The Bound Angel (Sacrilege Rising: Book 1)

Chapter Twenty Five

Silas was distracted by a wet, sliding sound.

It was dark. It was always dark now. It was a result of the metaphysical work they were doing, and also the simple fact that they were not focused on making sure the electric bill was paid on time. Administrative tasks were not their strength. Maybe they should hire an assistant, someone to answer phones and distribute mail. The thought of placing an ad in the paper made Silas chuckle. It came out in a wheezing, coughing fit. When was the last time he’d had a drink of water? Or, for that matter, a meal? Someone should really be in charge of ordering lunch.

The sound came again, like a wet mop sliding through its own by-product.

Something moved in the shadows. The darkness kept him from getting a clear view of her, which was a good thing. He couldn’t risk falling under her thumb. The little he’d actually seen, a quick glimpse of pale skin as headlights passed outside, a flash of a bare leg, cold eyes glittering in the dark, was plenty. Even that much made him burn with thoughts too ambitious by half. Given his considerable ego, that was saying something. Silas was confident he wouldn’t regress into a slobbering mule since his mind was heavily warded, but best not take the chance.

They say you don’t quit your job, you quit your boss. He’d found that true enough when he jumped into the Dark Lady’s boat. Not that he’d had a choice. As dangerous as she was, she came at you from angles. He could deal with angles. His former demonic benefactor came with nothing but rage. Overgrown muscles that let it carry that huge, rusted sword. A drooling mouth, constantly twitching. Gigantic wings. Eyes like pools of ink.

Yes, angles were much better. She kept him on his toes in a very different way.

A corpse slid along the floor, stopping at the edge of the light. The sloshing sound ceased. Blonde hair was splayed loosely around the corpse’s head. Female, then. A pool of crimson was slowly expanding around her, dripping from a wound over her heart. It looked like it had been caused by a clean thrust. Silas tilted his head as he peered at the corpse. She looked… familiar, somehow. His thoughts raced as he stepped closer. She was not just any woman. She was beautiful. A small mouth that liked to tease. Breasts that filled his hands. Legs he could still feel wrapped around his waist.

“Another, Lady?” He’d secretly been hoping to spend more time with this one, and couldn’t hide his disappointment.

“Yes,” a voice purred from the dark. It was the caress of silk on skin, sending a shiver down his spine. His eyes flicked to the shadowy outline standing over the corpse. The hand that had been holding the woman lowered, and she stretched, back arched like a cat, leaning from side to side. Then the silhouette started moving toward him. Her hips rolled, slow and sensual. She had the grace of a dancer, and her figure was the stuff of dreams. Everything about her was designed to seduce, from the way her midnight-black hair coursed over her shoulders and teased the tops of her breasts, to the way her heels clicked sharply on the stone floor. But Silas wouldn’t fall for that. He was no simpleton. A fire still burned in him from how she’d torn down years of hard work in a single night over a territorial dispute between demons.

He turned away, searching for something else to focus on. Appearing uncomfortable in front of his new patron was attention he didn’t want. His gaze settled on the corpse crumpled on the floor. “I am surprised to find you still hunting my former patron’s servants.”

The Dark Lady shrugged. She just shrugged. Like she couldn’t be bothered to care how much it had cost him to bring all those demons through. This one was particularly difficult. Months of work. Speaking to uninterested relatives and digging into dreary pasts, like a farmer hunting good bloodlines in his cattle.

It didn’t get easier once he found them, either. That was when the work truly began. Each one was different. Sometimes he had to stroke egos. Others required bargains and promises. Very few sunk low enough to accept his offer without some sort of persuasion. Those were the easiest, but also the least powerful. He could only bring forth a miniscule, yapping thing with those degenerate lives. To bring across a beauty like this took real sacrifice.

As he watched, her skin turned sickly gray, then dry and ashy, like she would crumble to dust if he touched her. Lifeless eyes became sunken and hollow, and blonde hair turned to straw in front of him. It would not be long before the body broke down completely. That was how it went with these things from… beneath. Once their lives were taken, or whatever word substituted for life, the meat didn’t last long.

The Dark Lady’s voice was a quiet purr. “My master assigned me with a task, and his will must be done. There are not many left.”

She said it so casually. All his effort, all his training and research and sacrifice were wasted, like a piece of garbage thrown in the bin. It made his blood boil.

Silas fumed. “That’s all you can say? There are not many left?”

Somewhere behind him, she stopped pacing and murmured, “Oh.” For once, her words had no pull on him. “I had not realized you two were acquainted.” Something brushed along his back, soft and delicate, tracing a line from shoulder to shoulder. “Were you friends? Or was it more?” Her voice was a pouting taunt. “Did you trade secrets in the night? Has your one true love been taken from you? My poor Silas, how will you ever go on?”

“Enough,” he growled.

He’d never met a full-fledged succubus before, let alone heard one giggle. It was a delicate, disarming thing, like chimes in the wind. It grated on his nerves even more.

“You owe me some measure of respect, harlot. Do not mistake me for some jungle shaman or pagan city witch. Do you know how much flesh is required to bridge the crossing?” He didn’t care who he was speaking to, indignation burned and momentum carried him. “Do you know how to tell if the blood is spoiled? How to lift the very essence of mortal life into a chorus for your kind to sing to? The exact moment to cut the cord and direct the flows so you may come through?” Silas stood to his full height, dwarfing the monster in model’s flesh, and finally lifted his gaze to her eyes. They were like sapphires blazing in the dark. Were his mind not warded, he may have lost momentum right then. “You need me more than I need you, whore. When I die, I just stop; cease to exist. But your fate is very different should we fail here. I expect your master is not the forgiving type.”

This time when she laughed it was a low, throaty thing that made him shiver and want to hear it again. “Oh, Silas, you do surprise me. Come now, rein in your temper. If you require more playthings, you shall have them. Live up to your boasting and I will surround you with pleasures like you have never dreamed. This one…” she stepped on the corpse. When her stiletto pierced its eye socket, the rest of its body crumbled to ash. “Is just a taste of what is to come. You shall have your own personal harem, for the rest of your spoiled little life.”

As she spoke, Silas’ mind wandered. Yes, he could offer a temptress a trade. He could bring one across in exchange for providing… services, for a time. But it was a fleeting reward. What the Dark Lady dangled was so much more. His own personal cache of beautiful, willing toys, sworn to obey him for the rest of his life. Was any prize worth more than that?

Just one. The Dark Lady herself. He ground his teeth and swore he would find a way. If it meant sacrificing every soul in the city, he would find a way. He would burn the world if it meant she would kneel in its ashes before him.

“Very well then,” he said briskly, trying not to linger on that thought. “Let’s get back to work.”