Binding Fire: Paranormal Romance (Bad Boys of the Underworld Book 3) (4 page)

It took a long while, but Muriel eventually fell asleep, which left Kier with very little to do besides watch her. Demons didn’t need sleep like mortals did. A few power naps a week gave him all the energy he needed.

Besides, what else would he rather be doing than watching his fallen angel? And she
was
his, no matter what she thought.

She had haunted his mind for the past five years. He’d tried a thousand ways to rid himself of her constant presence, but he had failed miserably. Five years of resisting temptation, all thrown away for nothing more than the possibility of seeing her working for a few moments. A momentary lapse in his resolve gave her just the chance she needed to catch him. Bind him.

He only planned to sneak a peek, throwing out a few cutting words and leaving her alone. Now that he had been with her, spent time with her, he was determined to keep her.

He didn’t believe the shit about his soul being corrupted by her proximity. She wasn’t a full angel anymore, and he had already darkened her soul. How much damage could a fallen angel’s corrupted soul cause?

Besides, it couldn’t be bad if it felt so good to him. He laughed inwardly at the logic. How many times had he said the same reassurances to the humans whose souls he fed from?

Didn’t matter, he told himself.
She’s mine
.

And no matter how much she tried to fight it, Kier knew she wanted him. He had felt her desire reverberate through his body numerous times. Even if he wasn’t mystically connected to her emotions, he would have known.

She looked at him with obvious feminine appreciation. He saw her pupils dilate while her nipples would harden. Not even her modest bras could hide her reaction to him. His cock had been hard since the moment he walked into that restaurant, and he knew he would have himself buried deep between her thighs sooner rather than later.

She shifted in her sleep and her breasts moved closer to him. He cursed the bra she wore. He never met a woman who wore a bra to bed. He knew she was only wearing one because of him. She wanted as many layers between the two of them as possible. He made her uncomfortable.

He smiled wickedly at the thought. No amount of layers would protect her from him. He reached out his free hand and softly brushed the soft swell of a breast. Muriel moaned in her sleep and moved toward the touch as he growled his approval. Feeling bolder, he lifted the weight of her breast and molded it to his hand. Muriel thrashed on the bed and Kier knew she wanted more. Her unconscious mind knew it
needed
but didn’t realize what it was craving.

Her latest movement pushed her breasts against his chest. She had fantastic breasts. Big enough to more than fill his large hands. He wanted to see them but couldn’t risk her waking. He would just have to imagine the rosy, flushed colors of her nipples as they hardened under his touch and begged for his mouth.

He remembered bending her over the sink. They had been pushed right into his face, and the dark look on Muriel’s face told him that she was imagining all sorts of naughty things. He had similar images in his own mind. He had seen himself paying each breast special attention. Tongue teasing one pink tip while his hand kept the other satisfied.

Kier’s cock surged in arousal. He shifted a bit, moving his bound hand closer to him and in the process, slightly adjusting her wrist. He was motionless for a few long seconds, waiting to see whether she had awoken. Her steady breaths signaled that she still slept soundly.

His bound hand went back to caressing and massaging her breast while the other moved to his cock. He wrapped his hand around the base that was now hard as steel. He imagined her hand touched him. She was inexperienced with the ways of men. He could tell she had remained chaste by her frequent blushes and modest underwear. She had been around long enough to know the ins and outs of sex. She had probably even fucked an angel or two in her long life, but the sterile mating of angels was nothing compared to the passion that mortals and demons experienced during sex.

He would teach her how great it could be. He would have her begging for more.

He imagined her begging for his cock to fill her. Her kneeling in front of him, taking his cock in her mouth while her hands gripped the base. She would eagerly take him as far in her throat as she could while he would wrap his hands in her hair and show her how he wanted her.

His hand moved faster, up and down his length, as he imagined that it was her tongue. He would come in her mouth, and she would swallow every drop. It wouldn’t be enough for her. She would want more. She would want him on top of her. Inside her. He would throw her on the bed and fall on top of her, already hard. In a second, he would plunge between her thighs, sliding deep and long inside her.

She would be a little animal under him, screaming and clawing, but only because she loved it so much. Then he would fuck her as if their lives depended on it. She would orgasm around his cock, screaming for him. Her tight pussy walls would grip his length, holding him tightly to her while her nails would leave tracks down his back.

The images of her, head thrown back, breasts up, while screaming for him and squeezing his cock was too much. His breath came in quick pants as his seed released, covering his hand and pants.

He lay still for a moment, trying to catch his breath. He looked over to her still sleeping form and realized that his bound hand was clutching tightly at her breast. Muriel groaned in her sleep and pushed herself deeper into his touch. Careful not to wake her, he removed his hand from her and wiped his other hand on his pants. He smiled to himself while thinking about the possible reactions if she woke up to find him in this state. He would spare her the embarrassment. With a quick thought, he was covered with a new and clean pair of sweatpants.

She would never need to know his dirty thoughts toward her while she slept. He might tell her anyway. For fun.

Azazel looked down upon the trembling prophet. A pathetic example of one.

In their heyday, prophets were as close to God as humanity got. They were exalted and cherished. Now they lived in secret and in fear. Instead of exalting in their power, they hid away from the world. Trying to be
normal
.

Tears streamed down the prophet’s pale and ashen skin while silent sobs shook his body. Azazel looked at the two guards he brought with him, signaling that they could relax. This man would be no trouble.

The guards let go of the prophet’s arms and he slumped limply to his knees.

Azazel knelt next to him and planted a concerned look on his face. “Shhh now. It’s all over.”

The man bent over his folded legs and continued to sob.

Azazel curled his lip in disgust.
Really, what male ever allowed himself to get in this state?

“Why—why did you have to kill her?” he stuttered out between sobs.

Trying to regain the man’s focus, Azazel moved so his body would block the sight of the dead woman lying in the corner of the room.

“Jackson, focus. Your wife didn’t care about you. She sold you out, remember? She tried to get you locked away.” Not completely true, but she had called her psychiatrist to ask advice for a hallucination-suffering husband.

It was just good luck that a demon had been sucking the soul out of the doctor’s next patient on the other side of the door. Well, good luck for Azazel. Not so much for the prophet and his dearly departed wife.

“Samantha!” he cried with glazed-over eyes.

Azazel gripped the bottom of Jackson’s jaw. Long and claw-tipped nails bit sharply into the skin, and he turned the prophet’s face to look him straight in the eyes. Jackson’s eyes widened in fear, truly seeing Azazel for the first time.

From far away, his short stature kept him from appearing too intimidating, but up close there was no denying his power. His chest and shoulders rippled with muscles that rivaled Arnold’s during the height of his bodybuilding career.

He had a broad forehead with a wide and flat nose, making him look closer to Neanderthal than homo sapiens. When he spoke again, he revealed long white fangs that caused Jackson to shudder in revulsion.

“You are afraid. I understand. You should be afraid of me. All you have to do is tell me what you saw in your vision last week. It was me in the vision?”

Jackson nodded a shuddering head. Azazel rolled his eyes. If he’d known that the woman’s death would put his prophet in such a state, he would have waited to kill her.

She hadn’t given him much of a choice. Her incessant screaming and crying when Azazel and his two young demon guards transported into her living room had been enough to wake even the soundest sleepers within ten miles. He had even asked her to be quiet before he snapped her neck. He hadn’t asked nicely, but the king of Hell could only be expected to show so much patience.

A sound drew Azazel’s attention. Someone else in the house was crying. An infant.

Azazel smiled at his changing luck. Finally he had some leverage again.

He dropped the nice guy act. His gentle smile slowly turned to one that dripped malice. “You see my guards over there? If you don’t start talking, they are going to make sure your brat never makes a noise ever again.”

“Please let me go,” he begged.

Azazel grabbed the prophet’s wrist and squeezed until the bones beneath his fingers turned to mush under the power of his grasp. Samantha’s screams paled in comparison to the cries of agony that emanated from her husband.

“Did I give the impression that I’m patient? I assure you that this is the last time I’m asking. What did you see?”

Azazel released his grip and Jackson cradled the now useless hand to his chest. Strangely enough, the intense pain seemed to finally get him to stop crying like a child. “I saw a woman. She walked through an alien-looking forest. The skies were dark purple and there was lots of wind and debris blowing around her. She was running. Trying to evade someone, but she doesn’t look scared. She looks pissed off. She finds a large and ornate building and walks in and sees you surrounded by people. The vision goes black for a second and then I see you dead at her feet.”

Azazel analyzed the words, committing them to memory. “How dead am I?”

“Your heart is in her hand.” Hatred shot from Jackson’s eyes.

“That might be what you saw, but prophets get more than just visions. What did you feel?” There had to be some sort of useful information hidden in the prophecy.

The child’s cries filled the room again. The noise must have reminded Jackson of all he still had to lose because he started to talk again. “The girl wasn’t normal. She was special. I can’t put my finger on how I know this, but I know she used to be an angel.”

“A fallen angel is going to walk into Hell and kill me?” Azazel couldn’t hide the shock from his voice. Fallen angels just didn’t enter Hell. They couldn’t.

“She’s more than that. In my vision, she was brokenhearted, and that pain was what gave her the power to kill you.”

Azazel considered the prophet before him. He had volunteered the last bit of information without any prodding from him. Maybe he could be trained after all. Prophets were scarce and all he needed was one. Every prophet saw the same visions at the same time. Azazel had heard rumors of his forthcoming demise and demanded that a prophet be found as soon as possible.

He used to have one of his own, but the visions were so few and far between that it was exhausting to keep the prophets alive and contained. His last one died of starvation when Azazel forgot to send someone to feed him.

They might have the gift of sight, but they were just as fragile as any human.

“Is there anything else you can remember seeing?”

“That’s all. I promise!” The sobs had stopped by now, and the prophet answered all Azazel’s questions with resignation.

Azazel turned to his guards. “Have you located Lilith yet?” As the words came out, a pounding started on the outside door. “Bring her in.”

Within moments, a small and unassuming brunette walked in. She wore oversized glasses with messy shoulder-length hair obscuring her features. Azazel grimaced at the sight. “This is your body?”

“I take what I can get,” said the demoness. Azazel liked her better in tall blondes. Anyone who more closely resembled the demon she used to be before Lucifer cast her out. Now she had to possess mortals to stay alive, and the mortals never lived too long.

“What did you call me here for?”

He frowned at her tone. She used to jump for joy at the sight of him, but now she talked in short, clipped sentences. “Are you not happy to see me?”

Lilith eyed Samantha. “It looks like you were having plenty of fun without me.”

Azazel shook his head in denial. “There’s a baby for you in the back room. I saved him for you.”

Lilith arched one untrimmed eyebrow and he knew he had her hooked. “The prophet over there is the father. I need to know if he was lying about his vision.”

The prospect of asking for help grated Azazel. The damned souls churning away in Hell gave him almost limitless power, but he couldn’t force the truth from a prophet.

Luckily for him, out-of-body demons were perfect for digging around in a prophet’s mind. “I had to interrogate him since you weren’t here. I need to verify his story.”

She said nothing, but Azazel saw her look of annoyance. She was unable to transport anywhere in a human host.

“The girl is going to run,” said Lilith just before she threw her head back. The host gasped in a deep breath and started to cough profusely. Jackson jerked to the side as though he was hit with an invisible baseball bat.

Just as Lilith warned, the human host bolted for the door the second she regained her faculties. Azazel transported to just behind her, wrapped his muscled arm around her neck and squeezed until the human turned a unique shade of purple.

He wouldn’t kill her, but he really wasn’t in the mood to deal with more screaming.

Jackson thrashed on the ground as Lilith made her way through the dark corners of his mind. His status as a prophet protected him from possession, but Lilith could dig around while his mind was in the process of evicting her.

The timing for this couldn’t have been worse, but Azazel wasn’t surprised. His plan to destroy the barrier between Hell and Earth was not popular among the demons who liked the idea of easy prey who didn’t know that their souls were food.

Azazel didn’t care. It had been centuries since he killed Lucifer and took over Hell. It was time to expand.

Demons and angels alike would whisper about the demon king. Sure, he had the souls of Hell powering him, but they didn’t see him as their king. They couldn’t see a demon ever being as powerful as the archangel who created the Hell realm and everything inside it.

This would be his chance to prove that he was as powerful as the ring on his finger implied.

The merging had already started. It was an exhausting process, but within a few months, there would be a permanent hole between realms. Every day, Azazel would concentrate all his power on one spot, slowly degrading the barriers between Earth and Hell.

He couldn’t let a fallen angel slip by all of his barriers and keep him from this.

Jackson fell to the ground.

The human resumed her struggles in his arms, somehow knowing that Lilith was coming back for her. Curious, considering Lilith was invisible to the naked eye. Even Azazel couldn’t see her as she floated through the air.

The girl clenched her jaw, tightly shut her eyes and looked away from Lilith, but Azazel knew it was no use. If Lilith really wanted to get in, even the pores on the human skin were large enough to offer her access to the blood she needed to travel through to take over.

In a second, the girl relaxed in his arms. “Since when have you been into the librarian type?” Lilith rubbed her borrowed ass against his erection.

He abruptly removed his arms from her. “What did you see?”

She moved her lips to form a pout. He looked over her host again. At first glance, the woman appeared frumpy and mousey, but when he had her under his arm, her large breasts and tiny waist were obvious despite her loose clothes. Maybe Lilith had known what she was doing when she chose this body.

“He told you everything he knows. He’s so scared shitless of you that he is going to have to take laxatives for the next month.”

He nodded over to his guards. “Torch the house. We’re done here.”

Lilith’s mouth opened in shock. “What about my dinner?”

“I don’t want the angels to know we were here. Dead babies happen, but missing babies draw attention. This family is dead.” He transported back to his throne in Hell.

He sat on his seat decorated in demon bones and jewels. Lucifer’s severed finger, the one trophy Azazel kept to remind him of his victory, seemed to stare at him. Mocking his impending doom.

Azazel wished he had more to go on, but prophecy would have to be enough. There weren’t many fallen angels running around and even fewer female ones. Azazel was one of the first demons created by Lucifer. He was almost ten thousand years old, and in all that time he had never heard of a prophecy not coming true.

No matter what, he would see to it that this fallen angel died before she set foot in his kingdom.