Death Lord

3

Belial stalked forward as I struggled against the skeletons, but there was no escaping them. He drew close enough for me to get another glance at his annoyingly handsome face under that dark hood. My chest clenched, and not entirely from fear.

Don’t get distracted, I chided myself. He’s the son of Lucifer, of course he’d be devastatingly sexy. He’s also going to f*****g kill you.

I lashed out with my ice magic, trying to make one last-ditch effort to get away. Finally, some of the control the skeletons had shifted slightly, and I shoved at that with all my might, my heart thundering in my chest. I scrabbled with the tiny bit of freedom I’d won, throwing everything I had against it. If I was going to die tonight, I was going to fight against Belial as much as I could.

But it wasn’t enough.

Belial grabbed my arms with impossible strength and speed, snapping a pair of silver cuffs on my wrists.

“What are you doing?” I cried, as I looked down at them, trying to jerk my hands away. The instant they were on, I felt hollow—like my magic had been stripped away completely. I tried to call my wolf, or summon my ice magic, but it was like a cage surrounded me, preventing me from accessing my powers.

With a sinking sensation, I realized I recognized these silver cuffs. I’d seen them on prisoners of the fae during my time in Faerie, and they blocked all magical powers, basically turning the person wearing them into a regular human. I’d never experienced them before, and after feeling my magic blocked from me like this, I never wanted to feel it again. But why was he doing this instead of simply killing me, like he’d almost done to that other shifter?

The skeletons disappeared, fading to dust all around us. Belial didn’t need them anymore, since there was nothing I could do to get out of the cuffs. I could run though. I glanced around, looking for the best escape route.

“Don’t even think about running,” Belial said, with that low, hard voice, as tendrils of darkness snaked around me, trapping my arms at my sides.

“Let me go, asshole!” I shouted, trying to summon my anger again, along with my courage. “Or at least have the balls to kill me already!”

Belial’s eyebrow arched at that, and then a tendril of darkness snaked its way up my neck and sealed itself across my lips. I screamed against it, struggling harder, but it held tight. There was nothing I could do but glare at Belial, trying to relay exactly how I felt about him through my eyes.

“I’m not going to kill you,” he said. “At least, not yet.”

“Why not?” I asked, but it came out a garble of repressed, furious sounds.

“You’re coming with me.”

He scooped me up into his strong arms as my muffled protests got louder and more frantic. I struggled with everything I had, but between the cuffs and his shadow bindings, there was nothing I could do. Besides, he was way too powerful, much more so than I’d expected.

He cradled me in his arms like he was rescuing me, as his huge wings snapped out behind him. They were impossibly beautiful—his feathers inky black at the top, then fading to gray, then turning to white along the bottom tips. I’d be impressed, if I wasn’t being kidnapped.

With a sweep of his wings, we lifted into the air. My eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets as we flew higher, while shadows swirled around us, blending us into the night. If I had access to my hands, I would cling to him for dear life. As the twinkling lights of New Orleans zipped beneath us, I prayed he wouldn’t drop me. Then again, maybe I’d be better off if he did. A quick death, rather than whatever he had in mind for me.

Where the hell was Belial taking me—and why?

3

EIRA

B

elial’s feet finally touched down on the roof of a building in the French Quarter, and I let out a long breath, my muscles relaxing slightly. Was flying across the city amazing? Yes. Was it terrifying? Also yes.

I still had no idea where the Grim Reaper of New Orleans was taking me either. Was he going to torture me? As part fae and part demon, I healed faster than any human, although that wouldn’t be true with these damn silver cuffs on. I struggled again for good measure as Belial walked toward a door on the roof, but he didn’t even seem to notice my efforts.

He threw the door open and stomped inside, narrowly smacking my head against the door frame. I snapped, “Watch it,” but the stupid shadow muzzle on my mouth turned it into gibberish. This asshole was getting an earful when he finally took it off me.

The stairwell inside was nearly pitch black, but my demon eyes let me see well enough in it. Not that there was much to see as we went down three flights to another door. Belial threw this one open too, and I craned my neck to look around. We were in a basement with no windows, filled with bottles and barrels of alcohol, cleaning supplies, crates of snack food, some bar stools, napkins, and table cloths, and a refrigerator. Had he taken me to his bar? I’d been watching it for a few days before I’d made my move against him, trying to learn his habits and his schedule. That was how I’d known he would go out tonight...to hunt. I’d given up struggling at this point, and I didn’t even try to yank at the darkness as Belial finally set me down. It was obviously futile. He had me in the magic-draining silver cuffs, and his own magic was airtight. I was sure he could hold me like this for as long as he needed. All I could do was glare up at him and hope he combusted on the spot from the hatred searing in my veins.