“I want Arik found as bad as you do.” Decker wiped his blade clean on a dead demon’s clothing, his movements jerky, edged with irritation. “But the military can’t put all its resources into it. They… we… are busy trying to head off Pestilence’s damned plagues and putting down the demonic outbreaks. So don’t give me any bullshit about how we’re sitting around and doing nothing.”

Ky eyed Decker as he considered taking this little disagreement to the next level, but screw it. Their teams might be rivals, but they played on the same field. They needed to save their blood for demon battles.

“Come on,” Ky said, slugging Deck in the shoulder. “Let’s get you back to DC.”

After that, it was off to see a Horseman about a volcano, and Ky had a feeling things were about to get hot. Sheoul hot.

“Want some water?”

Hell yeah, Arik wanted water. What kind of dumbass question was that? His throat was too raw and swollen to speak, so he merely nodded at Tavin, a blond Seminus demon Arik’s torturers had hired to heal him.

Tavin frowned, and gripped Arik’s shoulder with his right hand, which was marked all the way to his throat with tribal glyphs that all Seminus demons possessed. Apparently, they were a history of paternity, with the top symbol being personalized for each individual. Tavin’s seemed to be some kind of worm. He must take all kinds of shit from Sems who had cool symbols, like weapons or hourglasses or lightning bolts.

Sucked to be Tavin.

Sucked more to be Arik, though.

The demon channeled his healing gift into Arik’s body for the second time in the last ten minutes. The first time was to heal Arik’s broken ankles, his lacerated spleen, and the evisceration that had left his intestines hanging out of his navel.

Arik really f**king hated demons.

He’d been pretty solid on that point even before he’d been tortured to the brink of insanity, but the word “hate” wasn’t strong enough anymore. The English language needed a new word to describe how he felt about demons now.

Still, he supposed Tavin was okay for a demon. He wasn’t overly friendly, but he gave Arik more water than his captors ever did, and he always brought a new pair of scrub pants—black, as Arik requested—to replace the ones the demons destroyed during their torture sessions. Tavin had even presented an argument to his captors; the clothing protected Arik’s skin from infection that could kill him.

And, if Arik played his cards right, the pants would get him out of this hellhole.

Heat burned through Arik’s body, a byproduct of the Seminus healing ability, which allowed the demons to either repair injuries, affect bodily function, or tweak the mind. After a few seconds, Tavin’s energy had repaired damaged tissue and zapped Arik’s throat back into working order. It was still sore—hell, his entire body was sore—but at least now the pain was bearable.

“Thanks.” Arik rubbed his neck, mapping out the new scars. The demon had done an adequate job, and even the mental damage, the horrific memories, seemed to have faded. As always, after Tav was done with him, Arik felt whole again, not just physically, but mentally. “You’ve been patching my mind, haven’t you?”

Tavin’s expression was a whole lot of blank. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Bullshit. I should be a head case by now. Fuck, I’m so damaged after a torture session that I don’t even know my own name. But when you’re finished with me… I dunno. You’re doing something.” Arik narrowed his eyes. “And don’t lie to me. I f**king hate liars, and I kinda think you’re all right for a demon. Don’t disappoint me.”

There was a heartbeat of hesitation… two… three… and then the pathetic moan of some nearby creature seemed to break the lock on Tavin’s silence.

“Seminus demons have only one of the three abilities.” His brisk tone made it clear that the discussion was over as he handed Arik a clay cup containing a few tablespoons of muddy liquid. Tasted like piss and mold, which it probably was, but it was wet, and he’d learned to take everything he could get.

Well, not everything. Sometimes the demons tempted him with things like fluffy, moist slabs of cake; thick, juicy, char-grilled steaks; and frosty mugs of beer. But he’d learned to never, ever touch the offerings, no matter how much his mouth watered and his stomach ached. Doing so earned him hot pokers in places not meant to handle molten iron rods.

Tav’s green eyes flashed with pity, and great, how pathetic were you when a demon pitied your sorry ass?

“Do you know why the demons want me to say the Horseman’s name, Tav?”

“Nope.” Bitterness dripped from Tavin’s normally level voice. “I’m just the hired help.”

“Why’d you take the job?”

Tavin took the cup from Arik and tucked it into his duffle of medical supplies. “No choice.”

“There’s always a choice.”

“Not when you’re an assassin locked into a contract.”

“Assassin, huh?” Arik’s rusty wheels started turning. “Don’t suppose you know a couple of half-breed Sems named Sin and Lore? They’re sort of extended family. They were assassins not long ago.” Lore was now Underworld General’s chief medical examiner, and Sin had taken a position in the demon hospital’s infectious disease department, since her mutated Seminus gift had given her the unique ability to cause disease. Apparently, there was hope that she could also learn how to destroy it.

Tavin reached into his medical bag for a tube of ointment. “I used to work with them.”

A sickly little flame of hope flared. “Can you get them a message?”

“Not until the demons who hired me no longer need me.”

At which point, Arik would probably be dead. “Come on… the R-XR and Aegis will compensate you nicely if you do this.” He couldn’t believe he was trying to make a deal with a demon. But then, it wouldn’t be the first time. At least in this case, his soul wasn’t on the table.

Just his life.

“I can’t risk it.”

“If you’re an assassin, you’ve got to be all sneaky and shit.”

“I am. But the answer is still no.” He smoothed a thin film of the greasy medicine over an abrasion on Arik’s chest. Tavin’s healing ability always tapped out before he could get to all the minor injuries. “Betraying this contract means an extremely long, painful death and possible eternal torment.”

“Sort of like what I’m going through?” Arik muttered.

“Pretty much.”

Arik glared. “Okay, so if you’re an assassin, why are you healing me?”

“Your captors paid a shit-ton of money for my services, whether that be killing or healing.”

“So you’d kill me if they asked you to?”

“Yep.”

Nice. “Look, if you’ll pass on a message—” Arik shut up at the sound of approaching footsteps.

Tavin stepped away as two ugly-ass motherfuckers stopped at the cell door. Six-inch claws wrapped around the steel bars. Arik’s pulse leaped. He never knew if the demons were going to torture him, feed him, or merely taunt him.

“Human scum,” the tallest one said, the tusks protruding from his lower jaw dripping saliva. “We’re going to discuss your last ng s your meal.”

Well, this couldn’t be good. Arik rolled his shoulder in a nonchalant shrug, even though his heart was going ballistic.

“Last meal? How about surf-and-turf, medium-rare on the steak, fettuccine alfredo, and those amazing garlic cheese biscuits from Red Lobster? Could I get a Harp, too? Cold, though, not that room temperature crap they like in Ireland.”

Two sets of humorless black eyes stared back at him. “Your choice is putrefied meat with maggots or fish skin.”

“Awesome.” Arik tapped his chin, appearing to consider his options. “Hmm… gross or really gross. Tough decision. I’ll go with gross.”

The shorter ugly-ass motherfucker clicked his claws in agitation. “Which is?”

“Fish skin. Yum.” But hey, if it wasn’t rotten, it would actually be the best thing he’d eaten down here, so things weren’t all bad. And it sounded like they were actually going to kill him. He doubted it would be a quick death, but it couldn’t be worse than anything they’d already done to him.

The beasts spoke to each other in a language Arik didn’t understand, until about the tenth word, when his translation ability kicked in. They were discussing how much to tell him about how he’d die. They were also speculating about what would happen to his body afterward. Would they be allowed to eat him, or would his corpse be preserved and displayed somewhere? Maybe his body would be dumped outside of a hellmouth for his colleagues to find.

Right, okay, so Arik didn’t like any of those options.

He watched the two demons lumber away and wondered if prayers could reach Heaven from here. “Whatcha think, Tav? Is my death going to be quick or slow?”

“Slow, definitely.”

“Yeah, that’s what I figured.” Maybe this one time, Arik wouldn’t have minded a little white lie. He ran his hand up and down his chest, wincing at the feel of his rib cage. He’d lost so much weight down here. He’d tried to keep some muscle by doing pushups and sit-ups when he could, but scrounging up the energy wasn’t easy. “At least it’ll be over soon, I guess.”

“Don’t look so relieved, human.” Tavin stared at him, his eyes somber. “Death isn’t a good thing.”

“Spend a day in my shoes—you know, if I had them—and you’ll change your mind.”

The Sem heaved the duffel over his shoulder. “That’s not what I mean. For you, it’s not an escape.”

Man, demons and their tendency to circle an issue. “Straight shoot it, Tav. What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that when a human dies here in Sheoul, his soul is trapped. You can’t get out, and the most vile demons in existence will be able to torture you for all eternity. And trust me, what they’ve done to you so far is nothing compared to what they will do to your soul. You think you’re in pain now? Just wait until you dead. The soul is much more sensitive than the physical body.”

More sensitive? Arik eyed the corner, his escape plan taking on a new, desperate note of urgency. Every time an opportunity had arisen, he’d carefully dug the thin, black elastic strings out of the waistband of his pants and stored them, scattered, in the crevices that defined the dark chamber. He didn’t have nearly as many as he’d hoped, but it would have to do.

He waited for Tavin to leave, and then he sat down on the floor with his dozen little treasures and began to braid them together. This had to work.

Or he was worse than dead.

Four

It took Limos an hour to clean up the mess Rhys rudely left on her floor, then shower and change into pink board shorts and a lacy yellow blouse. Every single minute of that hour had been occupied by thoughts of what Arik had done for her, and she couldn’t decide how she felt about it. Her emotions ran the spectrum from overwhelmingly awed that he would protect her that way, to confused about why he would protect her that way, to downright pissed that he thought he had to protect her.

Then there was the anger that she was baffled by any of this in the first place. It wasn’t like her to obsess over someone else’s actions, but here she was… obsessing.

Muttering to herself, she hefted Arik’s torturer in her arms and took a Harrowgate to Thanatos’s Greenland residence. The temperature change between Hawaii and his godforsaken frozen wasteland was marked, and she shivered as she stepped out of the Harrowgate and onto the hard-packed ice near Than’s keep’s entrance.

And, for the record, Rhys weighed a ton.

Without a free hand, she kicked at the wood and iron door, and eventually one of Than’s vampire servants, Artur, opened up. Since it was daytime, the vamp on duty was one of the old breed, the first vampires, who had never suffered an allergy to sunlight. They were rare, pretty much legend to most. How Than had found not just one, but ten, to serve him, she had no idea. He could be really tight-lipped sometimes.

Annoying.

As if you don’t have secrets.

Oh, yes, she had lots and lots of secrets, made all the worse by the knowledge that something wicked inside her got a kick out of lying. The bigger the lie, the more potential it had to hurt or even destroy, the more powerful the high. Jolts of delicious, almost erotic adrenaline would cycle through her like a drug.

But she’d given up that drug hundreds of years ago, exchanging the need to lie with casual recklessness that gave her a similar high, but one that was far less addictive.

“Miss Limos?” Artur stared at her in that creepy way of his, and though she couldn’t be certain, she’d long suspected that he’d been a cannibal before he became a vampire. Thkeeere was just something… not right… about him.

She shoved the dead demon into the vamp’s arms and strode inside the great room, her strappy sandals clicking on the floor. A fire blazed in the hearth, and Than sat in one of the cozy chairs next to it, his nose buried in a book. As their voluntary historian, he had a massive library, was always reading when he wasn’t working out in his gym or haunting scenes of mass casualty.

His newest obsessions were seeking clues that might reveal the whereabouts of her agimortus, looking for a way to repair Reseph’s Seal, and trying to find their father. Okay, sure, these weren’t new obsessions, but now they were his only ones.