Voices of Hell Read online

  Over the years since he’d claimed her, she’d often dreamed of what it would be like to be at the mercy of the first angel to take a human woman—and rumor had it that he’d taken many. That had been his great sin, deflowering the virgin humans as if it were his own personal mission. They said he’d driven the females insane with lust, creating covens of devoted sex slaves out of even the purest and chaste ladies of the time. She wanted to know that madness now, more than ever before.

  The suit Ashur wore had too many buttons, too much material. She wanted to rip it away, but his steady hands held her back. Slowly and with a self-confidence few mortal men could accomplish, he stripped away each layer until he stood before her clad in nothing but a cocky smile.

  The beast in her growled, a new hunger emerging, and Iyzebel could not hold back. She reached for his hips, nails digging into the firm muscles as she pulled him down between her legs. Caught up in the moment, she clung to his feverish flesh as he shoved deep within her core, filling her until the line between pleasure and pain blurred into nothingness.

  Their bodies entwined together and their movements synched as if they had been lovers since the beginning of time. Heart racing, Izzy panted his name as she twisted a hand in the long sheath of Ashur’s hair. When his tongue snaked out to caress her jaw, the forked tip flicking gently when he reached her ear, she thought she’d die. The orgasm raced through her body in uncontrollable waves, clenching her muscles tighter around him.

  She couldn’t tell if it were minutes or hours that they spent in this way, his rhythmic thrusts heightening her pleasure with each ebb and flow, and her helpless moans filling the night. Time passed in glimpses of lucidity between long stretches of dizzying and exquisite bliss. She understood now, how Ashur had fallen from grace as an Archangel of Heaven and into the arms of a woman. If every time with him would be filled with such carnal delicacies, she would have given up anything, as well.

  In the final moment, he bent his head low, nipping her breast with razor sharp teeth. The torture of the sharp points on tender flesh pushed her off the edge of an abyss and into the unknown. Wrapping her legs around him, she drove him inside her as she shoved her hips upward to meet his. Ashur’s face flushed, his breathing stopped, and then a guttural cry of triumph erupted from inside his chest.

  Falling to the side, he breathed heavily against her neck as his hand came up to cup her breast. “Did I hurt you, Izzy?”

  “No, Ash, but you didn’t answer my question either.” The sex had been amazing, something more than she’d ever experienced in the arms of those she’d seduced, but nothing could quell the doubt she felt.

  With a deep sigh, he propped himself up on his elbow, “Iyzebel.”

  Pulling him down to her by the back of his neck, she kissed him, hoping the seductress’s charm would work. Against his mouth, she murmured, “Ash.”

  He pulled back, his eyes boring down into hers behind the curtain of his hair, “I know what you are doing.”

  “Is it working?” she asked with a sly smile.

  “I’ve taught you well, my siren.”

  Frustrated, she punched him in the chest. Unfortunately, because of the close proximity, the blow was completely ineffective. “Fuck you! I’m tired of these games. Either you tell me what the hell is going on, or I will….”

  Rolling over, he stood up off the bed, not bothering to attempt to hide his gloriously naked body. The rippling muscles and toned form were nearly enough to distract her again.

  “You’ll what? You’ll not do as I tell you? Don’t make me remind you, Iyzebel, of what happened the last time you disobeyed me.”

  The threat in his voice was like a cold slap to the face. He knew very well she’d never forget the hell he’d put her through the one time she’d disobeyed him. It had happened just that once, right after she had been turned. Her refusal to drain the soul from a man in front of his children had ended with the man dead and her in the throes of torment for days and nights on end. Ashur had buried himself in her mind, inflicting his favorite type of pain—the kind that a person can’t run from, the kind that lives inside a person’s mind. At the recollection of violent images, neurologically induced agony, and the voices that had screamed until she thought her ears would bleed, Izzy shivered.

  “Get out!” she screamed, throwing a pillow at him in her frustration.

  “Exactly what I planned to do. Be in my office early, we have plans to make. You will not defy me.” Dressed in nothing but his boxer briefs, Ashur threw his clothes over his shoulder and scooped up his shoes from the floor. As if not willing to give her the satisfaction of his anger, he slipped from the room, silently shutting the door behind him.

  To wound up with anger at Ashur and confusion over Rafael, Izzy headed for the shower. Her subconscious lashing out at her for falling into bed with her demon maker, she felt unclean. Grabbing her robe, she stomped into the bathroom and slammed the door. Ashur might not lower himself to such human antics, but she enjoyed the echoing bang.

  Beneath the hard stream of scalding water, she rested her head on the cold tiles. With the spray matting her hair to her skull and running in a stream down her back, Izzy closed her eyes. She’d expected to be barraged by images of Ashur in passion and merciless coldness, but it was Rafael’s face that came to mind.

  Chapter Five

  Someone was staring at her, she could feel their eyes as she pretended to continue sleeping, but Izzy wasn’t willing to move just yet. Her supernatural body devoured alcohol, burning it up much too quickly to leave her ill from the effects. However, gorging herself on the waiter’s soul and the strangeness of the emotional catastrophe had carried a heavy toll.

  “I know you are awake, fledgling. Quit hiding behind your closed eyes and get up. Ashur and the others are waiting.”

  Mumbling into her pillow, Izzy grumbled, “I don’t care. Tell that bastard he can wait until all of Hell freezes over, with him in it.”

  Sydonay reached out and grabbed her foot, tugging the little toe, “Don’t be such a drama queen, Iyzebel. We’ve all fallen victim to Ashur at some point over the eons. He’s worth the trouble, but not quite worth the shame. As far as demons go, he’s the most heartless I’ve ever seen. He lives to break those around him. The best thing you can do is give him a run for his money.”

  Sitting up, her hair matted from falling asleep with it wet, Izzy rubbed her eyes. Despite the childlike action, her voice was as sharp as a knife, “Is that what happened to you, Sydonay? Don’t think I haven’t heard of how he tormented you so badly that you fled to the ends of the world to escape, but when he crooks his little finger, you always run right back.”

  Sydonay quirked her eyebrow up in her typical deadpan stare, “Jealousy and cattiness doesn’t suit you, girl.” With a flip of her raven hair, the woman stood, letting the human disguise fade for a quick moment, “Remember, I am of the original Fallen, don’t confuse my kindness for stupidity. I will tear the demon gift from your pathetic heart and leave you lying in a pool of human blood if you ever speak to me that way again.”

  Twice in less than twenty-four hours, Iyzebel watched a demon leave her room without a sound. “Well, shit,” she sighed.

  Not bothering to make herself presentable, she padded barefoot downstairs. Clad in jogging pants and a t-shirt with her hair twisted in a messy knot, Iyzebel raided the kitchen for a blueberry muffin and a glass of orange juice. Laughing to herself, she thought, Well, if you are going to piss off half the demon nation, might as well have a decent snack as you do.

  Stocked up on munchies, she made her way to Ashur’s office. Opening the door and entering without ceremony. She gave Ash a look before plopping down on one end of the red leather couch and stuffing a bite of muffin in her mouth. When he narrowed his eyes at her in a disgusted look, Izzy smiled.

  Around the huge mouthful of food, she snarked, “What? Seducing humans, eating souls, and entertaining the demon lord can work up an appetite.”

  Choosing to igno
re her completely, Ashur turned to his generals. “The final stages of the plan have been set. The culling is coming, if we can trust Iyzebel to do what she does best. Once Rafael has been conquered, then we will begin.” On a large map, he drew red circles, “New York, Sao Paulo, Istanbul, Lagos, Tokyo, Sydney, Jakarta will be our ground zeros. That covers all six major continents and the world’s largest cities. Our generals, legions, and lieutenants will ensure that the culling is carried out all over the world.”

  Their goal was to cut the population quickly and in mass quantities, the grandest soul reaping ever—one even greater than what Abaddon had accomplished in Germany or Lucifer had done with the crusades.

  Focalor and Flurety leaned together, whispering. The sound of their voices reminded Izzy of dried leaves rustling on an empty sidewalk in the fall breeze. Something fragile and scratchy laced their words.

  At last, Focalor raised his ancient head, “And what of this boy, Ashur? What is it that has you convinced that he is the angel?”

  The large swallow of orange juice caught in Iyzebel throat, and she sputtered, “He’s the what?”

  Ashur winced.

  Galia’s voice boomed, “You mean you didn’t tell her? Of all the stupid and absurd things you have done, Ashur, this is the worst. You pitted a fledgling made-demon up against a man you believe to be the reincarnation of an Archangel, and you didn’t even warn her!”

  Sydonay shot a smug look at Izzy for a moment before she spun her chair in a slow and rather seductive manner. “I’m sure our fearless leader has a very good reason for attempting to sacrifice his little black hearted lamb to the sharp edge of Damocles.”

  At the mention of the sword Raphael had used to slay many of their brethren, chaos broke out. Each member of his inner circle turned accusing eyes to Ashur, the unspoken words hung in the air between them, begging to be said.

  “You arrogant, asshole!” Iyzebel screamed. “How dare you? You said…you didn’t say…oh!” she growled in frustration. Turning her anger on the others, she bellowed, “In fact, screw all of you! I’m here. I’m in this damn room. You can’t just talk about me as if I am not. Fledgling? Lamb? Fifteen years! For fifteen fucking years, I have been a slave to this beast. I rotted in that human shit hole for most of my human life. I have seduced, murdered, taken soul after soul, and have done your bidding. I did it willingly, for in destroying one world, I felt that you opened up a new, better world. A world where evil is necessary, and that I could live beyond the blindness of the pathetic little humans. You who call yourselves the Voices of Hell, you are nothing more than a bunch of egotistical children at play.”

  “Iyzebel,” the warning in Ashur’s voice was clear.

  Whipping back around to face him, she allowed her demon side to surface. Talons fully extended, she pointed her finger in his face, “You knew all along. You betrayed me. I may be a slave to you, Ashur, but you will never have my trust or my loyalty again.”

  “Enough!” the roar echoed through the room, drawing all conversations to an end. “I am your master, do not question my choices!” The command was in the sound of his voice as much as his words, “This human, is just that. He is a human. He may be the descendant or the reincarnation of Rafael, but he does not possess the angel’s power, nor does he know of his bloodline. Without the sword, and without knowledge of what he is, he never proposed any danger.”

  Iyzebel plopped back down on the couch, throwing her long legs over the arm, sulking, “If I were never in danger, why didn’t you tell me?”

  “You didn’t need to know.” His eyes were full of hatred when he looked at her. “Your job is to seduce him, turn him to our side, and nothing more. You are no more than a foot soldier in this war, little girl. Perhaps it would be best if you remembered that from now on.”

  “A foot soldier? Don’t you mean a whore?” Izzy spat back at him. “I’ve had enough of this.” She stood to leave, head full of tangled hair held high, but she didn’t quite make it to the door.

  The first slice of pain hit her frontal lobe as if a surgeon’s knife had twisted there. Toppling to her knees, face in her hands, she screamed. The next hit deep within her eardrums, the feeling of hot needles driving into her skull and leaving her in a heap on the floor. The last assault came in rapid succession, and Izzy could barely hang on as it ripped through the base of her skull, shattering every thought she’d ever had.

  The pain subsided in ripples of lessening torment as she panted. No one moved to help her. Ashur’s actions were of a master with his possession, and in their eyes, he had done no wrong. Iyzebel felt her smallness in their presence, a reminder that she was no more than a kept pet, barely better than the soulless humans that they used for slaves. Through the tears and anger, her world became utterly clear.

  Ashur went on, as if the incident had not happened, as if she were not lying in the fetal position waiting for her body to follow her commands once more. “As I was saying, once the boy is ours, the culling shall begin. One hundred and seventy-six legions wait at the gates of Hell to be called forth in that single hour. No human, no matter their innocence or sin, shall be spared.”

  Galia asked, “And what of the Archangels, do you not expect them to know that we have thousands of demons in ready for such a thing. Surely, you don’t think that you can just open the floodgates without them knowing.”

  “I do, actually. The legions have been ready for quite some time. Housed beneath the radar in new sections of Hell, they pose undercover as damned souls. Their corporeal bodies are hidden in the darkest caverns in the deepest realms, waiting to be called forth. ”

  Without consulting his twin, which was rare, Flurety demanded, “Just how do you plan on opening the gates? No demon, or slave to a demon, has the power. One or two humans might be willing, but it takes one hundred souls to open each portal. Where will you get the willing seven hundred?”

  Izzy could hear the smile in Ashur’s voice and could imagine him preening like a peacock as he answered.

  “The humans have their own outcasts and unwanted. The mafia families have once again joined our side to serve the higher purpose. For decades they have remained hidden, biding their time until they could return to power. Our own little Iyzebel has been cultivating the relationship through a human contact and a demon refugee. In return for some vague promises of wealth and position, they have become our flock.”

  The discussion began in earnest then, timing and strategy being argued and rehashed. In the meantime, Izzy dragged herself off the floor. Head pounding, she left the room without a word, sure that no one had noticed.

  I’ll do anything to see the culling come about, pay any price to watch the humans suffer for what they have done to me and so many others. I will play my part, but when I’m done, Ashur will be the next on my list of things I will annihilate. In the meantime, there’s work to do.

  ****

  Raf opened his eyes and immediately scrunched them closed again. Pounding drums echoed inside his brain as the residual glare of the sunlight gleaming through the windows made spots dance against his eyelids. Trying to swallow around the thickness of his tongue and the burning lump in the back of his throat, he considered going back to sleep. If it weren’t for the distinct smell of soured whiskey and vomit, he might have.

  He carefully stood, grimacing as he pried his bare flesh from the sticky leather couch. All of his attention focused on avoiding the drying puddle of sickness by his feet, he almost missed the new canvas. With a quick sidestep, he avoided careening into the fresh paint, his blurry eyes throbbing as he took in the details. Everything about it was grotesquely sensual, a blend of nightmare and desire.

  Her face, her body, but not her.

  The woman in the painting could have been Iyzebel’s doppelganger, an evil twin twisting in the flames of Hell. The dripping blood running down her curves held the light of the fires as they consumed her, and the deep lacerations were proof of the torture she’d endured. The instrument of her undoing stood to t
he side in the painting, wings like ivory extended from his dark shoulders, holding a sword that glowed with power and oozed with gore.

  Stumbling backward, Raf fell to his knees with tears streaming down his face. Not me. Not me. I couldn’t have painted such a thing. His mind screamed his denials, fear of insanity ripping through his psyche as if it were a tornado of barbed wire. The dream in which he had gutted her at the edge of the woods floated in his mind, wrapped in the hazy gauze of too much liquor.

  I don’t want to hurt her. I don’t want to. I swear.

  Covering his face with his hands and shutting his eyes tight did nothing to remove the image from his mind. The mutilation of Izzy’s lily white flesh had been seared and branded into his mind forever. The portrayal of himself as the angel was even worse. He’d taken psychology in college, he could only guess what such a thing could mean, and then there was Shelia.

  I never meant to hurt her either. Never meant to shove her up against the wall. In that moment, I might have done more. I wanted to. Every ounce of my being had wanted to crush her. To me, she had become evil.

  His thoughts swirled around the night when his ex had came home drunk, slinging curses and hurtful words at him. She’d been angry because he’d refused to go out with her, he had been used to that, she was always pissed at him for being a recluse. When the flat of her hand had cracked across his cheek, and she’d said she should have gone home with the guitarist from the party, he’d almost hurt her. Had hurt her, but not nearly as bad as he had wanted to.

  Sheila. Iyzebel. Time and space melted with the tears that continued to trickle down his unshaven cheeks. I am a monster.

  Chapter S ix

  “Can’t you drive any faster?” Izzy hissed. “I’m already late, you moron.”

  “Iyzebel, we will arrive shortly.” Ogwald glared at her in the review mirror, the demon within him apparent in his eyes and irritation making his voice tight.