Page 1 of Soul Redeemed

1

The sounds of suffering were nothing new to Ava, having grown up with a sadist most of her life, but the screams that bled through the walls of the abandoned psychiatric hospital set her teeth on edge. Not even the tortures her brother, Ryke, exacted upon his most unwilling victims had produced such sounds of suffering, the likes of which had her trembling against the thin cot to which she’d been strapped down with Diablis steel.

For centuries, she’d listened to the wails of humans being torn apart, begging for their lives. Tonight, the screams were different. Exhausted.

Begging for an end.

Supes rarely registered cold, but the frosty tendrils snaking up her spine told her that the human half of her feared what lay on the other side of the cell wall that separated her from those screams. A wall that, soon, would no longer keep her barricaded from whatever shit went down in that adjacent room.

Arms stretched above her head, she tugged at the cuffs, attached to a square plate that’d been drilled into the concrete wall. Didn’t matter that it was attached to a manmade wall that Ava could otherwise easily bust through, because the Diablis steel carried its own tensile strength, so yanking wouldn’t do a damned thing to break it free. The metal of the gods held just about every supe, and the fact that it was only found in the demon realm told Ava that her human captor had supernatural ties to which most of his species wouldn’t be privy. Spiked tips dug into her wrists, keeping her from struggling too much, unless she was willing to forego her hands—a thought that’d become more of an enticement with each passing day.

Darkness swallowed her as she glanced around the room for some fissure in the scenery—some weak point that would give her the upper hand the next time her captor entered the room. As a Nephilim—a patchy mix of human and fallen angel—she’d inherited a much more acute set of senses, including a sixth that allowed her to pick up on an individual’s true nature. Her Fallen half afforded her the vision to slice through the dimly-lit space, catching even the minutest details—a pastime she’d spent weeks wasting the hours on, up until two mornings ago, when Oliver, the younger of the two men who’d captured her, had entered for her daily vaccine. Whatever they injected her with often made her wretch, but not even that kept her from being keenly aware of one simple mistake.

Oliver, in his klutzy haste, had dropped his keys on the way out, and though he gathered them up quickly, he’d failed to notice the big ass opportunity he left lying beneath the chair propped against the wall.

Ava hadn’t, though. Her eyeballs practically bounced in their sockets, as she’d tracked the skittering metal that skated into the shadows.

A key.

Not just any key, either. The one that made a much louder clang than all the others because it was bigger, bulkier, and could transform any door into a portal to the underworld.

A skeleton key.

His weak human mind hadn’t registered the clank of six keys hitting the cement, not like hers had, so when he’d only retrieved five of them, the first blossoms of hope peeked through the gloom of despair she’d been withering beneath every day since she’d been captured. It was only a matter of finding a vantage. Something that could be used to retrieve that key.

An ache throbbed between her thighs, but not out of arousal. The day before she’d been taken into the surgical ward, as she had a number of times before, but something felt different. The dull and hollow cramp reached deep inside her and radiated over her womb. Like her insides had been tainted somehow.

Light cut through the darkness as the door creaked open, revealing a tall, lanky human standing in the doorway.

“Time for your shot, sweetness.”

Ugh. Ava hated that goddamn nickname—the one he’d been calling her since the moment he’d had his hands up her shirt, fondling her like the asshole knew what he was doing.

He didn’t. Oliver was a bumbling idiot when it came to women, a failure that Ava hoped to exploit, as he entered her room for her routine vaccinations. He wasn’t a stupid man, though, just adding to her frustration that a human could hold her captive for so long.

Long strides brought him beside the bed, and he stared down at her through the glasses he wore, designed to block out her charms. If she could get him to remove them, she could use her ethereal manipulation, or hypnotize him into retrieving that key.

Much as it killed her, she’d let a small bit of her guard down with every visit, so that she’d come to make him believe she enjoyed his visits. As Oliver laid out the black case containing the day’s injections, Ava slipped her lip between her teeth, giving him the impression she was anxious for what would come after.

“You will behave, won’t you?” He stroked a finger down her face, the action just begging Ava to snap her head and skin it to the bone with her teeth.

Instead, she nodded.

“Good girl. You’re such a good girl, sweetness.” From the leather sheath, Oliver removed the first of four needles and held it up as he flicked the barrel of it. “You know, soon you won’t need the needles, love. Soon you’ll be strong enough.”

That one, she knew from experience, carried a fluid that entered her system like thick lava, searing her veins, and when he tipped the needle to her skin, Ava flinched.

“Oh, come now, Ava. It only burns a minute. We’ve done this so many times already. Surely you’ve grown used to the pain.”

“It hurts, Oliver.” She hated saying his name, but knew the effect it had on him, evident when his brow lifted and he tipped his head, gently stroking her temple.

“It’ll be over soon. I promise, my love. You know I would never intentionally hurt you, Ava. Right? I love you too much, my sweet.”

“Then, don’t do this. Please.”

His shoulders sagged as he blew out a breath and leaned forward, resting his head against her breasts. “I wish I didn’t have to. I wish I could take you away and make you mine.” With the needle still held in his hand, he lifted his head and kissed her nipple through the thin tank she wore. “I’d worship you, Ava.”

Her body writhed beneath his lips, but not in pleasure. Only one person had ever brought Ava true pleasure, out of the centuries she’d given up her body for one reason, or another. As an incubus, he’d honed his craft. Could bring her to climax without even touching her. His voice. His aura. Everything about Calix had been designed to fulfill a female’s darkest fantasy, and Ava had fallen prey to his charm.