Soul Surrender (15 page)

I
looked down at my naked body—it was different. I was different. Different than the shape Drew knew as Monica, though I still bore many similarities. I was younger. In my teens with stringy blond hair that fell past my breasts. And speaking of breasts—these were not nearly as impressive as the ones I shifted. They were perky, but at least a size smaller.

My eyes shot up to Drew's, and I immediately covered myself with both hands.

Drew was entranced. Eyes not on my body but on my face. With trembling fingers, he reached over, brushing the dirty hair from my face and tracing my jaw.

Drew was also naked, only not nearly as ashamed of his body as I. He swallowed visibly and reached for something hanging on a ratty wall next to us. He passed the cloth to me, and I quickly scrambled to shove my arms inside, wrapping the satin fabric around my body.

“Earthly possessions can't pass through the gateway.”

I nodded and licked my lips. My throat was suddenly parched even though I knew rationally that I was not a being that needed water to survive.

He studied my face another moment. “This is you,” he whispered. “Your human form. It's . . . it's almost exactly the woman I know, but—but . . .”

“. . . younger?” I finished for him.

He nodded. “Everyone so far who is a shapeshifter looks massively different than they did as a human. You—”

I nibbled the inside of my cheek, shifting my eyes away from him. “I didn't want to forget where I came from.”

The heat was not only sweltering but thick and heavy, draining my body of any moisture or coolness it could maintain. The humidity sat on me like a wool blanket in the middle of summer.

“C'mon.” Drew gestured to the one-room cottage beside us. “I require an area for me to get water while I'm here. It'll be the only reprieve you get for a while.”

I followed his lead as he opened a heavy door, holding it open for me. “You take all your bounties here?”

He winked, but his smile wasn't exactly full. “Only the beautiful ones.”

 

After some cold water and dampened cloth around my neck, we set out. “You know what I'm here for?”

Drew shook his head and opened a door leading into a pitch-black hallway. Hell was a mystery—with twists and turns. One minute you're walking outside, the next you're in a dungeon, then you turn the corner and it's as if you're in a drab office building. The whole thing is one big illusion set to each individual's Hellish standards.

I paused, glancing through the doorway to blackness. Was there any way to delay this? Dread dropped to the pit of my stomach, rolling around as if my belly were an empty playground.

Drew shook his head. “All I know is that they need to see you.”

“Who's they?”

Drew shrugged. “Not sure. But considering I work for the, uh, main guy . . . he would be my guess.”

“Fuck. Me.”

“You've never met him before?” His eyebrows knitted together.

I flung my hands in the air, feeling suddenly panicked. My breath shortened. “I've never even been to Hell before, Drew! Lucien used to handle this shit for me!”

“Well,” Drew said. “No Lucien now.”

“Yeah. Thanks for nothing,” I grunted. “You coming?”

“No. I have to wait here to take you back home.”

Home.
Thank Hell. If I wasn't going home, they wouldn't bother having Drew stick around.

His hand jetted out, fastening onto my elbow just as I lifted my foot to cross the threshold. “Leave the towel with me. They'll annihilate us both if they see that.”

As if they don't know already.
They can probably see everything down here. Shit, they can probably see everything up at home, too.

I tossed him the towel, which he swung around the back of his neck. “And, Monica?”

I raised my eyebrows, not trusting my voice to answer him.

“Don't believe what you feel while you're here. The dread—the hopelessness; none of it is real.”

“I don't feel hopele—”

“Not yet.” He nodded to the door. “Once you step foot in there, it will be overwhelming.”

I swallowed. “Well, here goes nothing.”

“I'll see you soon.” He squeezed my elbow in a way I was certain was meant to be reassuring. But it simply acted as a reminder that I should be afraid. Very fuckin' afraid.

T
he long corridor of Hell was dark, and the path was lit with candled sconces. The door slammed shut, the sound bouncing off the walls and playing tricks on my oversensitive ears.

Even though the heat was sweltering, there was a cold feeling of dread tingling in my bones. Hopelessness didn't even begin to describe it. My feet were heavy, like two cement blocks had been affixed to them. I trudged along.

Placing a palm to the stone wall, I expected it to be cool to the touch. Only it was scorching. Like cement on a sunny summer day.

“Shit,” I hissed, and cradled my hand with the other.

I suppose you could consider me lucky for never having to experience this until now. But in this moment, I felt anything
but
lucky. I shivered despite the heat and ran my hand over the pebbled gooseflesh rising on my arms. If I squinted, I could see a door ahead—the only door anywhere in front of me. Tired of this feeling, this emptiness, I ran for the door, taking off at a sprint.

Though I knew it was irrational, I checked over my shoulder. Was someone following me? Blackness morphed into shapes and shadows looming over me, and I slammed into the door. I pulled the knob. Then pushed. Something groaned from over my shoulder, and I frantically tried the door again.

It didn't budge. What the fuck?

Monica.

The voice stilled my panicked body. Lucien?

Monica . . .

“Lucien!” I called out, turning and pressing my back to the locked door. The shadow morphed into the shape of a man. Little by little, color drifted into the shadow, creating the most opaque version of Lucien. What was that that Drew had said? None of it was real?

I could just barely make out Lucien's eyes and ponytail. The smoky hand lifted for my face and as it brushed my skin, the smoke swirled around my head in a thick fog. The creature's touch left an icy chill. It would have been a nice reprieve had I not felt it in my bones, down to the marrow.

The door behind me clicked open with no fanfare. I pulled away, the dim light inside crooking its finger.

Monica . . . do not leave me . . .

Shit, it felt so real. It was Lucien's voice; it had to be. Was he here? Banished to Hell?

The door creaked open more, and I snapped my head back and forth between the shadowy figure and the reason I was actually here.

As I stepped toward Lucien, a scream came from inside the chamber. When I looked back to Lucien—the shadow—he was gone. I was left standing alone in an almost pitch-black hallway.

I sprinted across the threshold to find Grayson, hung on the wall. Nothing and no one was around him. He was nude and screaming bloody murder, body flinching as though something were striking him. He tensed once more before his head fell forward in nearly silent sobs.

“Oh, fuck. Grayson!” I ran to his side to help, but as I reached to undo the knots around his wrists, fire licked my skin. Below his feet, I saw snakes, jaws unhinged and snapping at his toes. I screamed, falling back onto my hands and ass. Scooting myself away from him, the slithery creatures disappeared. A shiver danced down my spine and his golden eyes lifted, momentarily catching mine. Fear jumped behind his eyes before he tensed, rearing his head back with yet another yelp of pain.

Only Grayson's pain looked higher—around the torso. Not where I saw the snakes snapping at his feet.

“Fascinating, isn't it?” a smooth voice said behind me.

I scrambled to my feet, searching the room for something—anything that could be used as a weapon. Air heaved in my chest with every breath I took. No matter how many times I inhaled, I swear I couldn't breathe.

“Hushhhh.” Wiry fingers raised in my face with a gentle gesture that left me more unnerved than comforted. “You are safe. You are not here for any sort of torture device like our lycanthrope here.”

“Wh-why snakes?”

The man chuckled, and I wondered if he even understood humor. His lack of empathy chilled me. “Hell is in the eye of the beholder. It's different for everyone. You see snakes. He sees his father tearing him to shreds.”

I snuck another glance at the man before me. He looked . . . normal, for lack of a better word. He wore a robe similar to mine, but it was black with pockets and a hood. Not a creepy monk-looking robe—just your average silky bathrobe. He had ginger-red hair that was long, and a wiry beard sprouting along his jaw line.

“Are you Saetan?” I asked with narrowed eyes.

Amusement crinkled his eyes. “Is this how you picture Saetan?” He gestured up and down. “This is, after all,
your
version of Hell.”

I didn't know. How did I picture Saetan? “Why is Grayson in
my
Hell?”

Again, the man didn't answer me, simply stared ahead, eyes traveling around from me to Grayson and to space in between. “He must have left quite the impression on you.”

“You're the one who brought me here . . . let's get this over with.”

“Rather brazen for a girl brought to Hell by her human love.” After another moment, he shrugged. “Very well. Have a seat.”

I glanced behind me as a chair appeared from nowhere. I lowered myself into it.

He did the same, folding his hands in his lap. “We would like to know where the man you call Lucien is.”

My heart dropped. “You don't know?”

“If we knew, do you think we would be asking you? Saetan does not like to be kept in the dark.” His eyes flicked around the low-lit room, a smile cracking his face. “Figuratively speaking, of course.”

“I-I honestly don't know.”

His eyes narrowed, and though demons can't gauge lies as well as angels, we can usually see a shift in aura or something to help us along.

“Then to your knowledge, he is not rogue?”

“No!” I gasped. “He would never. He loved his job!” And it was true. It was one of the things about him I could never understand.

“Well, we knew that. We just thought perhaps he had a change of heart since our rebellion days. Perhaps he felt it was time for a change of Kings?”

“Rebellion days?”

The man's lip curled. “Surely, Lucien's told you . . .”

“Told me what? What are you talking about?”

“Lucien was one of the original angels cast out of Heaven. One of the originals, alongside me, Lucifer, and others, to stir the war of angels into action.”

I didn't say anything—couldn't. Words choked in my throat, and though my mouth opened, absolutely nothing came out.

“Well, well, well.” He leaned back in his chair, and it was again one of the few moments when joy flashed across his features. Joy from my pain. “I suppose he did not tell you everything, now, did he?”

I cleared my throat. “It doesn't matter.” I shook my head, clearing away the fog. Damn, it was hot. I needed more water. “Lucien's not rogue. I saw him disappear. It was not by choice. You should be summoning Buckley here. He knows something . . .”

“Don't you concern yourself with John Buckley. He has a special table reserved down here.”

“Believe me—Lucien's not responsible for his disappearance.”

The man studied me a moment longer before nodding his head. I pushed onto my feet, stealing a glance back at Grayson once more.

“Where are you going?”

“I assumed we were done.”

He said nothing; just stared at me with one raised eyebrow.

I cleared my throat and returned to my seat. “Sorry,” I mumbled.

“Very well,” he continued. “It was brought to our attention that you have the ability to mask your powers.”

Fear tingled through me. Fuck. How did they know
that?
“I—um, well, I just sort of found out myself recently . . .”

“This is quite significant. Do you realize
how
significant?”

I shook my head. “N-not really. I just sort of tried it one day. And it worked.”

“I see. Well, typically this sort of power is reserved for those in high power. ArchDemons, Queens and Kings of their demon race, etcetera. Do you have any idea how you received this sort of power?”

“It was, um, accidental. I ingested a witch's blood just as she died. But I didn't mean to.”

His exhale was audible through parted lips, though I wasn't sure I was supposed to hear it. “Fascinating.”

“But any succubus ingesting power would have absorbed the power—” I added.

“Not necessarily. Many a succubus—and incubus and demon—have tried. It has to already be in you. Sure, magician and demon blood can give you lasting life. But not all ingest their powers.”

“Well, what does this mean for me?” My voice was small. Afraid. And fuck if I didn't hate sounding terrified.

“For now, nothing. We will have to deliberate and discuss how to best utilize your new talents.”

Shit. Hell knowing of your powers certainly meant they would find a way to use them for the worst.

He stood, the chair disappearing from under him, and I, too, rose to my feet. The chair turned to smoke behind me.

“For now, keep your magic to a minimum. Only when you absolutely need it. And—” His finger went to my nose. What normally would be a cute gesture frightened me to the core. “Do not use your masking power to ever deter yourself from being summoned here. That is treason.”

I nodded and looked again at Grayson. “Is Lucien's return a priority?” My voice trembled despite my hardest efforts to keep it calm.

“One of a few, yes.”

“May I make a suggestion, then?”

He eyes raked me from toes to eyes, as if he could read what I was about to ask in my body language. “You may.”

My eyes flicked to Grayson with another deep breath. I was walking a tightrope across a fiery pit. Twenty thousand feet in the air. Lined with razor blades. “Let me take the lycanthrope with me.” It came out more like a whisper, but the redheaded man heard me loud and clear.

“Absolutely not.”

“But—he can help. His nose and senses are unlike anyone we have at our disposal. He can get us to Lucien.” When he didn't say no again, I continued with caution. “And—and I will vouch for him. He will be my responsibility. And Drew is always near me regardless. If he does something stupid, he can be on the next trip to Hell in seconds.”

“You truly believe this creature can find Lucien?”

I resisted the urge to rub my chest, where an abrasive feeling gnawed behind my sternum. “I think he can help.”

Why was I doing this? Why was I risking everything for a man I barely knew?

Silence hummed and the man's tight face loosened. “Very well. He is your responsibility. Should he disappear under your watch, you will be tortured in his place.” The man turned his back on me, bounding toward the door.

I wasn't sure if I was in a position to negotiate. I squirmed and spoke up regardless. “Only until he is found.”

He stilled, arm reached out for the knob. “Excuse me?” He swiveled back on his heel with the grace and balance of a skilled dancer.

“I agree to all those terms. Except I want one amendment: Should Grayson disappear under my watch, I will be tortured in his place . . .
until
he is returned to Hell. Then I shall be released.”

The man's mouth turned up into a hint of a smile. He twitched his head, the slightest nod in response. “Very well.” He snapped his fingers and Grayson crumpled to the floor, his screams echoing in my ears.

I ran to his side, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Grayson, wake up. It's okay.” I glanced over my shoulder and the room was empty. There was no
crack
sounding a teleportation. No creak of a door opening. But the man was completely gone. And he left me with a quivering, naked, half-conscious werewolf to babysit.