Heaven to Hell (A Naughty Box Production Book 1) Page 4

  Her arms twined around his neck and she stood on tip toe. She kissed him deeply then ran her tongue along the edge of his jaw. “Hurry back.”

  Moving toward the doorway Hale stopped and looked back. "I want to see you in something sexy, Cera.”

  Chapter Five

  Hale shouldered the back gate open then moved past the lawn chairs and ornaments that dotted the back yard. The house was dark and silent and the hour had grown late. The marked soul he’d come for would be in bed by now. This should be a quick and easy kill, yet something didn’t feel right.

  The sliding glass doors stood open like an ominous, yawning mouth. That prickly feeling that indicated something was wrong washed over him. The stink of demon hit him as he moved through the doorway. If someone had messed with his mark…

  He moved through the living room in swift, deadly steps. Taking the stairs two at a time, he made his way upstairs. He was on the landing when the smell hit him. Fear, spilled bowels, and lots of blood made his nose wrinkle. Someone was going to be in big trouble.

  The bedroom door stood ajar. Using just the toe of his boot, he nudged it all the way open. Lamplight highlighted the bloody graffiti on the walls and ceiling. It dripped from the lampshade and trickled to the floor. He was too late.

  “Fuck.” The word came out as a low, angry growl.

  “It took you long enough to get here,” a scratchy voice taunted from the shadows to his right.

  Hale’s head whipped in the demon’s direction and caught sight of him just as he stepped out of the shadows. He recognized this one. This flaky skinned guy was one of the master’s favored bounty hunters from the olden days. He was called Kraidion or something similar to that. He was old and seldom left the deepest circles of Hell. “What are you doing here?”

  Kraidion tossed a glob of something toward Hale. He sidestepped the gelatinous organ and it bounced off the wall then rolled beneath the bed. Hale glanced at the woman's evisCerated corpse at his feet then snarled in disgust. Her body was twisted and mangled, her head thrown back in a silent death scream. Even her eyes were frozen wide in terror. This demon must have had a lot of fun with her before he’d finally killed her.

  “You claimed my mark.” Hale pushed the sleeves of his jacket up. Shrugging his shoulders to loosen the muscles, he said, “That is unacceptable, Kraidion.”

  The demon wiped his blood slicked fingers on his dirty pants then grinned. He wasn’t wearing a shirt and his old, dark skin looked like it was made of tattooed leather. “The master was tired of waiting for you to do it.”

  Anger raged within Hale. He clamped a hand over his arm where the marred skin still held the ugly reminder. It would never be rid of the black mark. He’d never be free. “You had no right.”

  "Just doing what master ordered,” Kraidion said with a serpent’s smile. “Take it up with him if you’re unhappy.” The demon moved to the side, just out of Hale’s reach.

  Hale didn’t trust him. “Where are you headed next?”

  “Nowhere really. Thought I’d check out a couple local places. Maybe get a drink. Any suggestions?" Kraidion shrugged and tried to step around Hale. “How about that angel of yours? Does she taste as sweet as she looks?”

  Growling a curse, Hale lashed out. He gripped Kraidion’s throat. Flames wound around Hale's forearms then licked across the demon's bare skin. Blisters bubbled and popped, skin crackled and the demon grimaced then howled in pain.

  Hale shoved the demon against the wall and snarled in his face. "don't you fucking touch her!"

  Kraidion’s body began to transform into something hideous. The muscles of his shoulders expanded and became bulbous. His back cracked and began reforming into something new. His entire form seemed to ripple and reshape itself.

  "shit." Hale shoved him away then backed up. He was confident he did not want to see what kind of monstrosity his master had sent to teach him a lesson. A new emotion swept through him. One he’d never experienced before. He began to shake uncontrollably, his body a mass of raw, outraged energy. Nausea ripped through him at the thought of this bastard tearing and twisting Cera apart like the unfortunate soul on the floor. He realized he was even having trouble breathing! What the hell was wrong with him?

  His pulse pounded like a war drum in his chest and he realized he would fight for her. No one would take her from him. Hale’s skin heated and fire erupted across his arms and shoulders. This demon would not have her. Cera was his and his alone! Right now, nothing else mattered. Not the stolen soul, a beyond angry master, nothing.

  Kraidion’s body morphed quickly. Already his body had broken and constructed itself into something serpentine and repulsive. His scaly upper torso reminded Hale of something cross between a snake and dragon. The only fault in the design was that his legs had yet to catch up to the transformation.

  Snarling obscenities, Hale dropped his shoulder and dove at the creature. He caught the demon in the gut and pinned him against the wall. Fire curled around them, blistering the demon’s skin and causing a pungent black smoke to waft around them. The curtains lit like tissue paper behind them. The wallpaper and carpet were slow to start, but eventually a small fire started to crackle beside Hale and the deformed beast. Its upper body thrashed against him, desperate to find release.

  Kraidion’s razor-like claws sank into Hale’s shoulders. His teeth snapped close to his face as it attempted to shake him free. Fuck that! Hale punched a fist through the thing’s ribcage and struggled to seize his heart. His fingers barely brushed the disgusting, globby thing, but the creature had other ideas.

  The demon roared, a terrible sound that shattered the closest window and shook Hale’s bones. Then Kraidion tossed Hale across the room. His body flew like a broken ragdoll and struck the lamp and nightstand. His head struck the corner of the wooden table and knocked it to pieces. He lay dazed for a moment as blood ran into his left eye. He could hear the snake demon drawing closer. This had to end now. No more fucking around.

  He sprang up to meet the monster, but it was a fraction of a second too late. Kraidion’s massive clawed hand closed around his throat. Razor sharp claws sank into his flesh and not only deprived him of air, but strangled him on his own blood. Kraidion gave him a violent shake and laughed in his face. His putrid breath made Hale’s eyes water. He tore at the demon’s hands, but could not find a way to break free. He kicked at the demon’s torso, but his feet and knees just bounced off the scaly lizard-like skin.

  Unwilling to let this demon win, Hale brought his hands up and grabbed Kraidion’s snake-like mouth. With one hand on his bottom jaw and the other on the top, he used the remaining strength he had left to pull the mouth apart. Fire burst from his hands as he gave it one last effort. Flame shot from the snake demon’s nose and eyes as the jaw bones broke and the head fell backward. Hale fell away from the creature and landed on his ass. Just to be safe, he crawled forward then tore the head completely away from the body. Scrambling up, he crouched over the remains. If Kraidion were ever to find his way back, there would be hell to pay. He fished the heart from the ribcage and held it in his palm. It burst into flame as he said the incantation that would send the demon’s evil, black soul back to the master. Kraidion had delivered the message. Hale had just hit reply.

  “That’ll teach you to fuck with me,” he said in a hoarse voice. He moved around the house in silence, touching everything that was flammable. Once it and the bodies were ablaze, he disappeared into the night.

  Hale was on his way back to Cera when he got that odd feeling that twisted his guts and wrenched his every fiber. A sharp pain stabbed through his brain and nearly blinded him with agony. The master had summoned him.

  * * *

  "I am concerned about your recent job performance, Hale.”

  Hale moved through the foggy cemetery, expecting the silver eyed devil to step out from behind one of the taller tombstones at any moment. “It’s kind of hard to do that job if you send one of your lackeys ahead of me. Plus, he made
a big mess.”

  "I asked for that soul two days ago,” the annoyed voice came from somewhere behind him. The accent was old and quite difficult to place. It grated on Hale’s nerves.

  “And if you want to get rid of me, do it yourself.”

  A low laugh echoed throughout the cemetery. “Is that a dare?”

  "I know better than to dare the devil.” Turning to peer through the thick fog, Hale searched for his master’s familiar form. He expected to see the well-dressed man in tall boots and a fancy, embroidered jacket leaning on a nearby headstone. He wasn’t. Sighing in frustration, Hale knocked over a vase of dried flowers.

  “Show yourself.” All he saw was thick fog and darkness. “Where are you?”

  Something moved to his right. Hale jerked around to find the source of movement. Nothing was there. “Can’t you just come out and talk to me? I’m tired of playing these stupid games.”

  “Are you?” The master’s voice was directly behind him now. “Some of the games you play with your prey are quiet elaborate and deceitful.”

  “Is that what this is? You’re teaching me a lesson?” Hale rubbed at the ugly black mark on his forearm. “You were never gonna let me go, were you? You were just toying with me, dangling freedom in front of my nose.”

  “Jameson Hale, I never tire of playing these games with you,” he laughed. “You are my favorite son. And as such, I do adore you.”

  He leaned against one of the nearest headstones, but kept his eye on the elegantly dressed demon with the long black hair. “What do you want from me now?”

  “Hale.” The master leaned against the other side of the crumbling headstone. Their shoulders touched. “What I am going to offer is a one-time only deal. It is a most generous offer and though I cannot bear to allow you leave my side, I am willing to give you this one chance at freedom.”

  “What do you want?” Hale asked through clenched teeth. He stepped away then turned to keep an eye on his master.

  His master stroked fingers through his long, black hair as he thought of a suitable task. “Kill her.” He’d said the words in a quiet, reflective voice, but there was no way Hale could have missed them.

  Instead of reacting, Hale simply stared ahead at the grave marker before him. It was a simple decoration carved into a heart. It read, beloved mother, 1955 – 2001. The woman’s name had eroded away to the point that it was unreadable now. Stubborn weeds had pushed part of the stone up and forced a crack to run through the misshapen heart. Like too many dead and buried, she was just another forgotten soul.

  The master’s hand fell atop his, his longish nails brushing against his skin. "I want the fallen angel’s soul.”

  Hale’s heartbeat stuttered in his chest. Surely he’d heard wrong. “Do they even have souls?”

  “Hale?” The master rounded the headstone to look him in the eyes. A look of mock concern warped his face. “It sounds as if you harbor concerns.”

  “No, not at all.”

  In a surprise move, the master gripped Hale’s sleeve and jerked him closer. Turning his arm so that the two remaining dark marks were facing upward, he brushed the pad of his thumb across the skin. The heat of his touch seared Hale’s flesh. In a blink of an eye they were no longer in the cemetery.

  The putrid scent of defecation and decay overwhelmed his senses, along with the cries of the damned. Sweltering heat caused sweat to trickle down his forehead and to form on his upper lip. He’d forgotten the name, but the angel whose wing he’d broken was chained to the rock wall. Several other tortured souls hung, bloody and broken next to him. The angel lifted his head and glared at Hale. So much hatred shone from his eyes. Hale couldn’t help but smirk at the irony. Weren’t angels supposed to be loving, forgiving beings?

  “Perhaps you should just bring her to me. I have often wondered exactly how much torture one of the fallen could endure. Do you suppose they have any of their otherworldly powers left? Or did the angels strip them of everything before dumping them out of heaven?” The master pinched the angel’s chin between thumb and forefinger, forcing him to stare into the face of evil. “Why do you do that?”

  Therineal whimpered and tried to pull away.

  The master placed his hand on the wing Hale had broken earlier. The angel continued to make small sounds of pain, but attempted to answer. He said, “It’s a form of punishment. We take their wings and their power away. They suffer as humans.”

  “Hmm,” the master said as he ripped the wing from the man’s body. It fell to the floor as the man threw his head back and screamed. The sound echoed off the stone walls and sent the other prisoners into a frenzied state.

  Hale said nothing, but secretly hoped the master continued to torture the hell out of this lying scumbag. It was because of him that Cera was one of the fallen.

  The master’s silvery eyes narrowed as he turned to Hale. Had he read his mind? Everything within him wanted to react, but he knew better. He’d tried to fight back, to trick the master before and had failed miserably. The punishment had been severely harsh and he’d barely survived it. Instead, Hale simply stood and stared ahead at the broken, bloody angel hanging from the wall.

  Therineal's defeated gaze lifted and pierced Hale with a look of hatred. Though he was sobbing, he said, "It should be you on this wall. It should be you who pays with his life."

  Without a word, the master made a fist and twisted it in the air. Therineal's head mimicked the action then the angel sagged against the chains that held him. Blood ran from his mouth and his eyes took on the dazed look of death.

  As if nothing had just happened, the master turned his attention back to Hale. “Perhaps I should have some fun with your new toy, Ceraphinia? Shall I see what all the fuss is about? She must be quite something if she can turn my best bounty hunter into a worthless lay about.”

  Hale jerked his head up. A snarl of anger warped his face and he immediately knew that it was a mistake. Allowing the master to see any emotion was a fatal error.

  Laughter bubbled from the master’s throat as he clasped his hands behind his back. He walked a tight circle around Hale as he studied his face. Hale struggled to keep his features expressionless.

  “Tell me, what makes her so special?”

  “She’s not,” Hale lied.

  The master’s fingers reached up to brush against his forehead.

  “Remember what made you great, my son. Remember…”

  Hale drifted into total blackness as the master's power washed over him. His voice floated to Hale along with the faint scent of cinders and ash. “The choice is yours. Kill her or bring her to me, but I will have her soul. I will wait here for you in the cemetery at midnight. Do not disappoint me, as the punishment will be quite severe. I do not think even you can survive it."

  Hale grunted in understanding.

  "Two marks for the price of one useless fallen angel. You will not receive this offer again.”

  Hale crashed to his knees between two grave markers and sucked in a great gulp of air. Shaking fingers swept through his hair as he squeezed his eyes shut. “Fuck.”

  He’d do whatever he had to do to become a free man.

  Chapter Six

  Hale tossed and turned amongst the soft blankets. The sheet was wrapped around his legs, trapping him and keeping him from running away. One of his arms hung over the side of the bed, his hand only inches off the floor. The sound of shoes tapping across the hardwood floor brought him into focus.

  He took a breath, trying to gather his wits. The bedroom was semi-dark and smelled of Cera and their lovemaking. Kicking the sheets away, he swung his legs over the end of the bed then sat up. His head swam momentarily, the last of the dark dreams he’d had scattering like shadows. Not only had the master knocked him out, but he’d planted memories of all the torturing and killing of Hale’s past in his head.

  “Remember what made you great,” he’d said just before shoving him back into the mortal realm. Apparently tearing the limbs from angels and humans
was something the master valued. Trickery and cruelty was something he cherished in his associates. Their ability to kill, maim, and manipulate magic without batting an eyelash was something he treasured in those closest to him. To be as evil as the master himself was what won his adoration.

  Wondering just how the hell he’d gotten back to the apartment above the bar, Hale stood. His insides shifted and his head swam. He sank onto the end of the mattress and swallowed the uneasy feeling. Bracing his elbows on his thighs, he hung his head and stared at the hardwood floor. What the hell was he going to do?

  The water in the adjoining bathroom cut off and the shower door slid open. The scent of Cera's body wash, vanilla and honeysuckle, wafted to him and warmed his senses. His stomach knotted at the idea of seeing her. He vaguely remembered her leaning over him and cleaning up the scrapes and cuts on his face when he'd first returned. She'd been so concerned about how he'd gotten hurt. He'd told her nothing about meeting with his master.

  Freedom or a life of continued servitude? Damn the devil for making him choose between the two things he cared for most. Himself of Cera? He glanced at the window and grimaced at the soft light that snuck past the blinds. It was still daylight, he still had time to mull it over and torture himself with a million what ifs.

  "I didn't expect you to be awake yet," Cera said as she towel dried her hair. “You were so banged up when you got back. I expected you to sleep a while longer.”

  He was struck speechless. “Cera…”

  Too late. She stepped into the bedroom and he was pleased to see she was wearing a black, fishnet teddy. Her fingers lifted to the aroused nipples that poked through the netting and caressed and rubbed them. Cera lifted her arms to play with her damp hair then did a little twirl to show him her backside.

  Hale’s cock had grown so hard, it hurt. It pressed against the zipper placket of his jeans and practically begged to be let out. He pressed his palm against it and groaned. “get over here, woman.”