Her Avenging Angel (Her Angel Romance Series Book 7) (30 page)

The ribbons of shadows wrapped around the male’s arms and stomach, and bound his golden wings.

Lysander’s cold blue eyes shot up to him and narrowed. “What is the meaning of this?”

Asmodeus smirked and couldn’t stop himself from responding in a manner reminiscent of his little wicked witch.

“You have some balls to ask me that question after what Heaven has done.” He landed in front of Lysander and curled his fingers into a fist, causing the shadows that contained the angel to tighten, digging into his skin.

The angel grunted and wavered, but refused to fall to his knees as Asmodeus had wanted.

“Heaven has done nothing,” Lysander spat and a darkness crossed his face, a shadow of something sinister. This one held evil in his heart or in his power. Asmodeus couldn’t tell which it was. “Release me.”

Asmodeus laughed.

Several angels tried to rush him and Apollyon landed beside him with Marcus, driving them back.

“You took Nevar,” Asmodeus said with a grin. “And I think I shall take your head.”

The shadows looped around Lysander’s neck, twisting ever tighter, and his face turned red as he struggled to breathe, veins popping out across his forehead.

“Apollyon.” A deep male voice cut through the noise of battle and his twin foolishly halted his fight.

Asmodeus snarled at him and the newcomer, a dishevelled sandy-haired angel dressed in the gold-edged white armour of the mediator division.

“Come to negotiate?” Asmodeus growled and sent his left blade away. He flicked his left hand towards the mediator and had his shadows wrapped around him before the male could even begin to defend himself.

“Asmodeus, no.” Apollyon grabbed his arm and hissed as the shadows snapped and lashed out at him, striking blows at his vambraces and his bare upper arm. He withdrew and his power pressed down on Asmodeus, a warning he heeded because he wasn’t in the mood to fight his twin today. “He is with us.”

Asmodeus relented, releasing the mediator, and eyed him. “This… fuzzy warm thing is with us?”

The mediator’s green eyes darkened and a spear with a golden blade and gold inlaid into the engravings on the staff appeared in his hand.

Asmodeus waved him away, not interested in battling such a puny enemy.

There was a blur of movement and he quickly shifted his hand, blocking the staff of the spear before the blade could reach his throat.

Perhaps the male was not as puny as he had first believed.

He pushed the weapon away from him and slid his gaze towards the male. “Name yourself.”

The scruffy blond lowered his spear and the staff shortened, turning it into a sword. “Lukas.”

A name he was familiar with.

“We have a problem, Lukas… care to mediate for us?” He curled the fingers of his right hand again and Lysander cried out as the shadows obeyed his command, snapping at the male, slicing into his stomach and legs and drawing blood. “This one has taken something of mine… something precious to me and to another… and I want it back.”

Lukas looked between him and Lysander.

“Does he speak true?” Lukas said and Lysander tried to shake his head but Asmodeus throttled him with the shadows wrapped around his neck. Lukas’s eyes darkened further and he approached Asmodeus. “Release him so he can speak and defend himself.”

Asmodeus considered it and then shook his head. “I will allow him to speak though, since you asked nicely.”

He flexed his fingers and the shadows around Lysander’s neck loosened. The blond gasped at air, his eyes watering, and Asmodeus sighed, admitting to himself that it felt good to see the wretched angel suffering and he had missed punishing creatures who were beneath him. Not that he would tell Liora what he had done. She would be mad at him and would put him back in the doghouse, and he spent far too much time in that fictional place as it was.

Marcus moved beside him, shifting in time with a group of guardian angels now lined up in front of him. They were surrounded on all sides, but the numbers Heaven had sent were still too small to be of interest to Asmodeus. When the angels numbered one thousand, he would have fun with them. Until then, Lysander had the whole of his attention.

“I have not taken Nevar,” Lysander rasped and Asmodeus checked Apollyon to see if the male believed him.

He didn’t seem convinced either.

“Lysia witnessed your angels in Hell. Those angels.” He pointed beyond Lysander to the four males standing at his back, watching events unfold with cold eyes that held only fury as they stared at him. He had hoped to draw them out by attacking their leader and he had succeeded. Shadows swirled around his left hand and rose to curl around his legs as he called upon them, preparing himself to fight them all. “You took Nevar. You told him Heaven wished to speak with him and you brought him here.”

“Not on my orders.” Lysander edged his eyes to his left, to where Mihail stood. “When did this happen?”

Mihail’s stony face gave nothing away. “It has not happened. The abomination speaks lies.”

“It has happened,” Asmodeus snarled. “You four came to Hell and took Nevar from Lysia.”

“How long ago?” Lukas said and Asmodeus shifted his red gaze to him.

“Two hours… not more.” Time moved strangely in Heaven and Hell, but it was in harmony. Two hours in Hell was two hours in Heaven. It was anyone’s guess how long it would be in the mortal realm. Probably days.

Lukas shook his head, his expression grave. “Then I am afraid you are wrong. It isn’t possible these angels took Nevar from Hell because they have been in a meeting for the past day, ever since they returned from first discovering her on the island. I know because I was there with them to discuss how to stop the Great Destroyer from awakening.”

Apollyon looked as if he believed him. So did Marcus.

Asmodeus stared at him and then at Lysander and the four angels accused of taking Nevar.

He pressed his hand to his chest and focused on his bond with Nevar, placing all of his power into calling him, willing to weaken himself if it meant reaching Nevar.

I command you to return to me.

The tug in his belly came this time, faint but there.

Leading him downwards.

Asmodeus released Lysander, his shadows shrinking back into his hands and settling around his feet. He looked from the blond angel to the four flanking him, a cold weight pressing down on his chest.

Heaven hadn’t been expecting them because it had been unaware of what had happened to Nevar. These four angels had had nothing to do with it, but Lysia wouldn’t lie about who had taken Nevar. She had seen four angels who looked like the ones standing before him.

“If you did not take Nevar, who did?”

Their blank faces said they didn’t have the answer to that question.

His every instinct told him that he knew who did.

His master.

The Devil.

E
rin placed her hand on Veiron’s armoured forearm and closed her eyes as darkness engulfed them. The others could follow at their own pace. She had a bone to pick with her father and she was damned if she was going to wait while they all discussed plans of action and other factors.

The inky black dissipated and she stared at the landscape stretching below the plateau. Heat rose from the great lava river hundreds of feet below them. In the distance, the cragged black spires that formed the curved wall around the courtyard of the Devil’s fortress spewed golden magma as they continued to repair the damage done to them by Asmodeus’s battle with a dragon and Amelia’s fight against the army of Hell several months ago.

That had been the last time Erin had set foot in Hell.

“We don’t have to do this,” Veiron rumbled beside her, his gravelly voice a sign that he was on the verge of losing his cool and turning demonic. “You don’t have to do this.”

She knew that. “I have to speak with him, Veiron.”

Dante wriggled in Veiron’s arms and she stroked his soft pink cheek until he settled again. His first visit to Hell.

His first meeting with his grandfather.

Her stomach somersaulted and she breathed slowly to calm the doubts that began to surface at the back of her mind and the fears lurking in her heart. She wouldn’t let the Devil near her son. He would never be a vessel for her father.

“It doesn’t look good though.” She stared off at the obsidian fortress that rose in jagged spires into the dark cavern of Hell, each taller than the last, until the very tops of them blended into the shadows, too high for her eyes to make out.

Veiron grunted in agreement.

There was a new moat of boiling lava surrounding the curved walls of the courtyard, the churning golden liquid belching fire in places and launching blobs of magma high into the air in others.

Her father was in a bad mood.

A very bad mood.

“Never seen it like this before.” Veiron shifted Dante in his thickly muscled arms, cradling their son closer to his black breastplate.

The boy squirmed again and Erin cooed at him, stroking his cheek and keeping her fingers constantly against his skin so he would know she was here with him too. Nothing was going to happen to him. Veiron had ensured that in his own charming way. He had used his angelic powers to materialise tiny armour for their son, a near replica of his own red-edged black armour. It covered his chest and stomach, and his hips, shielding his most vulnerable parts over his black romper suit.

With her other hand, she caressed Veiron’s arm to soothe herself, reassuring herself that he was here with her and he wouldn’t let anything happen to her. She traced the black and red tribal tattoos that curled around his biceps and over his shoulders, losing herself in following the ink and using it to give herself a moment to push all her fears to the back of her mind.

“Shall we?” Veiron murmured and she nodded, wrapped her fingers around his arm and teleported them into the courtyard of the Devil’s fortress.

He was waiting for them.

Her father sat upon his black throne on the raised curved platform at the base of his castle, his legs crossed at the knee, revealing crimson socks that matched his shirt beneath his crisp black tailored suit. He leaned his left elbow on the arm of the throne, his cheek propped up on his knuckles and a faraway look in his red eyes.

Something had pissed him off.

Something had pissed her off too.

“Did you take Nevar?” she snapped and stormed towards him, shadows beginning to stream from her back, fluttering around the straps of her short black dress.

His crimson gaze slid to her, narrowed briefly, and then he sat up, bringing his leg down beside the other one and placing both hands on the arms of his throne.

“No.”

“Someone has.” She didn’t slow her approach. Veiron kept pace behind her, staying in line with her, so her body blocked her father’s view of him. He was protecting Dante, keeping him hidden from the Devil.

She sensed the others appear, Asmodeus coming out of the portal first with Lysia beside him, followed by Apollyon, Amelia and Marcus. It seemed Apollyon had managed to convince the others to remain on the island and wait for their return, but it had been a risk to bring the Great Destroyer to this place.

The Devil’s gaze began to shift towards Lysia and froze on Veiron. His eyes widened. His face paled. His lips parted to reveal a hint of fangs.

He was on his feet in an instant and moving to the steps down to the courtyard where Erin stood with Veiron now beside her.

His gaze didn’t leave her husband, or more precisely, the precious cargo he carried.

A maelstrom of emotions flickered through her father’s eyes, tangled together and impossible for her to decipher. He was shocked though, taken aback by the sight of Dante. Not the reaction she had expected from him. She had thought he would take the sight of Dante in his stride and merely demand she hand the boy over to him now.

His mouth moved but no words came out as he stared at her son, unblinking.

She had never seen him so awash with feelings, things he would call a weakness if it was another exhibiting them, and she knew it wasn’t because he wanted the baby as his vessel.

Dante’s presence was affecting him.

He was as weak as the rest of them, caught off guard by the sight of a baby, left open to his emotions. They were wreaking havoc on him. His fingers flexed at his sides, his black claws shortening into nails, and he took the first step to the courtyard and then the second. His gaze remained locked on Dante, abject fascination in it as his irises melted back to golden, their normal colour.

He took the final step down and she couldn’t believe her eyes.

Her father had lowered himself to stand at the same level as those he viewed as beneath him.

He ran a hand over his black hair, sweeping it back from his face, and she swore it had been trembling.

“May I hold him?” the Devil said without the usual commanding and confident edge to his voice.

Veiron growled and twisted with Dante, shifting him away from his grandfather. “Bugger off. Hell will freeze before that happens.”

The Devil snarled, flashing white daggers as his eyes briefly blazed red and his nails became long claws. He recovered a split-second later, smoothing his hair again as he fought for composure. She had only ever seen him react in such a manner when someone had mentioned the G-word. He hated it whenever she said God. Sometimes she did it just to make him lose his shit whenever he was bugging her via their telepathic link.

“He is my grandchild.” There was the smooth tone she had come to associate with her father and the charming edge to his expression and air. Charisma and silky persuasiveness that she felt sure he had been born with rather than honed through practice.

Unfortunately, she knew it wouldn’t work on Veiron.

“He’s my kid,” Veiron shot back and tucked the bundle closer to him.

Dante wriggled and kicked, evidently not impressed by his father squashing him against a hard metal breastplate.

Erin waited, sensing that her father was edging towards losing his shit again.

He surprised her by sidestepping closer to Veiron and cooing at the baby from a distance, making all manner of soft noises and murmuring what she supposed he thought were sweet things to him. Erin had been on the receiving end of her father’s clumsy attempts to pet and soothe before. It didn’t come as a shock that he hadn’t improved much in that department and thought that speaking in a soft voice about making his father pay for his insolence was the right thing to do.