A Devil Named Desire (6 page)

He looked at her, so pale and slight against the cushions, and saw again her aura, surrounding her with a faint white glow. The black swarm he’d seen was absent, but he didn’t fool himself into believing it was gone. This woman had her own demons, and until she confronted them head-on, they would never go away.

Chapter Five

“H
e’s taken the bait, Master.”

Samael, Prince of Darkness, did not stir from his contemplation of the fire. He spent many hours here, in this hard-backed chair, carved with arcane symbols and blackened with age. In this chair he heard nothing but the crackle of flames, and thought of nothing save the yearnings of his own heart.

“Did he now?” he asked Nyx idly. He knew exactly who Nyx was referring to, having arranged the meeting between Hope and Gabriel himself, and chosen the Throne of Nothingness to await the results. Gabe thought himself so clever, keeping an eye on Nicki Styx while thinking Sammy none the wiser; he would learn that Little Five Points, Georgia, was no safer for an angel’s heart than it was for a devil’s, and maybe even learn to mind his own business in the process. “Why am I not surprised?”

Nyx edged closer, stepping from the shadows into Sammy’s line of sight. The tips of his wings quivered, a sure sign of anticipation, eyes glowing red in the firelight. “The Lightbringer is in her apartment,” the Chief Servant reported. “Shall I challenge him now?”

“No.” Unconcerned, Sammy leaned back in the chair, extending his long legs toward the fire and hooking bare feet at the ankle. His robe, woven from cobwebs by the Dryads of Doom, kept him warm when all else about him was cold. “The game is barely begun, my friend, and all the sweeter for it.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I don’t expect you to.”

Of course Nyx wouldn’t understand; the delicate dance between man and woman was far beyond him, for when Sammy created him, he hadn’t understood it himself.

Now he did, perhaps too well.

The walls of the bedchamber, his private sanctuary, were hung with tapestries that had once adorned the palaces of kings. Gold and silver thread caught the glitter of firelight, deceiving the eye into thinking the pageantry they depicted—colorful jousts, processions, hunting scenes, mythical creatures—were real, and important, when in actuality they were flat, lifeless memories of days long past.

“But the Darkness, my lord,” Nyx made bold to protest, disturbing Sammy’s reverie. “It’s hungry. The ethereals are sorely depleted in number, as are the imps. The demon Ashtaroth has traditionally been given the souls of suicides to replenish himself; he needs them now more than ever.”

“The hounds of Hell are always baying, old friend. There’s not enough blood on Earth to satisfy them.”

The door to Sammy’s bedchamber flew open, banging loudly against the opposite wall.

“Where’ve you been, Father?” Cain, Sammy’s nine-year-old son and the current bane of his existence, burst into the room with no regard for his father’s privacy. “Where did you get that robe? Is it velvet? Can I have one, too?”

Wincing at the sudden assault to both his ears
and
his nose, Samael the Fallen regarded Cain with exasperation, unable to explain the sudden lift he felt in the region of his nonexistent heart.

“You reek of brimstone,” Sammy told the boy shortly, answering none of his questions. “I thought I told you to stay away from the pit.”

Cain, his son by Persephone, the fey, amoral Goddess of the Underworld, was every bit as elusive and impulsive as his mother. Sammy had known of the boy’s existence for only a few short weeks, and among the first things he’d learned were that the little hellion liked to roam, and didn’t take orders well.

A careless nine-year-old shrug answered him. “The imps are the only ones who will play with me.” Cain moved toward a bowl of fruit on a nearby table and snatched an apple in one very dirty hand. “Everyone else is afraid.”

“As well they should be,” Sammy agreed. “You’re a troublesome little son of a—”

“They’re not afraid of
me
,” Cain interrupted him, talking around a bite of apple. “They’re afraid of
you
, and what you might do to them if anything happened to me.”

“I’d reward them handsomely,” Sammy lied, “and don’t talk with your mouth full.”

“You had Thamuz torn limb from limb for losing me in the Canyons of Despair,” the boy said cheerfully, “and you almost destroyed the Dread Demon Ashtaroth with flaming serpents of fire for trying to claim my soul.” Blithely, the boy clambered onto the goose down coverlet atop his father’s bed, leaving streaks of soot in his wake. “Tesla told me all about it.”

“Tesla is a gibbering fool, who had best watch his tongue, or I’ll have it removed much the same way Thamuz’s was.” Privately he despised the imps, but they were a necessary evil.

The tinge of ice in Sammy’s tone did not go unnoticed by the boy, whose pale blue eyes—so like his father’s—widened. “No! Don’t do that!” He swallowed his bite of apple, looking contrite for the first time. “Please don’t hurt Tesla . . . he’s my only friend!”

Annoyed to find himself troubled by the real fear in the boy’s voice, Sammy looked away, toward the tapestry of a mythical unicorn, so pure and white in its garden of green, unaware that the beautifully embroidered bushes surrounding it held hunters, moving in for the kill.

“Tesla can’t help the fact that he talks too much,” the boy went on. “The imps are trained to cause trouble, you know they are!”

Sighing heavily, Sammy rose from his chair. “Get off the bed, you filthy little beast.”

Cain obeyed with uncharacteristic alacrity, smearing soot into the coverlet even more deeply than before.

“You will bathe, and then we will eat together at table, you and I,” he told the boy sternly. “It’s time you learned some manners.” Well aware that his second-in-command watched him closely, Sammy resisted an urge to ruffle his son’s white blond hair. “But before that, we need to have a chat.” Casting a deliberately careless glance in Nyx’s direction, he clipped, “Leave us.”

The demon didn’t hesitate, bowing smoothly in agreement before leaving the room, closing the door gently behind him.

Cain looked at him warily, clutching his half-eaten apple as though he might need to throw it. The sight pained the poor excuse for a heart Sammy no longer had.

“You must guard against forming friendships among the imps, my son.” He was still unused to the phrase, but found it easier to utter each time he said it. “They’re bred to take advantage of weakness, and not to be trusted.”

“You’re the one who made them that way.”

Sammy was unsure if such directness was common in nine-year-olds, or whether it was part of what made Cain unique unto himself. “Yes, I did,” he agreed. “They’re unscrupulous and amoral. Their job is to see inside the souls of the damned to find what thoughts most torment them, and to exploit those thoughts without mercy.” With no one to witness it, he gave in to the urge to touch Cain’s hair, as tousled as his own, but not nearly as clean. “Which is why you can’t trust them. In fact, you can trust no one here in Sheol—it’s not a place where you can let your guard down.”

“Why do you live here, then?”

Sammy smiled a bitter smile. “Better to rule in Hell than serve in Heaven.”

“Have you ever been to Heaven?”

The stab of pain the question brought was an old one, as familiar as his own reflection in the mirror. “Yes.”

Skies without end, the laughter of his brother angels as they played hide-and-seek among the clouds.

“The humans claim it’s a beautiful place.” The boy’s eyes were far too shrewd for those of a nine-year-old. “But you like it better here?”

“Yes,” lied the Father of Lies.

“Then I like it here, too.”
Dirty, defiant, and too naïve to be afraid—how much the boy reminded him of himself, once upon a time.

“It doesn’t matter if you like it or not.” Sammy gave his son a tired smile. “For here is where we are, and here we shall remain.”

A
n hour later, bathed and dressed, Cain looked at his father across a table strewn with gilt plates and heavy crystal and stated, “I’m not hungry anymore. Can I go now?”

“No, you cannot,” Sammy answered calmly. They were in the most formal of his dining rooms, the one he privately found the most soothing. Deep red walls and black furniture, spare and simple, candlelight instead of electricity. “Pick up your napkin and spread it in your lap.”

Cain gave a long-suffering sigh, but did as he was told. Freshly scrubbed and glowing with health, he was a beautiful child . . . cherub-cheeked, with hair that held his mother’s curl. “There are too many forks,” he complained, frowning down at the table. “And the food looks weird.”

Sammy arched a brow. “Weird?”

“There are no rolls,” the boy went on, “and no fruit. What’s that gloppy black stuff?”

“That”—Sammy smiled and picked up a small triangle of toast—“is caviar.” With a tiny spoon, he heaped a small portion of roe onto the toast, and handed it to the boy. “Normally we would have it as an appetizer—it’s best with champagne, which you’re not allowed to have, by the way—but I wanted you to try it. You’ll love it.”

Cain took the toast, making a face as he examined the caviar closely, taking a sniff. “It smells like fish.”

“It is fish. Raw fish eggs, in fact.”

“Ew.” Cain put the toast down without trying it. “That’s disgusting. I’m not eating that.”

Sammy blinked, unused to his wishes being so summarily dismissed. “It’s a delicacy,” the Great and Mighty Satan explained, in an utmost attempt at patience. “Meant to be appreciated in small bites. Taste it.”

“No.” There was no truculence in the boy’s tone, merely a calm statement of refusal.

Sammy’s brow darkened, storm clouds gathering, but before they burst there came a
whoosh
of wind that set the candles aflutter. Sammy and Cain both looked toward the door, newly opened, and the dark-haired woman standing in it.

“Really, darling,” the woman drawled, stepping into the room, “you can’t possibly expect the child to enjoy caviar—it’s an acquired taste, and his taste buds have yet to develop.” She was beautiful, sloe-eyed, and curvaceous, clad in spangled robes of midnight blue.

“Pandora,” said Sammy, with an affectionate grin, “how lovely to see you.” He rose, coming around the table to take her by the hand, placing a kiss on one alabaster cheek. She accepted such tribute as her due, looking every inch the goddess she was, gold dripping from her ears, neck, and fingers. The torque around her neck gleamed with jewels that caught the candlelight and reflected it back into the eyes of the beholder.

“I beg your pardon, Master,” said Nyx, at Pandora’s shoulder. “She slipped past me.”

“Pooh, go away, you ghoul.” Pandora gave the Chief Servant of Satan the back of her hand, not deigning to turn and look at him. “I’m as fast as I was three thousand years ago, while you’re getting to be an old man. Leave us.”

Nyx’s eyes flared red, but his master gave him a nod, and he faded back into the shadows.

“And as for you,” she said to Sammy, with mock severity, “how long were you going to keep the wonderful news of a son and heir from your Pandora?” She reached out one plump, beringed hand, and poked the Prince of Darkness quite firmly in the shoulder. “I’d given up waiting for your invitation to visit, and decided to issue one for myself.”

Sammy, amused as always by Pandora’s careless impudence, allowed himself to be brushed past as she focused on Cain, sitting silent and wide-eyed at the table.

“And this must be the princeling,” Pandora crooned, reaching out both plump arms. “Get up and give your Aunt Pandy a hug.”

Cain—who, Sammy had noticed, already had an eye for the ladies—obeyed with alacrity, and immediately found himself engulfed by soft, fragrant female flesh, spangled in blue.

“Yes, yes,” Sammy said, unsure of whether to be proud or concerned over the boy’s enthusiasm, “Pandora, meet Cain. Cain, meet Pandora.”

“He’s
adorable
, darling,” Pandora exclaimed. “Your very image! Look at those eyes.”

“We were just about to eat.” Samael redirected her attention to the table. “Why don’t you join us?”

“I couldn’t possibly,” she demurred, immediately moving toward a seat.

Instantly Nyx materialized, pulling the chair out for Pandora with all due respect. She ignored him, settling herself with a sigh of pleasure. Her napkin went into her lap with a flourish, an action Cain watched with interest.

Sammy resumed his seat, and indicated that Cain should do the same. “Pandora is an old friend of mine,” he told the boy.

“Tut, tut,” she said, raising a perfectly manicured finger. “Never use my name in a sentence that contains the word ‘old.’ ”

“I beg your pardon,” the High Prince of Darkness murmured, with a smile. He’d always had a soft spot for Pandora. She was cheerful, and clever, and relentlessly curious, which made her not only useful, but a wonderful bed partner. They’d enjoyed each other many times over the eons, spacing their visits by decades, even centuries, so they never tired of each other.

He didn’t trust her, of course, but then he trusted no one.

“What are you feeding this child, you ghoul?” This remark was addressed sharply over Pandora’s shoulder, to Nyx, who waited in the shadows. “Boys this age don’t want fish eggs, they want meat!”