To each his own, Raum had always thought, and paid little attention. Until recently, that was, when some of his brethren, tired of Mammon’s utter uselessness and lack of leadership, had begun encouraging Raum to make a challenge. And he, Raum thought darkly, fool that he was, had begun to consider emerging from centuries of relative seclusion to do it. Then the serpent king had arrived on his doorstep just a few nights past, bearing the news that he, Raum, would soon be charged and executed as a traitor, accused of willfully undermining Hell’s cause by his obvious and egregious lack of sup port.
He would have been destroyed for nothing more than his own indifference to the games of the Council and life at Court, his own solitary nature all the evidence Lucifer needed to finally succumb to the venom Mammon had spewed for years. Raum had to give Mammon some small amount of credit: though he himself had never spoken publicly of his intention to challenge for Mammon’s position on the Council, his old rival knew a threat to his position when he saw it.
So now here he was, forced to choose between the eternal darkness of a demon’s death, or living by doing things he would once have considered even worse than such a death.
The irony wasn’t lost on him.
The sky began to darken as he approached the far edge of the underworld, and Raum’s heartbeat accelerated no matter how hard he tried to force calm. Condemned or no, the finality of his decision had only just begun to penetrate.
He could sense Leviathan as he drew near the mountains, and the gate beyond. Leviathan, and the five others who would be accompanying them, now traitors below just as they had been above. Raum didn’t know all of their stories, nor did he care. All that mattered was that they were united in their refusal to die quietly. He could feel his brothers’ power drifting upward like hot sparks carried on a desert breeze, surrounding an unmistakable shard of deathly cold that cut like a knife through the heat.
Leviathan. Only a fool would have felt safe under the gaze of those unusual, oceanic eyes. Raum was no fool. He wondered if he would ever understand what had driven the serpent king to this, leading a ragtag collection of marked nobles out of Hell and into the employ of the white-winged control freaks they’d all spent so long either fighting, infuriating or avoiding. What did Leviathan care if the balance between good and evil on Earth was tipping into darkness? And even more confounding to Raum was the question of how Lucifer’s prized pet had known that the highest ranks of angels, the seraphim, would be desperate enough to want the help of a bunch of Hellish exiles in righting the Balance.
Of course, if he hadn’t been so desperate himself, he wouldn’t have touched this with a ten-foot pole, and he was in no position to be asking questions. The pay was good. The prospect of continuing to exist was even better. And dirty work was, after all, his specialty, no matter who he was doing it for. He was Raum, Destroyer of Dignities and Robber of Kings.
At least, he had been. Now, he was no longer sure what he was. But with luck, he would have more time to figure it out.
The mountains rising ahead were stunted, blackened things, the grotesque monotony of the ring they created around the kingdom broken only by the places where the five rivers sliced through on their way to the endless Stygian sea. Raum soared higher, clearing the peaks with rapid, graceful movements, and then dipped to descend into the roiling black mists that eternally blanketed the Borderlands, and the Gate of Souls.
Anticipation rushed through Raum’s blood. He was about to have a purpose again. And for the first time, it appeared that his former brethren needed him. It was incredibly satisfying … perplexing, weird and almost deviant, but satisfying.
The Infernal Council was right about one thing: he’d never given a damn for them. They’d now given him the perfect excuse to be an eternal thorn in their sides. Raum looked forward to it … and to the day when he could confront the Prince of Avarice on his own terms, when there would be no one for the insidious coward to hide behind. If that day came, that was. If he saw tomorrow.
But no matter what, it was time to find out. Raum took a deep breath of the sulfur-tinged air, and dived into the eternal night surrounding the gates of Hell.
Chapter 1
Johnstown, Vermont
Six months later
If darkness had a voice, Ember Riddick thought, his would be it.
“Excuse me, miss … I was told that if I wanted cologne, you were the woman to see?”
Her hand stilled in midair. She’d been diligently restocking essential oils—and truth be told, zoning out—and her back was to whoever had just blown in with the crisp fall air. The owner of that dark, delicious, decadent voice.
Her stomach sank as awareness prickled over her skin, responding to the new electricity in the air that she’d sensed the moment the little silver bell had rung above the door.
Had to be today, she thought. In the year since she’d come to this quaint, upscale little town in Vermont, there had been no slipups, no accidents. She’d made sure of it, even when her nerves felt worn nearly to their breaking point. Like today. Ember closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, trying to concentrate on the soothing scents of vanilla and lavender rising from the candles she’d lit.
Didn’t work. Then she laid eyes on him.
Hell.
She would have run, if she could have moved.
“You were told right,” she heard Ginni say, her voice taking on the honeyed tones it only did when she was in the presence of someone interesting of the male per suasion. “What exactly were you looking for?”
“I’m looking for something … unusual,” the stranger replied, his deep and smoky voice sending a delicious shiver from the top of Ember’s head to the very tips of her toes. Ginni’s answering giggle, on the other hand, had her curling her lip, though she fought it. To push it back, she had no choice but to refocus on him.
The pagan god of Lust, come to finish her off completely.
Ember shivered again, and not from the chill air that had wafted in from the open door. Her eyes roamed over a man who should, by rights, be way too beautiful to exist in real life. He was dark as sin itself, with curly raven hair worn long enough for it to coil loosely around his face. His features, in profile, were sharp, almost hawkish, though they were softened just a little by a full, expressive mouth that still looked disinclined to smile. He wore only black, she noticed: jeans, boots, T-shirt, leather jacket.
A bad boy. He would have to be, Ember thought ruefully. And the severe color showcased his vampiric beauty perfectly.
Her nails began to bite into her palms, and she realized she’d clenched her fists. She also realized that those nails had suddenly become awfully sharp. Ember forced them open, alarm rising almost as quickly as the strange fire in her blood. Sure enough, there were angry red crescents where her nails had been, though even as she watched, they began to disappear.
If normal men healed as quickly, her life would have been a whole lot less lonely.
“You’re Ember Riddick, then? The owner?” the stranger asked, his gaze still fixed on Ginni, who looked pretty close to overheating herself. Though Ember kind of doubted her employee would sprout fangs and claws no matter how lust-fuzzed her brain got.
Unlike some people.
The sound of her name on his lips had her licking her own. Ember found herself stepping forward before she could think too hard about what she was doing. Then he turned to look at her, and she had no choice but to follow through with what was no doubt one of her patented Extremely Bad Ideas. She was normal, she told herself. I can do this. It echoed in her head, her mantra.