are those who beg to feel pain and pleasure at my hands and at the tip of my cock. So scream, cry, plead for your life. But know that many of these people will look on in jealousy.
The memory of Pestilence’s lecture to one of the victims boosted Reseph’s resolve. Not that he’d been wavering about this. But it would be so much easier now.
As he strode across the room, all gazes latched onto him. Even those who had been on the verge of cl**ax stopped to see what was going on. They’d know soon enough.
He was going to kill them all.
His target wasn’t in the room, which meant she was probably in her private quarters. Unimpeded by her guards, he threw open the door and there she was, wearing only high heels and getting it on with a female Trillah and a male Ramreel.
Smiling, he drew his sword. “Hello, Mother. Did you miss me?”
Thirty
“My son.” Lilith came smoothly, seductively, to her feet, and Reseph felt Pestilence purr. With a wave of her hand, she dismissed the two demons, both of whom gave Reseph a wide berth as they slunk away. “You were rumored to be dead. I’ve missed you.”
No doubt she had. Pestilence had brought her notoriety and attention. “Cover yourself.”
She narrowed her violet eyes, so like Limos’s. “Who are you?”
“Mother, I’m hurt.” He feigned a pout. “You don’t recognize your own son?”
She hissed and stepped back so fast she wobbled on her blood-red stilettos.
“Reseph.” She spat his name as if it were poison. “Where is Pestilence? I can sense him inside you.”
Moving forward, he put pressure on Lilith, using his height and size to keep her on edge. Unlike Ares and Than, Reseph had used his physical stature to intimidate others only a handful of times. This was the best of all of them, and he savored Lilith’s discomfort.
“Thanatos drove Deliverance through Pestilence’s f**king heart,” he said. “He’s trapped, and he’s not coming back.”
“Then why are you here?” She eyed his sword, and for the first time he saw a glimmer of fear in her eyes.
“I want to know who my father is.”
She looked at him like he was daft. “Yenrieth. The name is in all the legends.”
“I know that,” he ground out. “But there is no Yenrieth serving in Heaven. So he’s either dead or is fallen and took a new name. Which is it?”
“I have no idea. Why would I have kept track of him?”
“Maybe because he knocked you up.”
She snorted. “So?”
“So what did he say when you told him he was going to be a father?”
It was a question he’d never thought to ask, because truthfully, he hadn’t given a shit about the male who had sired him. Giving a shit meant dwelling on questions like this, and Reseph had been all about not dwelling. But his time as Pestilence and his relationship with Jillian had given him a new appreciation for family.
“Who the hell cares? I hid all of you from him anyway.”
“Hid us? You gave us away,” he growled.
“Except for Limos.” She sighed dramatically. “And what a disappointment she turned out to be.”
A burst of hatred went through him, but he forced himself to not give in to it. Yet. “So you know nothing of our father.”
“Why does it matter? If he wanted you, he’d have come forward, and if he’s dead, he’s… dead.”
“We don’t believe he’s dead. There’s evidence that suggests he’ll be the one to break our Seals in the biblical version of the Apocalypse.”
Lilith’s eyebrows shot up. “Really.” She moved to a painting she had done herself, a gruesome depiction of an orgy, and shifted it aside to reveal a recess in the wall. She reached inside and withdrew a parchment. “I drew this picture of Yenrieth so I wouldn’t forget a single detail. He was so beautiful. A perfect, sketchable specimen.”
He snatched it from her and sidestepped when she tried to rub up against him. His own mother. Disgusting. Turning away, he looked down at the drawing. In an instant, all bodily functions came to a violent stop. His breath caught, his heart seized, and his synapses stopped firing. Holy hell.
“This… isn’t possible.” His voice was a trembly rasp.
Lilith plucked a jagged-edged dagger from the wall, the one she favored for genital mutilations. “He has the same wing-shaped mark on his inner thigh that you have. Verify it yourself, if you can find him.”
He glanced at his reflection in the mirror behind Lilith’s bed. Jesus, the resemblances were there, plain as day. “Why did you give us up?” He returned his gaze to his mother, ignoring Pestilence’s hungry growls. “Why did you leave me with a woman who spent more time brushing her hair than she did with me?”
It was stupid to ask anything of Lilith, and he wasn’t even sure why he was bothering. The shit had gone down five thousand years ago, and none of it mattered now.
“I gave you up to ensure your survival. I knew you’d be powerful someday, though I couldn’t have predicted how powerful.” She dragged the blade across the palm of her hand and studied the wet crimson streak that bloomed. “As for the human who raised you?” Lilith shrugged. “She kept you fed and clothed. Stop whining, you ungrateful brat.”
“Fed and clothed? She f**king abandoned me for days on end while she was off f**king around. I nearly died in a fire because she left me alone. Clearly, your adoption screening process needs some tweaks.”
She laughed, a cackling, grating sound that had him gnashing his teeth. “I despise you, Reseph. I’m looking forward to seeing Pestilence again.”
Reseph lunged, slamming her against the wall with his forearm across her throat. “What do you know about Gethel’s plans to bring him out?”
“Nothing.”
Reseph increased the pressure on her neck. “Lie. Try again.”
A strangled cough fell from her lush lips. “I know Harvester has been tortured for an item in her possession. Gethel and Lucifer want to expose you to it. They’re certain it’ll bring out Pestilence.”
“Did they get it?”
“I don’t know. I swear.”
With a shove, Reseph pushed away from Lilith. Damn. It wasn’t going to be easy locating either Gethel or Lucifer.
Lilith cleared her throat, gathering her composure before she gestured to the door with the tip of the knife. “Now, be a good boy and fetch one of the females in the cages. You can f**k her while I make her scream. Then we’ll kill her together. It’ll be like old times.”
Pestilence writhed excitedly inside him. Disgusting memories boiled up, turning Reseph’s stomach, and he was done with this conversation.
“You. Are. Vile.” In a smooth, fast arc, he brought his own blade down between Lilith’s neck and shoulder.
Lilith shrieked as he cleaved through her body. That was the thing about succubi—they tended to be more fragile than other species of demons, and sure enough, he ended her pathetic life with another strike that took her head from her shoulders.
The infamous bitch was dead.
He didn’t stop with Lilith. His rage had taken on a life of its own, and he turned her sex den into a bloodbath. His armor, which grew stronger when it absorbed blood, fed well, and when he was done, only the prisoners in the cages were alive. He released them and then gated himself out of there.
He had an appointment with his father.
Reseph went to Jillian’s place first, knowing he shouldn’t, knowing that seeing her was going to turn him inside out. But he had to make sure she was okay after the way they’d left things.
Reseph wrapped himself in a khote spell and strode, in absolute invisibility, into the barn. The lights were on, and the animals were carrying on the way they did when food was coming.
Jillian was inside, but instead of feeding them, she was sitting on a bale of hay, tears streaking her cheeks. Reseph’s skin shrank in self-loathing.
“I’m so sorry, baby,” he whispered.
Jillian sniffed and looked up. Looked right at him. Son of a bitch. She couldn’t see him, but clearly, she’d sensed him. He remained motionless, as if doing so would make him even more invisible. Idiot.
At least Pestilence wasn’t causing any trouble. The demon was currently in so much agony at losing Lilith that Reseph could feel it in dull pulses in his gut.
Good. The bastard deserved to suffer.
Eventually, Jillian dashed away her tears with her coat sleeve and got to work with the animals. She moved more slowly than usual, and she looked like she could use a week’s worth of sleep. He wished he could do something for her, but he was pretty sure he was the last person she wanted to see right now.
Reluctantly, he backed out of the barn and opened a gate to Ares’s place, but according to one of Ares’s Ramreel servants, he, Cara, and Rath had gone to Limos’s. He gated himself there, and great; as if seeing Jillian hadn’t been torture enough, he felt an instant hurt at the scent of grilled meat and the sound of Maroon 5 blaring on the sound system. Apparently, everyone had gathered for a party, and Reseph hadn’t been invited.
