The Road To Hell Part 16

She faced away from me as she rode my man. Her body moved sinuously, flowing like white water. She moved, he followed. Her a.s.s rose, and Paul's crotch rose with her; down they came, her a.s.s, his crotch, locked together like a Chinese finger trap. Naked, her flesh gleamed, pearls of sweat on her pale skin. His jeans and underwear puddled around his knees, forgotten. The musk of their s.e.x rilled the room, filled my nose until all I could smell was her body on his.

I must have made a sound. I must have, even with my blood roaring in my ears so I couldn't hear anything but the mad boom! boom! boom! of my heart about to explode in my chest. I must have made a sound, because she turned, looked over her bare shoulder at me.

And grinned.

Unholy h.e.l.l, that's me.

That's my face. My big green eyes, sparkling with mischief and delight. My mouth, set in a wide grin with a slight over-bite. My round cheeks, my pointed chin. My black curly hair that hated to be tamed with a brush. That's my body on top of Paul's, my legs sandwiching him.

"Heya, Jesse," she said, that f.u.c.king smile still on her face.

My voice.

My twin sister.

Caitlin f.u.c.king Harris.

Something popped in my ears, and my vision narrowed to a red pinpoint until all I saw was her smile. Yes, focus on the smile. Keep those teeth in sight. Because I am so going to punch those f.u.c.king teeth right out of your f.u.c.king head, you little sc.u.m-sucking ho of a sister.

I took exactly two steps before the bolt of power slammed into me, threw me backward. Heat-sizzling through me, enveloping me in a magical inferno. I screamed as my insides cooked and my bones melted, screamed as the stink of burning meat a.s.saulted my nostrils, screamed until the sound cut off with a grunt when my body crashed into the wall.

Pinned.

Can't move.

Unholy h.e.l.l, can't even think.

"Better," Caitlin said. "I do so love an audience. Succubi, both present and past. How nice."

Her gaze on mine, she moved her hips faster. Beneath her, Paul groaned. His arms reached up, circled her waist, lifted her up and pushed her down, impaling her on himself. And up. And down. With every lift up, she gasped in delight. With every stroke down, she purred his name.

And grinned at me.

Stuck on the wall, I hung like a smoking picture. I couldn't look away, couldn't even close my eyes.

Please. Stop.

Don't let me see this, hear this. Smell this.

Paul's groans gave way to harsh panting. His breathing increased, and with every thrust he grunted, a primal sound of male pleasure. "I," he said. "I. I'm-"

Black smoke, seeping from his eyes, his mouth.

"-going to-"

Blackness pulsing around him, through him, eating him alive.

"-come-"

No! He can't die, not like this, not like this...

I heard her next words as if she'd hissed them directly into my brain: "Say my name."

Oh.

Oh no. No no no.

Not Caitlin. Not Caitlin at all.

Beneath her, Paul hitched in a breath. Gasping, he called her name.

"Lillithhhhh-ah!"

The o.r.g.a.s.m took him completely, his body jittering beneath hers. And she smiled, content, her eyes sparkling as she looked at me.

"There now," she said to him while she stared at me, "was that the best s.e.x you've ever had, lover?"

"Yes," he whispered, then his arms dropped and his head lolled and his voice faded into a small hiss until the word leaked away.

"You know how to make a girl feel special." She grinned at me. "Now, how can I show my appreciation? Oh, I know."

No. Oh by all that's unholy, no.

She bent down and kissed his lips.

NO!.

I screamed myself raw, but my mouth was frozen, and I didn't make a sound as she sucked out Paul's soul.

When she pulled away, the black aura around him winked out, leaving Paul's body empty, spent. Lillith turned to me, and as her form shifted into something else, she licked her lips. "Your man tastes like apples."

You b.i.t.c.h.

I swear to any G.o.d listening, to my King and my Sire, to the Almighty and the Nameless Evil. I swear I'll see you dead, you thieving wh.o.r.e.

Her body rippled, washed itself of my shape. "Jezebel, you've always had a flair for the dramatic. He's just a flesh puppet, after all. Well, was."

c.u.n.t!

She chuckled, low and throaty. "Ah, love. It makes you mortals do the most interesting things. You want him so bad, Jezebel? Come and get him."

Lillith blew me a kiss, then disappeared.

Chapter 12.

Paul's Apartment As soon as Lillith vanished, my body collapsed to the floor. A sound like a twig snapping, then a blinding pain in my arm.

No, don't think about that. Don't think about how the room is tilting to the left, how I'm finding it difficult to breathe.

Don't think.

I scrambled to my feet, even though the room kept rotating and the floor tried to slip out from under me. Left arm cradled to my chest and my right arm out for balance, I tottered over to the sofa. And there I crashed to my knees.

Paul.

He could have been sleeping. A rebellious lock of sandy hair dangled over his left eye like a question mark. Eyes closed, his brown lashes feathered out, leading the eye down to his sculpted cheeks, dotted with stubble. The rugged look. His strong jaw was relaxed, his lips parted as if waiting for a kiss.

He wasn't breathing.

I heard a high-pitched sound, like a kitten calling for its mother. My throat tightened, and the mewling took on a panicked note.

Paul wasn't breathing.

My Paul.

You were going to be so very sorry you'd made me feel so bad. You were going to miss me, want only to kiss me, hold me, love me. You were- You are- Paul.

Reaching out, smoke wafting from my burned flesh, I touched Paul's cheek. Cold. My fingers left smudges of black on his skin. No, that's not right. He shouldn't be dirty. I tried to rub the spots away, but all that did was streak the soot on his face.

"Jesse Harris," a soft voice said. "Please, Jesse Harris. Let me."

A gentle hand touched mine, moved it away from Paul's face. I opened my mouth, tried to say that he shouldn't be dirty, but all that came out was another tiny mewl.

The soft voice said, "Be calm, Jesse Harris."

Warmth pulsed from the hand covering mine, and that warmth traveled up my body, wrapped me in a thick coc.o.o.n. A wave of comfort rolled over my chest, and I took a deep, shuddering breath. Then I sagged, my arms dangling, hands limp on the ground. I tried to lift my hand, to touch Paul again, but my arm wouldn't move.

"I have healed your arm and your burns," Angel said, removing her hand from mine. "But you need rest. Come, let me take you to your bed."

Swaying, nearly falling to the floor, I shook my head. "No." My voice cracked, turning the word into broken gla.s.s. "Heal him."

"I cannot. He is dead." She sighed, said, "There is no healing from death."

I wanted to scream, to insist that bless it all, she had to heal him. But my mouth didn't work properly, and the weight of a thousand despairs dragged me down. I slumped to the ground. Fighting the exhaustion claiming me, I gritted my teeth, forced myself to look the cherub in the eye. "You," I said, pushing the word out of my mouth. A breath, another word: "Owe." And again: "Me."

Angel frowned at me, then turned to look at Paul. Shaking her head, she rested her left hand on his bare chest. "I saw his soul," she said, her voice like spring rain. "It was clean. White, with streaks of gold and silver. Even the webs of red were pure. Any l.u.s.t had long since been altered by love. It was beautiful."

Tears spilled down my cheeks. Of course it was beautiful. I hadn't seen it, but I'd felt it. Known it. Loved it. Paul's soul was a thing of symphonies, of swirling crescendos and magical progressions. His soul was music. And Lillith's theft severed that music in a violent finale.

"She had no cause to bring him to h.e.l.l," Angel said, her brow crinkling. "What she did was wrong."

"My fault." My love had gotten him killed.

"No, Jesse Harris." Steel glinted in Angel's blue eyes, knives slicing through the sky. "No matter her hatred for you, there are still rules. She overstepped."

"Old rules," I said, remembering what the Arrogant had told me just yesterday. "Bending. Breaking."

Angel nodded. "They are. The King of h.e.l.l has changed much. But some of the old rules remain. The innocent cannot go to the Abyss. That is still a rule, even if unwritten." She looked at Paul's empty form, something close to a sneer playing on her lips. "This isn't right."

Beneath her touch, the color leeched from Paul's skin, fading until his form was an alabaster sh.e.l.l.

I whispered: "Heal him?"

"I cannot," she said, sighing again. "I hoped that perhaps I could call back his soul. But it is linked to your former Queen, and thus trapped. It cannot return to the flesh, no matter how I beckon." Her shoulders slumped. "He is dead, Jesse Harris. All I can do is preserve his form. Without his soul, his body is dead. I am truly sorry for your loss." She started to remove her hand.

I summoned the last of my strength. "Stop!" The word hovered in the air, echoing, beseeching.

Angel paused, her fingertips brushing against the hair on Paul's exposed chest. "Jesse Harris, preserving him like this still leaves him a husk, devoid of life. I will not do such an anathema. You must rest now."

Warmth crept up my limbs again, and my eyelids drooped.

No.

My hand clenched into a fist so tight that it trembled. My teeth clamped down onto my lower lip until I bit through, spikes of pain shredding the warm blanket of sleep the angel wrapped around me.

Give me my rage.

Bracing myself with my hands, I pushed myself up with a snarl.

"Jesse..."

"They just crossed the line," I whispered, my fury burning away the last vestiges of sleep. I climbed to my feet. "They want me back in h.e.l.l so bad? They've got it."

"Please, you're not thinking clearly..."

I gnashed my teeth against my lip until I tasted blood. "Yes," I said. "Yes I am. You just keep your hand where it is. You keep him preserved." Then I took a deep breath, and with my blood on my lips, I called his name.

"Daunuan."

My stomach taut, my chest too tight, I braced myself. No costumes this time. No possessions, no human facades. I'd called him, and between my blood and his name on my lips, he'd come.

The demon Daunuan was coming.

Shadows pulled themselves from the corners, stretching, throwing themselves across the room and slowly devouring the light. The halogen lamp flickered, died. In the darkness my senses whirled, acute to the point of pain: the sound of my heart thumping a crazy beat, of my breath hissing through my teeth as I panted; the tang of blood on my mouth, in my nose-sharp, precise, cutting through the smell of my sweat, the cold stench of my rage.

A scream of wind-my hair whipping around my face, stinging my cheeks, attacking my eyes. A streak of color-red lightning, fire burning through midnight. And then a deafening boom.

I clamped my hands to my ears and doubled over, grimacing as the monstrous sound charged my flesh like electricity, then sunk into my skin, settled into my bones. The thunder echoed, faded, leaving behind the steady ringing of mourning bells in my ears.

The sudden, overpowering stink of rotten eggs brought tears to my eyes. I inhaled deeply, then exhaled quickly through my nose. And again. And again, until I was numb to the odor. Awash in brimstone, I lowered my hands and stood tall.

Darkness still enshrouded the room, but I didn't have to see Daunuan to feel the effect of his presence. He towered in front of me, radiating l.u.s.t, turning the air itself into an aphrodisiac. Hints of his thick hair winked in the blackness, and his eyes, the same yellow as his hair, glowed like a demonic Cheshire cat's-trapped sunlight, cursed gold. The silhouette of his horns seared the darkness above his glowing eyes, hot coals in a sea of black. A flash of white as he grinned, his fangs glistening with unspoken intentions.