Eternal Demon: Mark of the Vampire (18 page)

His muscles jerked as he shifted on the bench—or tried to. He growled, his lids slamming open, his eyes narrowing on his immobile limbs. He was free of the shackles, but his bindings, though invisible, were still in place. The Devil’s magic. He wondered in that moment if he’d ever really needed to be shackled to the stone wall in the false dungeon. Could Abbadon have contained him without it? Had it just been a charade or a simple act of mind fuckery, another punishment for taking Hellen? A game.

That male liked to play games. Blood sport, brain sport . . .

And if it was, did he know that Hellen had released his prisoner for a time? Or was his power diminished when he traveled aboveground?

Erion hoped so.

The crowd settled into their seats below him. For a moment he wondered why he was the only spectator in the balcony. Wouldn’t Abbadon want his grief, his rage, his desperation to be witnessed and consumed by all the members of Hell? That is, if they knew about him. He lowered his chin, stretched his neck, tried to see if anyone was looking up at him. No one. Every face was turned to the stage.

Was he blocked from their view? Was Abbadon concerned about their reaction to his presence? And if so, why? He was a stranger.

The lights in the theater vanished, taking his questions with them. Erion’s guts twisted and his rage flared. This was it. He was to sit here, watch Cruen take Hellen, and silently go mad. For if he moved, roared, or disrupted the event in any way, Erion knew Ladd would be killed.

Suddenly, firelight flashed through the arena. In under a second, a mere breath, hundreds of torches appeared around the stage, making the bed’s gold satin sheets and frame glow, and music, strange and haunting, filled the air.

Everything inside Erion, everything that he was made of, screamed to get free, to attack, to kill. He strained against the magical bands that held him.

His demon refused logic and humanity. It would get to hers.

Whatever the cost.

She belonged to him.

And then Erion saw her. His breath caught in his lungs and remained there while she walked gracefully onto the stage, flanked by her sisters. Her green gown was hideous, unflattering, and several sizes too big, but he knew what riches lay beneath it. His hands fisted, remembering how her skin felt beneath them. Warm, soft, wet,
HIS
.

He propelled himself forward, felt the bindings at his wrists and ankles give just a fraction, and growled with satisfaction. Was it possible? Could the demon within him conquer the Devil’s magic? And if it could, would he risk his son’s life?

His eyes tracked her, the gown unnoticeable to him now. All he saw was her beautiful face and her flaming red hair, which hung loose in ringlets. Her sisters guided her toward the pallet, then each gave her a kiss on the hand before walking away and leaving her to her fate.

Erion stared at her alone on the stage, willing her to look up, find him. But her eyes never left the formidable bed. Erion snarled as he guessed at her thoughts. It was real now. She would lie back on the gold satin and give herself—

Her head snapped up and he saw all the blood rush from her skin. She’d seen something. Something she feared.

Applause broke out in the theater, and Erion followed her gaze. Cruen appeared on the other side of the stage and as he walked toward Hellen, his lip curled in obvious disgust.

He doesn’t want her, Erion realized, his fangs descending.

The bastard found her repellant.

His beautiful, sensual, make-him-weep-with-desire-for-her demon girl.

Hellen watched Cruen advance, her eyes narrowing, and Erion knew she saw the look on his face. He strained again at his bindings, stretching them farther. Erion would see his adopted father die for this, see his blood run for making Hellen cringe with embarrassment.

“Pray hold your applause.” It was Abbadon, and Erion’s gaze cut to the male who drifted up the steps and onto the stage.

He stood at his tallest, his eyes hard as white crystal, his red skin glistening in the torchlight, making him appear almost reptilian.

A true snake.

“We have come together to witness the mating of vampire and demon. I seek to gain entry and permanent residence in the world above. The fruits of this union between my daughter and her mate will bring a long-denied right to me.” He lifted his arms. “For only the child born of both worlds can open the true portal and allow me an infinity to live and walk freely on either plane. It is only then that we as a community can unleash our power on the Earth.”

The theater exploded into a near-deafening thunder of applause. Grinning, Abbadon mouthed a few incantations, and rain began to fall. The torches surrounding the stage remained lit, and as the Demon King turned to Cruen and Hellen, who stood several feet apart, eyes on him, wary and nervous, he did not ask them anything.

“I give you my daughter,” he said to Cruen. “Everything she is, everything she has, belongs to you. Do as you will, treat her as you see fit, but remember”—his nostrils flared—“the child you conceive is mine.”

Erion hadn’t realized that he was on his feet, that he—the full demon—had broken through the magical bindings, and that he was gripping the balcony railing so hard, his beast’s nails had dug a good three inches into the wood.

All he had to do was jump, and he could grab her, take her, run with her.

All he had to do was jump, and Ladd would die.

“The first child of Hell will be conceived before us, but in the warm rain of our beginnings.” He nodded at Cruen, then slashed his hand in Hellen’s direction and cried out, “Begin the ritual!”

Erion’s mind ceased to work, his skin went rigid, and his muscles flexed against his bones. Before his eyes, the hideous green mating dress Hellen wore split down the center and dropped into an emerald pile of silk at her feet. And when the room erupted in applause at the near nakedness before them, Erion snapped the wood railing in two and roared.

G
entle rain pelted her naked skin, but Hellen hardly felt it. The triple dose of draft was working too well. Around her, the almost revolutionary crash of applause rent the air, and she stood stock still inside its intensity. For a moment, she believed it to be the only sound she heard—apart from the manic dialogue she had going in her mind regarding her unclothed state and the male beside her who seemed utterly revolted at the sight of her.

But she was wrong.

She heard the roar of a male who refused to be contained by her father’s oppressive magic and depraved theatrics.

Her gaze traversed the length of the theater in front of her, skipping over anyone who clapped and seemed delighted at her vulnerability. The roar came again, and she lifted her eyes to the balcony. Standing alone, hands wrapped around a broken railing, Erion looked gloriously vicious. His full demon was displayed: a diamond-eyed, lion-faced monster who flashed his fangs and appeared ready to jump.

The demon inside Hellen screamed for him to do it—come to her, steal her from the eyes of those who cared nothing for her fate. She’d never wanted anything or anyone more than she wanted him in that moment.

But it couldn’t be.

If she tried to stop this mating, Ladd’s life would be over. Erion’s too.

Unless . . .

She shook her head, warm rain splattering the sides of her face. She couldn’t go there. She’d sworn to her mother she would never go there. Her eyes implored him as she mouthed the words,
NO.
PLEASE
. Then, when her father called for silence and calm, she made a bold choice to move closer to Cruen. She tore her gaze from Erion. She knew he must be brimming with rage, and she didn’t want to see it.

“Let’s get this over with, demon,” Cruen uttered coarsely, turning to look at her. His gaze ran the length of her wet, naked body and returned to her eyes, unimpressed.

Hellen knew she had to spread her legs for this male, but she would never allow him to take her pride or what was left of her self-respect.

On stiff legs, she moved with him toward the bed. “Do you think you are the only one to hold your nose, bloodsucker?” she whispered, sneering at him. “If it is possible, I despise this even more than you.”

“Until you breed, we must both endure,” he said, removing his shirt and tossing it to the floor.

Hellen sat on the edge of the rain-dampened bed, her hands shaking both out of fear and a need to strangle something.

“Do not keep us waiting,” Abbadon instructed perversely. “She is demon. Her body runs on heat. She needs no preparation.”

In the back of her mind, Hellen heard the growl—
his
growl—and silently started praying.

Please, Erion. Don’t give in to your rage. Think of your son!

Cruen worked the zipper on his pants, a sour look on his face. “Lie back, demon mate,” he ordered quietly so the audience could not hear, “and pray do not look at me as I mount you. Your father would not go gently on a male who is unable to remain stiff—no matter what the reason.”

“You have no steel in your cock, and I have no cream in my sex,” she snarled, turning over on her belly. “Take me this way, so we both may remain oblivious.”

It was in that moment—that near death of her soul—that Hellen heard something so impossible, so unjust, she forgot about the male who hovered behind her, ready to take her, ruin her. It was her father, speaking in hushed tones to her sisters from the front row of the theater.

“You will be next, Levia,” he said softly, though the utter glee in his voice made the words carry. “Then Polly. Perhaps I will have your mating ceremonies together. That would thrill the crowd. I have never seen them so delightfully agitated. Your males have already been chosen. They are shape-shifters in the world above. I will not stop at a mere vampire/demon union. I will have my power and my influence long reaching.”

Hellen flipped to her back and jacked upright on the bed, the force of her movement slamming Cruen backward. He hit the ground hard, right on his ass.

“You stupid demon bitch,” Cruen screamed. “How dare you shove me away? I’m doing you a favor. No male in his right mind would fuck you.”

The crowd erupted in gasps and chatter over Cruen’s continued rant, but Hellen ignored him; he meant nothing to her now, not after what she’d just heard. Their union was no get-out-of-mating-free card. It was only the first of many. How could she have not known, not understood the depths of her father’s depravity? How could she have believed he would keep his word? Her gaze narrowed on her father, who sat glaring at her, Levia and Polly bracketing him. This wasn’t going to end with her. Even if she had a child, Abbadon had planned all along to use her sisters as broodmares as well. He’d just placated her along the way.

Anger roared inside her, the fierce love for her sisters that knew no bounds, not even murder. She walked to the edge of the stage and pointed at her father’s fearsome red face. “I heard everything you said. You will use them too.”

His eyes lit with surprise and his forked tongue darted out of his mouth before he hissed, “Return to your mating bed at once.”

“I gave up my life for nothing.” She shook with the cold knowledge. How long had she been in denial?

“Your life belongs to me,” Abbadon returned, sliding forward on the bench. “Just as your sisters’ lives belong to me.” His eyes locked with hers. They were so thickly white they seemed to be made of milk. “I may be renting you out to that nearly cockless vampire over there, but make no mistake, female: you will never be free of me.”

Behind Hellen, Cruen cursed, while before her, Levia and Polly stared at their father with horror-struck eyes. In the seats, the audience had fallen quiet. And deep in her bones she knew that somewhere above her in the balcony was a demon male who was listening and waiting for his chance to jump.

Perhaps because she was naked, completely exposed to all who looked upon her, Hellen knew she could no longer hide from the unveiled truth. Her assumptions and beliefs had been wrong. No one would benefit from her mating with Cruen—no one but Cruen himself and her lost soul of a father. Abbadon wouldn’t give her sisters a reprieve, and she was willing to wager he wouldn’t let Erion or his child leave the Underworld alive.

This male was no father. He was an unredeemable monster—she knew because she possessed that monster inside her, and it was calling out to be unleashed.

Abbadon stood; grew to his full, intimidating height; and lashed out at her with his brutal demands. “Get back on that bed and spread your legs, daughter. I will see this done! You have nothing but your womb to recommend you. Fail at this, and you are as good as dead to me.”

A sound unlike anything Hellen had ever heard before echoed throughout the room. A terrible, deadly sound that made the citizens of the Underworld cringe and cover their ears.

Hellen looked up just in time to see Erion leap from the balcony like a hungry cat from its perch. He looked large and dark and feral, his fangs flashing and his eyes glowing with rage. Screams and gasps followed his descent, and when he landed with a terrific thud on the aisle floor, the crowd broke to their feet and tried to flee the theater.

Erion was a true demon beast, a male gone mad. He snarled and bared his fangs as he charged toward her. Even her father was momentarily dumbstruck by his ferocity. Anything that crossed his path, he slammed or struck or hoisted out of his way. His eyes were locked on Hellen, and in a matter of moments, he would have her in his grasp.

But the moment never came.

With a spread of his arms and three quickly muttered incantations, Abbadon caused the entire theater and its contents to freeze.

Everyone, that is, but Hellen.

•   •   •

“Can I offer you a glass of blood, Alex?”

“A quick one, if you don’t mind,” he said, as Celestine retreated into the interior of her home inside the Impure
credenti
.

They’d been back for about fifteen minutes, and in that time Alex had received every one of Nicky’s messages. The
paven
was pissed. According to Nicholas, Alexander had been secretive, unreachable, and a straight-up asshole.
Maybe Luca had written that last one,
he thought, heading over to the porch railing. Either way, he felt like shit that he wasn’t at his brother’s side. Granted, Nicholas had Luca and the
mutore
s working with him, but he wasn’t having any luck getting to the
balas
—and Synjon wasn’t keen on being a team player.

Alex sighed. He needed to get there, make sure the instability in that
paven
wasn’t disrupting the mission. Soon as he downed the cup of blood, he’d flash to France. Whistler was working on finding the
veana
from his end, and he would most assuredly contact Alex if and when he found something promising.

His phone buzzed and he glanced down to check the readout, expecting another text from Nicholas. But the message wasn’t from Nicky. His gut tightened.

“Here you go,” Cellie called, opening the screen door and heading back out onto the porch. “I warmed it. I remember you like your blood . . .”

The expression on Alexander’s face stalled her. She placed the glass on the small table to her left, her hand trembling noticeably.

“What is it?” she asked.

He lifted his BlackBerry. “Whistler.”

“No,” she breathed. Her eyes went wide and manic and she stumbled forward, dropping the cup. She didn’t seem to notice. She shook her head. “It’s not possible. It’s too soon.”

Alex went to her immediately, gathered her in his arms as she’d done with him so many times before. “Oh, Cellie, I’m sorry.”

“My blood . . .” she uttered through her tears.

Alex pulled back on his own shock and worry and nodded. “Led them right to her.”

•   •   •

Like those around him, Erion had been rendered immobile, and it made him insane to have to watch and listen as the female he wanted to claim faced off with the male he wanted to kill.

“The boy will have to die now,” Abbadon said, his eyes locked on Hellen’s as he stood between his two motionless daughters. “And you will be to blame.”

“You insult me further with your lies, Abbadon.” With a heavy sigh, she turned and went over to the bed. She ripped the gold sheet from the top, wrapped it around herself, and returned to the lip of the stage.

A strange shudder went through Erion as he looked at her. It was back—that demon he’d held captive in his dungeon, the hard, unyielding, calculated ball of fire whom Erion had wanted to keep tied up yet desperately wanted to taste.

She regarded the male who had sired her with barely disguised contempt. “The child was dead the moment he stepped foot in the Underworld, wasn’t he? Along with Erion.”

The devil’s mouth twitched.

She stared him down without a flicker of fear. “I won’t allow it.”

“You won’t allow what, exactly?”

“You to hurt either the boy or my demon male.”

Heat flared in the Devil’s snow-white eyes. “He is yours, is he?”

Erion felt his fangs descend.

Fucking right I am.

He waited for Hellen to look his way, a quick flicker of a gaze, but she didn’t even blink as she nodded at her father.

“In fact,” she continued, taking a few steps to her right before halting again. “You won’t hurt anyone I care about ever again.”

Abbadon laughed. “And who is going to stop me?”

Her voice was so quietly deadly, even Erion’s insides flinched. “I am.”

Before Erion’s eyes and the eyes of everyone who had their heads turned toward the stage in that moment of being frozen, Hellen began to change. Erion had seen her demon before many times, but this was something altogether different. As she grew taller, her skin turned a deep shade of green and her eyes flashed emerald hellfire. But it was the crackle of power that encircled her like lightning that truly stunned him.

This was Hellen of Hell.

This was her father in her.

This was the female Erion had fallen in love with.

“What you fail to understand, Daddy,” she said, her voice booming throughout the theater, “is that I agreed to mate this piece of shit behind me not because I was forced to by your highly overrated supremacy, but because I promised my mother I would make sure Levia and Polly were never hurt or controlled or forced to mate, breed, or otherwise by you.” She took a breath, shook her head sadly. “I believed you would stop at the first child of Hell. But you got greedy.”

“I’ve had quite enough of this,” Abbadon said with a shaky sneer. He’d clearly not expected this, this incredible power within his daughter, but he was not about to give in to it. “Levia will continue in your place. As soon as you are removed from this stage and cast out of the Underworld, she will mate Cruen. She will give me my heir.”

He glanced past Hellen and eyed the male behind her, who was still frozen on his ass. “That should appeal to you, vampire. Something you can actually look at while you fuck.”

The beast inside Erion broke free in that moment, and though he remained frozen, his roar did not. It echoed long and hard and fierce throughout the theater. He had no patience left either. In fact, it had run out in the balcony.

Abbadon whirled on him, his rage acute and his aim true. “The failed experiment will be the first to leave. It is a world he should have never been allowed to live long enough to see.”

He lifted his arms, preparing to send a spell Erion’s way, when Hellen screamed and lifted her hands above her head. The room went brilliantly white, a shock to the system, and over the pounding of blood in his ears, Erion heard her cry out a series of words he had never heard before. She circled her hands, then slammed them down to her sides with an audible crash of power.

Electric currents popped in the air, and all eyes that could manage it turned to look at Hellen. But the staggeringly tall, green-skinned, vicious-looking demon was glaring at her father.

Abbadon was jerking, grunting, his eyes and expression growing more and more confused. His hands went to his body and he started manically groping his torso, his neck, his face. Very slowly, he turned to face Hellen.