The Devil's in the Details (29 page)

I felt the icy fingers at my chest, the slash of pain as his nails tore at my shirt. Desperation welled inside me. I bent my knee
and delivered a fierce kick to his groin. He wailed and stumbled backward, and I saw my chance. I went after him, landing another vicious kick to his shin, then his other shin. He reached out, fingernails slicing across my arm. A burning jag of pain hit me hard and fast, but it was nothing compared to my protective instincts kicking into high gear.

He wasn’t getting past me. He wasn’t getting to Cutter. Not again.

My scream echoed in my head as I threw myself at the ferocious demon, jumping on his back and jamming my thumbs into his eyes as he stumbled around, trying to fling me loose. He finally grabbed a wrist and jerked it toward his mouth. He bit down, his razor-like teeth piercing my skin. My grip faltered and I let go. He flung me off like a bothersome fly and I landed in a heap near Cutter.

The wind rushed from my lungs and my vision clouded. I grasped at the dusty floor, hands searching for something. Anything to protect myself. A few heartbeats later, my hand closed around the sharp edge of a sword. Cutter’s sword.

The antique handle flashed in the darkness and a strange shiver went up my arm. I could feel the power radiating from the weapon, and I sent up a silent prayer that I wouldn’t die trying to hold on to all that energy.

I was a demon, after all, and this was a demon-killing sword.

I grappled for a good grip, and then Azazel was there. Looming over me. His face a mask of vicious intent.

I saw then what Cutter must have seen in those brief moments before Azazel had reached in and stolen his soul. And I felt the maelstrom of emotion.

The fierce loneliness. The raw pain. The unmistakable torment.

That was the trade. One he’d made unwillingly.

But I didn’t have to face the same consequences. I was a demon without a soul to steal, and I was feeling mightily pissed off on behalf of a certain slayer.

“You low-down, dirty snake,” I hissed. I hefted the sword and swung. The blade sliced through his shoulder.

He stumbled backward, howling, and I struggled to my feet, the weapon in my hands. I went after him, following him across the room until his back was to the wall. I swung the sword again. Steel flashed in the dim light and—

“No!” Cutter’s desperation pushed past the thundering of my heart. “You can’t kill him, Jess. Please. Not yet.”

Before I could turn, Cutter was next to me, looking as if he might topple over at any moment. His hand closed around my wrist and suddenly he was the one wielding the magical steel.

He lunged, shoving the sword straight into Azazel’s heart.

The demon shrieked, his features twisting and morphing from those of a man into something unholy. His chest spilled open and a rush of fluttering wings flew from inside, followed by a shimmer of light. One after the other. Souls. Every soul that Azazel had claimed over the centuries. They filled the room for a brief, blinding moment and then the sky seemed to open above. The ceiling cracked wide and a ray of light beamed down. A roar filled my ears as the building started to shake. The brightness drew the souls into one collective body, gathering them for the journey home.

All except for one.

The flutter of light pivoted, firing straight into Cutter’s chest, sending him sailing backward. He slammed into the opposite wall before sliding into a heap on the floor.

The light disappeared and the room went black and grim again.

At the same time, it didn’t feel so cold and menacing, and I knew exactly why.

Cutter all but pulsed with life, despite his wounds.

I reached him in that next instant and felt the warmth that radiated from his skin. The fire. The life.

He’d reclaimed his soul and now he was healed.

I held tight to his hand until his eyes finally opened. Sure enough, there was a twinkling light that had been missing from the dark-green depths. A vibrancy that made my heart skip a few beats. “Shouldn’t you be throwing a wedding right about now?” he croaked.

His skin pulsed against my fingertips and a smile played at the corner of my mouth. “Yeah, well, I couldn’t let you have all the fun.”

A grin curved his sexy lips just as a dozen Legion agents barreled through the doorway, swords drawn. All except for Smith. He led the way, worry carving his young face. The expression eased the moment his gaze fixed on Cutter.

“This was a solo project,” Cutter said, touching a tentative hand to the wound on his chest. “You were supposed to keep quiet about all of this.”

Smith shook his head. “I had to call them when you went missing. I didn’t know what else to do.”

“How did you find us?”

A tall, muscular man with long blond hair and bright-blue eyes stepped forward. He wore black jeans and a fitted black T-shirt that outlined his brawny shoulders. An intricate slave-band tattoo just like Cutter’s encircled a bicep that rippled as he holstered the gleaming silver sword in his hand. “We saw the light show outside.” His voice was authoritative, and I knew he was a powerful demon slayer in his own right. He tilted his head at me, his eyes hooded and expressionless. “Who’s she?”

“Nobody, Jacob.”

Jacob gave me another long, hard look, but I knew he wasn’t about to challenge the man who’d just slain one of the oldest demons in existence. He nodded and stepped back while Cutter took my hand.

“You should go,” he murmured. His green eyes sparkled with life and my heart stuttered. “You’re late.”

Mission accomplished. He’d gotten the one thing he’d set out to reclaim, and while I had no idea what that would mean to his future with the Legion—to slay or not to slay—I knew what it meant to me. I’d kept my end of the bargain, so he meant to keep his. My mom was safe and the wedding was still on.

If she hadn’t torched the Bell Tower by now.

“But what about you? I could help—”

“Go, Jess. This place will be crawling with even more Legion members in a matter of minutes, including Gabriel. I don’t want you caught in the middle of it.”

I nodded. “Take care of him,” I told Smith.

“Yes, ma’am.” He gave me a wink as I turned for the door.

Outside, I ignored the fast-growing collection of black SUVs swarming the front of the building and sprinted the three blocks to the Bell Tower.

Correction—I
tried
to sprint. But the knock-down, drag-out with Azazel had exhausted me. The result? A slow, gasping jog and a silent promise that if I made it through the rest of this night in one piece, I would give up all the sugar and invest my energy in a cardio workout. While I had an ultrahot body, my endurance was for shit.

Faster, I told myself. Just move
faster
.

Finally I reached the venue, my chest heaving and my lungs burning and…I gasped for air and tried to swallow against my dry throat. I needed a drink of water in the worst way.

But there was no time. I was already a full forty-five minutes late and I knew even before I saw the storm clouds gathered overhead that my mother was upset.

A crack of thunder sizzled in the air and the hair on the back of my neck stood on end.

Forget upset. She was downright pissed.

The foyer of the Bell Tower looked as picture-perfect as when I’d left a half hour ago. The giant arrangements of bloodred roses and hand-painted skull accents looked perfect and untouched. No blood. No gore. No fire damage.

The realization scared me even more than a few bodies strewn here and there would have.

What if she’d given up on me and called off the wedding? What if she was, at that very moment, signing a decree that would send me spiraling back to Hell?

I ignored a wave of panic and tuned my senses. I could hear muffled voices coming from the ceremony area as I strode down the hallway toward the bridal suite. At least the guests were still here. I pushed through the double doors leading to a plush sitting room, where I found Cheryl.

She stood near a granite-topped bar off to the left. Her makeup was streaked and her hair was frizzed and full, as if she’d stuck her finger in a light socket.

“Cheryl?”

She was rummaging through the array of bottles sitting on the granite. “Have to find it,” she muttered, doing a crackerjack imitation of Rain Man. “Have to find it. Have to find it. Have to find it.”

“Cheryl?” I tried again, my voice louder, my anxiety mounting.

“Where is it? Where is it? Where is it?”

“Cheryl?”

Her head snapped up and I knew she’d finally heard me. “Jess?”

I nodded. “Yes, it’s me, Jess.”

Her gaze focused. “You’re here,” she breathed. “You’re really
here
.”

“And everything is going to be fine,” I added. “Where’s my mother?”

She pointed to a closed door that led to an adjoining bathroom.

“The ladies’ room?”

“She drank all of these when Blythe told her you were running late.” She indicated the empty rows of liquor bottles. “She’s not good at waiting. Speaking of waiting”—she snatched up a bottle and upended it—“she wants another margarita and we’re out of tequila.”

“She drank margaritas
and
wine?”

“And a few Bloody Marys, some Cosmos, a couple martinis and half a bottle of Windex.” When I arched an eyebrow, she shrugged. “She thought it was a Blue Hawaiian.”

“How many drinks total?”

Her gaze collided with mine. “Before or after she zapped me?”

Which totally explained the hot new hair trend.

I watched as wisps of smoke curled above her head before I shifted into Super Wedding Planner. “No more alcohol. Give me the bottle.”

“But—”

“Hand it over.” I waited until the glass met my hand and then I sent her off to the lobby restroom to regroup. Meanwhile, I grabbed my emergency bag and retrieved my usual black pencil skirt and white silk blouse that Blythe had brought for me.

I shed the bloodstained tee and jeans and pulled on the clean clothes. Then I combed back my hair, tied it up into a ponytail, grabbed my headset and clipboard, and inhaled.

Easy. Calm. Breathe.

I braced myself, pushed open the adjoining door, and smiled at my mother, who was just coming out of the bathroom stall. Her
gaze narrowed and electricity crackled in the air. She looked more than ready to throw a few lightning bolts my way.

I squashed the urge to turn and run the other way and instead pasted on my most excited smile. “There’s my happy bride. Let’s get married!”

“It’s about time,” Blythe said as I slid into a seat next to her. The bridal march had already started. Every head swiveled toward the entryway, eager for Lillith’s appearance.

Behind me sat my three sisters, who wore black couture dresses and bored expressions. The cousins filled the next twenty rows. Monique frowned, obviously distressed that I’d thumbed my nose at proper etiquette with my hasty arrival. Portia and Hester and the rest of Aunt Bella’s brood stared daggers at me.

I ignored a tap on my shoulder from Camille, who whispered that I was late while she’d been on time. And from Tracey, who wanted to tell me how great she looked in her dress. And from Jill, who wanted to tell me that all Tracey could talk about was how good she looked.

As if I didn’t already know that.

Blythe sniffed me. “You smell like smoke.”

“Trust me, it could be worse. My mother was so liquored up that her aim was a little off.” Still, I was going to have to add a nice chunk to the Bell Tower fee to pay for a brick statue of Venus that was now history. “Three lightning bolts and they all went right over my head.”

I drew a deep breath, ignored the symphony of whispers behind me (a scandalous wedding + a roomful of female guests = a
lot
of gossip) and watched as my mother reached the front of the aisle, where Judge Parks waited. He wore the same suit as last night, but with Lillith demanding every eye, no one seemed to notice.

Being the attention hog that she was, my mother had decided to give herself away, and so she mounted the steps solo and stopped next to Samael.

“I can’t believe you actually pulled it off,” Blythe murmured. Her gaze touched on the sprays of withered red roses that lined the front of the ceremony space. The water wall served as a backdrop. I’d swapped the blue up-lighting for red, which made the water look like a sheet of shimmering blood. Totally icky for the typical bride, but this was Satan, so it simply set the mood for the sinister event about to take place.