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  Not that humans weren’t also weird and dangerous, but as a supernatural being she had little to worry about from weakling mortals.

  A few dozen yards ahead, an orange glow emanated from an opening in the mountain, and as they got closer, the air went from humid and hot to humid and searing. At the end of the passage, around a corner framed by fang-shaped pillars as tall as a skyscraper, she stopped dead, her jaw falling open.

  A massive chamber had been built as a hive-like structure, with holes carved into the sheer walls where bizarre, insect-like demons skittered between them. What she assumed were hollowed-out tunnels crisscrossed the space overhead, running like connective tissue from wall to wall.

  “The great and horrible Frank is there.” Othog gestured to a dude who could have been her escort’s twin, except that Frank was taller. And bigger. And his horns were caked with blood and bits of dried flesh.

  Charming. She really did not like demons.

  Squaring her shoulders, she strode across the hard-packed floor, kicking aside old bones and skulls that littered the area. Frank stood near a bubbling vat the size of a wine barrel, his hands moving through the sickly greenish-brown vapor that rose from the boiling liquid.

  “Excuse me, sir,” she said politely. Demons like him expected arrogant displays of alpha bullshit, so she always looked for ways to throw them off or make them underestimate her. “I’m here to see you.”

  He turned to her, his lips stretching into a grotesque grin. “An emim,” he said, his enormous tusks making his words sound like drunken slurs. “I haven’t seen one of your kind in centuries.”

  How he knew she was an emim, the offspring of two fallen angels, she had no idea. Didn’t really matter, she supposed. “Yes, I’m quite special,” she said dryly. “Now, if we could just get down to business.”

  “You have something to offer me.”

  “Souls,” she said. “I have four...no, five...souls to sell. One is at least a Tier Four on the Ufelskala and worth more than the other four combined––”

  He hissed. “Shut up, soul scavenger.” His beady eyes shifted to the nearest demon besides Othog, a wrinkly, fat creature with what looked like metal spikes sticking out of its leathery face. Frank lowered his voice. “Do not speak of such things.”

  “First of all,” she said, keeping her voice low, but she couldn’t hide her irritation at having been called a soul scavenger. “The politically correct term for what I am is daemani. Second, I have souls to unload, and no one is buying anymore. I’m willing to give them to you at a fifty percent discount. Half a million each for the four weakest. Three million for all of them. That’s a hell of a deal, if you’ll excuse the pun.” The dude didn’t crack a smile at all. Tough crowd. “I was told you might need them.”

  “Oh, I need them.” His snout-like nose wrinkled. “But not enough to risk my own soul.”

  Argh! This was so frustrating. Not just frustrating, but terrifying. The demons inside her fought constantly, were in a never-ending battle to see who could try to possess her. Fortunately, none of the souls were very strong or evil...except the one that had attacked her a few minutes ago.

  That one needed to go, and fast. “What is going on? Why is everyone suddenly so afraid to deal in souls?”

  The demon reached into the bubbling brew and plucked out what looked like a finger. Demons were so disgusting. And he’d had the nerve to insult her. For the millionth time, she thanked her parents for raising her in the human realm.

  “Because those who buy and sell souls are being slaughtered,” he said as he popped the finger into his mouth.

  Well, that explained why half of the people who usually bought from her were missing and the other half refused to see her. “By who?”

  “Unclear.” A piece of...gah...a fingernail...hung out of the corner of his mouth. “There are rumors that Satan wants all souls for himself, but that doesn’t make sense, not when he’s never taken issue with the soul market before.”

  Othog, cleared his throat. “Some say Satan was destroyed by Archangels who are now ruling Sheoul.”

  “Bullshit,” Frank said. The piece of finger was still there, jiggling as his scaly lips moved. “Angels couldn’t mount that kind of attack on Satan. Not inside Sheoul, and not without us hearing about it.”

  “Then what’s your theory?” she asked. There had been rumors floating around for months about a possible new ruler in Sheoul, but she hadn’t believed any of them. After all, who could overthrow Satan?

  Frank’s forked tongue snaked out to catch the little bit of fingernail, and she swallowed bile, trying desperately not to gag. “I’ve heard whispers that someone named Revenant is sitting on the throne. I know nothing about him, but if my sources are correct, he’s a traitor who betrayed Satan.”

  No demon was powerful enough to wrest control from Satan. Which meant this Revenant person could only be one thing. “Is he a fallen angel?”

  Frank picked his teeth with one long claw. “Some say he’s a Shadow Angel.”

  She whistled under her breath. A Shadow Angel, according to legend, was the most powerful class of fallen angel in existence. Only Satan, and maybe Lucifer, were more powerful. Although she’d heard that Lucifer had been destroyed by one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.

  Which was ludicrous. The Four Horsemen were myths, and Lucifer probably was as well. Heck, the only reason she believed in Satan was that her parents were once angels, and if they said he existed, then he probably did.

  “Look, I guess it really doesn’t matter what he is or if he even exists. I need to sell these souls.” Actually, she just needed to release them. The problem was that they couldn’t be released without another, equally powerful soul magnet around, otherwise they just got sucked back into her. “Give me a name. Any name.”

  “There is only one.” Frank bared his never-seen-a-toothbrush teeth, and his voice went low and ominous. “And his name…is Azagoth.”

  She had a feeling she was supposed to be surprised or in awe or something. “Who the hell is Azagoth?”

  Frank gestured to his crony without answering her question. “He will take you to the entrance to Azagoth’s realm.”

  Realm? The guy had his own realm? “Wait.” She shrugged away from Othog. “I want to know who this guy is.”

  “He is someone I would not want to face.”

  Great. If the most powerful necromancer in the Ghul region of Sheoul didn’t want to face this Azagoth person, she didn’t want to, either. But she was desperate, both for money and to rid herself of her newest passenger on the soul train, so she allowed Othog to escort her to a Harrowgate that took them to a circle of stones deep in the Russian wilderness.

  “A drop of blood in the center should grant you access.” Othog disappeared into the forest, practically melting into the foliage, before she could ask any questions.

  Okay, well, she had to get this done. She jabbed the tip of her finger with one of her blades and stepped close to the circle. But just as she was about to cross the stone line, the hair on the back of her neck stood up, and even before she heard a voice, she knew she wasn’t alone.

  “Emim. Let me kill her.”

  In a single, smooth motion, she drew twin blades from the sheathes at her hip and spun around to face the newcomers. Two big dudes in black hooded robes stood there, their ageless, remarkably handsome faces telling her little except that they probably got a lot of ass.

  They had swords at their backs, but something told her these two were more than lethal without the blades. She was an expert fighter, but the power she sensed coming from the hooded dudes left her in the dust.

  Under her skin, the demon souls writhed, agitated by the presence of the newcomers.

  “Who are you?”

  The rude assholes didn’t answer, but when their magnificent feathered wings flared, she knew. Angels. So. Much. Shit.

  The angel on the left, the one who had spoken, lunged at her, but she was ready. She dropped and rolled,
kicking out her foot to catch him in the knee.

  “Leave her!” Right Angel’s voice rang out, and a split second later, heat exploded near her head and she was thrown to the dirt. For a moment, she thought she was dead. But then she was yanked to her feet by a vicious hand around the back of her neck.

  “What the hell?” Left Angel peeled himself off the ground, his robes smoking, his eyes burning with anger as he glared at Right Angel from under the hood. “Why did you protect her?”

  “Because she’s carrying souls.” Right Angel squeezed her neck, stopping her from stomping on his foot. “If you kill her, they escape. We need to take her to Azagoth.”

  “Oh, bloody hell,” she snapped. “That’s what I was trying to do when you bastards attacked me for no fucking reason.”

  “Why are you going to see him?” Right Angel shoved her into the center of the stone circle, his hand still clamped around her neck. “Did he summon you?”

  “Did he summon me? Why would he summon me? I don’t even know who this Azagoth idiot is.”

  Left Angel gaped at her like she was a complete moron. “He’s the Keeper of Souls, you vile demon dimwit. You’re going to see the Grim Reaper.”

  Chapter Two

  Being the Grim Reaper’s second-in-command wasn’t the worst job in the world, but as Zhubaal listened to the bloodcurdling screams coming from the room at the end of the shadowy hallway, he was reminded that it wasn’t the best job in the world, either.

  However, it was a necessary one if he ever hoped to find his beloved Laura, whose soul had once been trapped here in Sheoul-gra, the Alcatraz of demon, fallen angel, and evil human souls. She’d been here for decades until, thirty years ago, she was paroled––reborn––her soul ensconced in a new body. Zhubaal had been searching for her new identity ever since, but so far he hadn’t had any luck tracking her down.

  He would, though. The oaths that bound them to each other were unbreakable. Pure. And he was tenacious as shit.

  He would find her.

  “Damn.” Razr, a fallen angel who Azagoth had recently appointed to act as Zhubaal’s own second-in-command, came up next to Z and stared at their boss’s office door. “Who’s in there with him?”

  Z cast a sideways glance at the guy who, as usual, wore plain brown monk-like robes and flip-flops. Why he dressed like that, Zhubaal had no idea. Razr refused to talk about it no matter how drunk Z got him. “Some Orphmage who has incredibly bad judgment and thought he could blackmail the Grim Reaper.”

  “Shit.” Razr rubbed his tattooed, bald head. “You’re gonna make me clean up the mess, aren’t you?”

  Grinning, Zhubaal clapped him on the back. “Quit whining. This should be the last one today––” He broke off as a sharp, tingly sensation washed over him in a wave that was almost...sexual.

  Not that he knew what a sexual wave felt like. Not really.

  Sure, he experienced desire like every normal fallen angel, but lonely orgasms weren’t exactly anything to get excited about.

  And this particular wave definitely didn’t mean an orgasm was impending. It meant that someone had activated the portal connecting Sheoul-gra to one of several portals in the earthly realm.

  A visitor was inbound, and the intense residual electric current pulsing through his veins meant the newcomer wasn’t your average lowlife demon begging for an audience with the person in charge of reincarnating souls. Which also meant whoever was about to show up was probably an egomaniacal douchebag.

  Razr felt it too, and he barked out a laugh. “Bet you wish you were the one getting to clean Orphmage bits off Azagoth’s walls now, huh?”

  No, but only barely. He wasn’t in the mood to deal with some arrogant demon or holy-rolling angel who reminded him of who he used to be. Not when he’d just learned his latest lead on Laura’s reincarnated identity had fallen through.

  Shooting Razr the finger, Zhubaal exited the building and took the stone steps down to the courtyard two at a time. The fountain in the center sprayed a fine mist over his bare arms as he hurried past it to the portal platform that sat like a miniature helicopter landing pad twenty yards away.

  A column of white light struck from out of the featureless gray sky above, and when it cleared, two angels he recognized stood inside the stone circle on the portal pad. He had no idea who the weapons-heavy female with the short black hair with them was, but she was as pissed as a wet cat being held by its scruff.

  The angel, who Z knew only by the code name Jim Bob, had his hand wrapped around the back of her neck, forcing her to walk on the tiptoes of her thigh-high boots as they stepped off the platform. Every time she reached for one of the weapons stashed around her body in various holsters, he swatted her hand away as if she were no more bothersome than a gnat.

  Jim Bob shoved her forward. “We found this...creature...attempting to break through the portal.”

  The female’s violet eyes burned with fury. She was pretty, in a dangerous sort of way, which only made her prettier. Oh, she wasn’t Zhubaal’s type; he’d always gone for females with less makeup, fewer weapons, and more clothes. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t appreciate a smoking hot female who looked like she could chew him up and swallow too.

  As if you know what that would be like.

  “I wasn’t trying to break through.” She lashed out with her foot and kicked Jim Bob in the shin, but he didn’t even flinch. Then again, he was twice her size and built like a tank. “I was trying to activate the portal. You know, like a normal person. You feathered morons interrupted.”

  Jim Bob yanked her off her feet and held her at arm’s length, like one might do with a sewer rat. “She’s emim.” He sneered, baring his teeth. “I can practically smell the wrongness of her.”

  “Gee, asshole,” she growled, still doing her best to kick him, “why don’t you tell us how you really feel about my kind.”

  The other angel, a raven-haired pretty-boy code named Ricky Bobby, snorted. “Your kind should be destroyed. Fallen angels are traitorous scum who weren’t meant to breed. They and their emim offspring deserve to be slaughtered.”

  What a tool. If Zhubaal were anywhere but here, he’d lob a ball of acid fire at Ricky Bobby’s haloed head. “You know I’m a fallen angel, right?” He gestured to himself. “I mean, I’m standing right here.”

  Jim Bob and Ricky Bobby stared, completely unmoved. Holier-than-thou pricks. Literally holier, since they were actual Heavenly angels and Z was one of those traitorous scum who wasn’t meant to breed.

  He sighed, tired of dealing with two angels who couldn’t be too angelic if they were associating with the Grim Reaper. “Release the female. I’ll take it from here. Razr is inside. He’ll show you to Azagoth’s office.” He reconsidered that, thinking that Azagoth’s office wouldn’t be presentable for a while. “Or the library.”

  Jim Bob opened his fist and dropped the female to the ground. “I can find Azagoth on my own.”

  “You know the rules, Jim Bob,” Z said as the female leaped to her feet and glared at the two angels. “Outsider dickbags can’t roam around without an escort.”

  Jim Bob’s eyes flashed pure white, twin bolts of divine lightning, and Zhubaal wondered if the guy was actually capable of bypassing Azagoth’s power-dampening spell and delivering a damaging strike. He didn’t know Jim Bob’s true identity or what kind of angel he was, but one thing was certain; the angel was powerful. Even here in Sheoul-gra, where everyone but Azagoth was limited in the use of their inherent supernatural abilities, Jim Bob exuded danger. And arrogance.

  He was definitely high up on the angelic food chain.

  The asshole.

  “Don’t even think about it, angel.” Zhubaal’s fallen angel wings erupted from his back as he summoned one of the few powers Azagoth allowed, a dark shield of evil energy capable of temporarily disrupting any Heavenly energy that struck it. “I have more power here than you do.”

  A slow smile spread across Jim Bob’s face. “Do you really think so?�
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  “Want to test me?”

  For a long moment, Z was sure the guy was going to attack. But even as the air between them crackled, Jim Bob’s eyes went back to normal. “One day. But today I don’t have time to kick your ass. I will see Azagoth now.”

  With that, he strode toward the building, extending his massive white wings in a dismissive fuck-you gesture. The chickenshit. Ricky Bobby went with him, giving off his own powerful vibe and a rude flap of dove gray wings. He’d only been here with Jim Bob twice, and he hadn’t spoken a word until today. Zhubaal hoped he’d go back to dickish silence for future visits.

  “Those guys are major assholes,” the female muttered.

  Zhubaal tucked away his leathery wings, still hating how naked they felt without Heavenly feathers even after all these years. He’d eventually sprout feathers, assuming he survived a few centuries, but they’d likely be ugly, malformed, twisted by evil.

  “Angels generally are.” Zhubaal turned to her, amused to find her glaring at the angels’ backs while fingering the hilt of a blade at her leather-clad hip as if fantasizing about plunging it into their skulls. He’d like to see that. She’d die, of course, but hey, at least Z had Razr around to clean up the mess.

  Still, it would be a shame to see her slaughtered. Not many emim made their way down here to seek an audience with Azagoth, especially not ones who looked like she did.

  He let his gaze drop from her rounded hips to her slender thighs, where her ripped black leggings disappeared into purple-laced midnight boots with stiletto heels. How the hell did she fight in those things?

  He dragged his gaze back up, admiring her flat, bare midriff and the leather top that was little more than a bra covering ample breasts. Barely covering ample breasts. Her short black hair, dyed purple at the spiky tips, teased the shell of her ears, and damn it all, his mouth watered with the desire to take the lobes between his teeth and make her purr.