“I will see the Guild.”

“That is not possible.”

“Then you bring the wrath of Azagoth down on your heads,” Idess said with a shrug.

The demon’s skin went ashen. The name Azagoth was only whispered among demonkind. When a name was synonymous with death, no one spoke it out loud. “You lie.”

Idess had been prepared for this. Taking a deep breath, she summoned every ounce of fury she’d ever felt, let it condense and build until she felt like a shaken bottle of champagne. When the pressure became an unbearable pounding behind her eyes, she let it out in a painful release.

All around her, the black-streaked ground trembled as her skin split and her body doubled in size, morphed, and erupted in glowing light. The demon wheeled away in terror and the things guarding the archway cowered. Within seconds, Idess was a winged, skeletal creature that no one, demon or human, could look upon without thinking of Death incarnate.

She was, in fact, a perfect cross between Azagoth’s true form and an angel.

“You represent the Guild, and I represent Death.” Her voice was a dark, deep rumble that put fissures in the sheer rock faces on either side of her. “Take me.”

The female bowed, making the bone beads in her hair clatter. “I’ll deliver your message.” She disappeared into the gate, squeezing through once more. Idess returned to her preferred form, and turned to find Lore gaping at her. Oops.

“Ah… is there something you want to tell me?”

“Not really,” she muttered, and amused herself by hissing at the creepy things milling around the arch and making them skitter away in terror.

“Idess? Who is Azagoth?”

Oh, hell. “You’ve never heard of him?”

“I’ve heard the name, but I figured he was some regional baddie warlord in Sheoul.”

She snorted. “Hardly. He was once an angel. Back before there was such a thing as death.” She hissed at the creepy things again when they inched too close. “But then that idiot, Cain, killed Abel, and because humans could die, demons had to lose their immortality as well. Some species, anyway. So after that, human and demon souls were running around all willy-nilly and wreaking havoc. Angels were assigned to escort human souls to Heaven, but someone needed to be in charge of the other souls.”

“So, what… this Azagoth guy volunteered?”

“Apparently,” she replied, keeping an eye on the Crest Gel Archway. “Better an angel than a demon to handle the work. So, according to legend, Azagoth willingly fell. He created the holding tank, Sheoul-gra, and all the while, he tried to maintain his goodness, but eventually, he was corrupted. Maybe because he started feeding on demons, or maybe because dealing with demon souls and seeing everything they’d done in their lives chipped away his purity. In any case, he presides over souls his griminions escort to Sheoul-gra.”

“Griminions? As in, the Grim Reaper’s little helpers? Those griminions?”

“Yes. Azagoth is the being humans know as the Grim Reaper.” She glanced at the portal, which began to shimmer. “He’s also my father.”

Lore made a strangled sound, but he didn’t have a chance to say anything, because a seven-foot-tall male Neethul squeezed through the gate and came straight at them.

The Neethulum were a beautiful race, elven in appearance, which made them all the more terrifying. They were proof that evil was not always ugly. This one had emerald eyes and long white hair, with several jagged facial scars that marred his perfection.

“If you are lying about who you are,” he said pleasantly, “you will be skinned and disemboweled while still alive and hung from the rafters until you die.”

Lore casually peeled off his glove, exposing his killing hand, and his cold smile matched the Neethul’s. Except that on Lore, it was sexy. Sexier than it should be, but she was rapidly realizing that Lore was a lot of things he shouldn’t be.

“Follow. And know that you cannot summon weapons inside the Guild Hall.” The Neethul led them to the portal, kicking one of the slithering demon things on his way through.

The gate flashed them to something that resembled a small, underground medieval village. Spiny hellrats scurried under the feet of various species of demons, some of whom appeared to be there against their will. Actual balls and chains dragged behind them, and near a hovel next to a black, steaming pool, an imp in stocks was being whipped.

“See?” Lore whispered. “We’re healed.”

Sure enough, Lore’s injuries no longer bled, and when she touched her cheek, where the scale had sliced it, her skin wasn’t even tender. Neat. But her back itched like crazy.

Lore took her hand in his left one and followed the Neethul into the largest of the buildings, a keeplike structure made of bone-colored stone that bled a black substance. Inside, everything was gray, from the hard-baked clay floor to the ceiling, from which hundreds of heads hung, some fresh, some so old they’d rotted to nothing but yellowed skulls.

Idess’s stomach lurched as the Neethul led them through rooms that seemed to have no purpose except to display the heads and a few other choice body parts, until they reached a long, dark hallway. At the end, a rolling vertical door opened into the largest room yet. In the center was a crude wooden trestle table, at which at least a hundred demons sat, some drinking from ale tankards, and others gnawing on bloody hunks of meat. The Neethul took a chair near the middle.

A lizardlike demon of unknown species stood at the far end. “Why do you request this audience?” he asked, his voice booming with an unnatural resonance, a trick of the room’s architecture, Idess was sure.

“I come for information about one of your clients. I must speak with the master known as Detharu.”

There was an explosion of talk, and the lizard-man gestured for silence. “Your request is ridiculous. You will therefore be killed.”

“I will speak with Detharu, or you will face my father’s wrath.” She locked gazes with the demon.

Lizard-man’s ominous growl vibrated the air. “I do not think you understand. No master can reveal the name of the one who entered into a contract with him.”

“I didn’t say I wanted a name.” At this point, even a sketchy description would be better than nothing.

Conversation ensued, and finally, the demon turned back to her. “The price for even the smallest kernel of information will be great.”

“And that price would be?” she ground out.

“You will become an assassin.”

They couldn’t be serious. The way Lore went taut beside her said they were. “I will not.”

One eyeless male stood up, his pasty skin reminding her of a grub. Or a maggot. His hands were encased in metal, with spikes at the knuckles. “One kill. Whoever we command. Just one. Agree or leave.”

“Don’t do it, Idess,” Lore growled in a voice so low she doubted the others could hear.

Adrenaline coursed through her veins in a stinging rush. She couldn’t do it. To kill like that… it would eliminate her as a candidate for Ascension. But she’d be eliminated if she lost Kynan, too.

“I cannot kill,” she said. “But I could serve in some other way.”

“Idess!” Lore squeezed her elbow. “Don’t.”

They all looked to the white-skinned one. “Agreed.”

Oh, God, what had she done?

He moved toward her, peeling off one of the gauntlets as he approached. When he was in front of her he smiled, a baring of tiny, sharp teeth. “For six months you will be mine.”

A seismic rumble rolled up from Lore’s chest. “Oh, no she won’t.” His arm hooked around her throat as he yanked her backward, and then there was an incredible pressure on her throat, and then… nothing.

The world went black.
* * *

Shit, shit, shit. Lore had really stepped in it this time. He sprinted through the Guild Hall, Idess in his arms, after knocking her cold with a modified sleeper hold. Deth’s furious shouts followed him. The demon was going to torture the ever-living f**k out of him for this.

Spurred by footfalls behind him, he kicked the outer door so hard it splintered, vaulted through it, and hit the portal at a run. When he emerged in what felt like slow motion into the killbox, he didn’t pause. And when his slave-bond lit up as if it was on fire, he breathed through the agony and ran harder, until he was safely shut into a Harrowgate. Panting and cursing, he tapped out the map until he arrived at the gate closest to his house.

Idess began to stir, and shit, she was going to kick his ass, too.

Freaking Grim Reaper’s daughter.

Leave it to him to get messed up with Death’s little girl. Fuck.

He exploded out of the Harrowgate and didn’t stop until he reached his front door. It was unlocked, as always, and fortunately, Sin wasn’t there waiting for him. The last thing he needed right now was her concern, lectures, or drama fits.

He laid Idess on the couch, but she’d awakened enough to squirm into a sit. “What… what happened?” She blinked up at him, her gaze a little glassy.

“I saved you from making a monster of a mistake.”

She blinked again, and then came to her feet so fast he had to take a step back. “You what?”

“I take it you remember?”

“They were going to tell me who is trying to kill my Primori!” she shouted.

He held up his hands. “You wake up grumpy. You’re not a morning person, are you?”

She gaped in outrage. “You… you—”

He palmed the nape of her neck, tugged her close, and kissed her. His assault tactics didn’t work. Her squeal of outrage and fists against his shoulders were his first clue that this might not be the best approach to the situation. The knee to the groin was the second.

He’d been prepared for that, though, and he’d stepped back and twisted, avoiding what would have been a painful blow.

“You son of a bitch!”

“What?” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “You were mad.”

“I wasn’t talking about the kiss.”

He grinned. “Does that mean I can do it again?”

She stomped her foot. Actually stomped her foot in indignant fury. It probably shouldn’t have been cute, but it was. “Lore, this is serious!”

“I seriously saved you from Detharu’s service.” Rubbing his seared chest, he moved toward the kitchen and had to bite down on a smile at her huff of frustration.

“I didn’t need to be saved,” Idess said, following him into the tiny kitchen space.

“Yeah, you did. You were in way over your pretty little angel head.”

“I’m two thousand years old. I’ve been around the block, you know.”

He laughed. “Really? Do you have any idea what he would have used you for? Go ahead and picture him na**d. Because he uses his assassins for more than just killing.”

“Oh… good Lord.” Her hand flew up to her throat. “Has he… does he…”

“I’ve been lucky.” He dug a glass out of a cupboard. “I think he’s afraid of me. None of his assassins can harm him with intent, but because just touching my arm can kill… he’s not taking any chances.”

She looked down at her jeans and brushed away some invisible lint. “Still, I would have worked out specifics with him—”

“He was going to brand you. When he reached for you, that’s what he was going to do. You would have had a handprint on your chest to match mine and it would have been too late to negotiate.”

Her mouth worked soundlessly. “Oh.”

“A thank-you would be nice,” he drawled, as he grabbed a jug of his rotgut out of the fridge. It wasn’t even cold. Damned fridge had shit the bed again. But then, he’d had the Kelvinator since 1940, just like the oven he never used.

“You couldn’t have warned me? You had to kidnap me instead?”

He laughed. “That, coming from you?” He splashed liquor into a glass and took a swig. “Want one?”

She hesitated, then shook her head. “Thanks, no.”

“You hungry? I have sandwich makings. I think. If you like peanut butter. And bologna.”

“As appetizing as that sounds, I’ll have to pass. Thank you, I’m fine.” She dragged her hand through her hair, tugging strands out of the ponytail, and sank back down on his couch. “Now what? I’m running out of ideas.”

“I have one, but it’s going to require Wraith. I need to contact the guys anyway, let them know that what’s going on could be about them instead of you.”

Lore’s plan for Wraith would be a longshot, though—he had no idea how effective Wraith’s mind-invasion thing would be on a being like Deth… assuming Lore could get the two of them together. And assuming Wraith didn’t kill Lore before that could happen. First, though, he was going to have to go to Detharu and take his punishment for stealing Idess. His chest was burning like a mother, and the pain was only hours away from holy-shit-I’m- going-to-die-debilitating.

In rapid succession, he slammed four more shots of alcohol to numb himself. He’d have to take his other edge off, too, the sexual one, so he’d be less likely to rage out during his torture. “Look, I have to take off. I’m just going to, ah, shower up and head out.”

“Where?”

“I need to see Sin,” he lied.

“I’m going with you.”

“No, you’re not.”

Idess let out an aggravated breath. “I’m not going to let you go alone.”