Page 7 of Conquest (The Four Horsemen #1)

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Victory sat on the floor of the room, curling her legs under herself so that Conquest could step down from her back easily, the Angel still in his arms.

He laid it out on his bed and sat on the edge.

Bloody hell. He hadn’t expected Uriel to just leave it behind when pushed like that. He had expected him to fight for it.

What was he supposed to do with it now?

He had gone seeking answers and had only come back with more questions. It meant something to the Angels, that much was clear. Uriel might have left it, but he knew Conquest was too curious to kill it yet.

“It’s still here.”

Conquest looked up to find Famine in the doorway. “The Archangels didn’t want it.”

“Oh?” Famine came to stand beside Conquest, and stared down at the baby Angel. Paul climbed the side of the bed and sat beside it. “Who did you see?”

“The resident asshole.”

Famine hummed in response.

Conquest turned to face the Angel. It looked peaceful and calm, with no idea that two predators were watching it.

He placed a hand on its stomach, feeling within. Even with a hand on it and deliberately searching, Conquest still couldn’t sense anything.

“What are you going to do with it?”

Conquest sighed and stood. “I have no idea.” He traced a finger down Raziel’s arm. It was smooth, unbelievably smooth. An idea had been forming, but he had been hoping he would have no use for it once he spoke to an Archangel. So much for that.

He recalled the moment he had sent a shiver down Raziel’s spine. He had done it deliberately and Raziel had responded, which meant he was susceptible. Not all Angels were, especially if they were connected to Zadkiel and his virtue.

“I’ll wait outside,” Famine said. “Come, Paul.”

Conquest tugged at the rip in the collar of the Angel’s robe. It tore further to reveal the Angel’s chest. He was perfectly sculpted. Conquest knew he would be; Angels were perfect in every way, it was how they were built. Conquest pressed his palm on the Angel's chest. Warm to the touch, a soothing balm to his own cold skin.

He would return the Angel to its flock, when he was ready. He would send him back broken, and irrevocably tainted. He would be owned by Conquest in every way.

Conquest would plunge the Angel into a world of depravity and enjoy every step of the journey. He would taste every inch of its virginal skin, bury himself so deep the Angel would feel him for eternity. He would destroy Raziel’s innocence, keep him craving more, have Conquest twisted so deeply in his soul he would be unable to let him go.

And then he would set him free, and watch as the Angel descended into a frenzy of madness.

Conquest glanced towards the door that Famine had gone through. He’d seen what happened to a person’s soul when they were abruptly cut from someone they loved so deeply it was part of their entire being. The damage was far worse than any blade could do.

He could break this toy, and all he had to do was seduce it so wholly it was consumed with thoughts of only Conquest.

Conquest ran his eyes down the entire length of the Angel. It was small, smaller than most Angels, but it was perfectly formed. It wouldn’t be a hardship to play with this one.

He’d never slept with an Angel before, nor an Archangel. He had never had the urge to stoop so low, and the Demons were depraved enough for him whenever he had an itch that needed scratching.

But this wasn’t about desire.

“Watch over him,” Conquest said to Victory as he took his leave. He strengthened the wards on the room, one finger on his crown.

Famine was sitting cross legged on the coffee table in the living room area, eating a chocolate brownie by pulling pieces from it. He gave every second piece to Paul, who was perched beside him.

“No animals on the furniture,” Conquest said, eyeing the spider with disgust.

“He’s an insect.”

“He fucking is not.”

“He has six legs.”

“Because Raphael ripped two of them off and they never grew back!”

Famine tore the last small piece in two and fed one to Paul before popping the remainder into his mouth. “The Angel?”

“There’s a sofa right there, you know.”

“Are you going to kill it?” Famine conjured another brownie. “Do it outside; blood is hell on the carpets.”

“No, I’m not going to kill it. He’s special.”

Famine raised a brow. “Attached already, Con?”

“To the Angels. Don’t be a dick, or I’ll feed the last of Paul’s legs to him.”

Famine bent a knee and put his elbow on it. “There’s no need to be rude.”

“I’ll even deep fry them first.”

Paul tried to grab at the brownie, since Famine was taking too long to give it to him. Famine gave him a stern look and Conquest was absolutely certain that the way Paul deflated and dramatically sat back was a fucking pout.

“You’re keeping it?” Famine asked.

“For now. It may have a use yet. Did War get the information I need?”

Famine twirled his hand and a stack of papers appeared in them. “I’ve listed the people you need to assassinate, in each country we want to influence. Make it look like an accident and plant the marked files with their bodies.”

Conquest flipped through the stack, making an appreciative noise. “Diabolical. I like it.”

“The world works differently these days. It’s both easier and harder to start a war now.”

“I do enjoy a challenge,” Conquest mused.

“There are places the mortals call ‘chat sites’ on the Internet. I’ve made a list of the best ones to use to fuel the flames.”

“Does War have a copy of this list?”

Famine gave him a silent ‘don’t be stupid, of course he does’ look.

“Anything else?”

Famine unfurled himself from the coffee table and stood. Paul climbed his back to perch on his shoulder. “There has been an increase in Demons sighted in the Mortal Dimension, but no sign of Samael.”

“Unusual for Diablo not to get his hands dirty. You haven’t seen him?”

Famine looked away, the muscle in his jaw jumping. “No. War has gone hunting, as will I. Call us and we shall come.”

“Be careful.”

They both knew he wasn’t talking about physical harm.

Famine opened a gateway to the fog and craned his head around to look at Conquest. “The President is holding a charity gala, a week from today. You’ll find your invite in the paperwork, and a plus one if you’re so inclined.”

Conquest nodded in thanks. Famine winked before he stepped through and was gone.

* * *

Raziel woke to a giant, fuzzy snout in his face. He wrinkled his nose and tried to lift a hand to push it away. His arm was so heavy it refused to cooperate.

The snout snorted in annoyance and moved away.

Raziel turned just his head, his whole body too lethargic and drained to move. Victory had her giant head resting beside him, the rest of her curled beside whatever he was lying on.

He spread his fingers and flattened his palm against the soft material.

Bed; furniture, for sleeping; a frame of various materials with a mattress and coverings.

“Where?” he tried to say, but it mostly came out as a breathless whisper, drowsiness threatening to overtake him again.

Victory’s ears twitched.

Raziel relaxed his head back into the pillow. Despite the white features of the room, and the light coming through the square opening, he didn’t think he was back in the Heavens. He had to assume he was somewhere in Conquest’s lodging.

The Archangels had left him here.

Tears stung the edges of his eyes. Left him here, like he was worthless. Left him here like they had said they wouldn’t.

What was going to happen to him now? Would Conquest torture him again? He wasn’t sure he could survive another round of that. He wasn’t strong enough. He was so tired.

His eyes fluttered shut, and he sank back into sleep.

When he woke again Victory was gone, and the room was pitch black, light no longer coming in.

The door to the room opened and light shone in from the hall until a large figure blocked most of it.

“Lights on.”

Light burst from the sphere hanging from the ceiling. Raziel hissed and shut his eyes against the sudden blinding.

“Wake up.”

“I am awake,” Raziel croaked out. He slowly opened his eyes, adjusting to the light. His body still felt weak and worn but not as heavy, so that was something. Had Conquest come to torture him again? He wasn’t ready, but it wasn’t like he had a choice in the matter.

Conquest moved to stand beside the bed, towering over him. He was wearing another form-fitting black suit, this time sans jacket. One of the sleeves was rolled to the elbow and the other was pulled all the way down to his wrist.

Raziel felt a strange heat rush over him as Conquest raked his gaze down his form. What was he doing?

Raziel braced himself for pain, cringing internally.

“Can you sit?”

Dizziness spun Raziel’s head as relief rushed through him. “You aren’t going to hurt me?”

“Not right now,” Conquest said, amusement lacing his voice. “Whether I do in the future is up to you. Now, sit up.”

Raziel moved into a sitting position, his legs dangling over the edge. It took longer than normal, his limbs shaking so badly he wasn’t sure he was going to be able to stay upright for long.

Conquest’s unnerving gaze didn’t falter and Raziel didn’t want to know what he saw. He didn’t need a Horseman of the Apocalypse confirming how weak and pathetic he was; he knew already.

“Stand.”

Raziel wanted to bite back, tell him he couldn’t. He could barely sit. Instead, he tightened his jaw and pushed himself off the edge of the bed. His stomach dipped before his feet landed painfully on the floor. His knees locked up and he crumpled.

An arm caught him around the chest just before his face could hit the floor. Raziel clung weakly to it, tremors racking his body. A glint of silver caught his eyes and Raziel turned. There was a horseshoe shaped metal piece at the end of Conquest’s white shirt sleeve. Raziel pressed his fingers against the cool silver.

Cuff-link; jewelry used to secure the cuffs of a dress shirt.

“You have to touch it to gain its knowledge?” Conquest asked.

The question was braced in a way that made Raziel’s throat close up. Was this just another way he was inferior? Did Angels not have to do that? Did they just know?

Conquest swung Raziel up and into his arms, cradling him against his chest. Raziel’s heart rate picked up and his vision blurred as his stomach protested the sudden movement.

“Control it,” Conquest ordered, as he began to walk. “Do not get sick on me.”

“Mkay,” Raziel mumbled. His head was spinning, but Conquest felt cool and refreshing and he leaned into it, trying to focus on something other than his churning stomach.

He was placed on his feet on a cold floor and Raziel shivered. Conquest let him go slowly, making sure he was going to stay upright. Raziel wanted to tell him it was fine but he didn’t know if that would be a lie.

“Do you have to touch with your palm, or any part of you?”

“Hand,” Raziel said. Fingers, palm, knuckles, it didn’t matter. He just needed to touch, and be able to concentrate. It was easiest with his palm because he could get the largest surface area beneath him.

“Can you absorb books?”

“Y-yes.” That at least he could do, he just preferred not to. He liked reading. It was time-consuming and gave him less moments of silence with only his failures to keep him company.

“Baby Angel,” Conquest mocked.

Raziel wanted to glare but every ounce of his energy was being used to stay standing. He had a feeling that the cold surface beneath him would hurt a lot more than the soft one from the room, if he were to fall.

“Take it off.”

Take what off?

Conquest raised a brow and Raziel’s heart stopped. Oh.

“I-I-” Conquest wanted him to get naked? He’d never been naked. He had woken in the robe all those years ago, and had never had any reason to remove it. He knew that other Angels used each other, that some of them got naked together. But Raziel had never been tempted. Not that it would have mattered; if the Angels didn’t want to talk to him, they certainly wouldn’t want to copulate with him.

Not that Conquest wanted to, of course.

Raziel willed his mind to shut up and be silent.

“Take it off, or I’ll do it for you.”

Raziel took a deep breath and sluggishly tugged the robe over himself, revealing his slender frame. He didn’t have the bulk that the Archangels did. Even the other Angels were bigger than him. He’d heard what they called him. Weak. Runt. Pitiful.

Conquest circled him and Raziel resisted the urge to cover himself.

“How long have you been an Angel?”

Raziel’s mind blanked. “A-uh-century?”

Conquest stopped directly behind Raziel, so close Raziel could feel the heat coming from him. He wondered where the heat was coming from, since Conquest was cold to the touch.

“You don’t know?” Conquest asked.

“Not...exactly.” He’d stopped counting the years a long time ago. He’d had nothing and no-one to mark the time with. It had begun to feel irrelevant.

Light fingertips brushed Raziel’s back. Tiny hints of pressure moving down, leaving trails of heat. His skin tightened and a strange fluttering sensation rose in his stomach. Even his groin area felt odd. He didn’t dare look. What was going on? Why was Conquest touching him like this?

“Get in the shower.”

“In the what?”

Conquest took one of his hands and pressed it against the piece of glass beside them, palm down.

Shower; a space for bathing using a downpour of water.

Images of items and their uses for the shower flashed through him one by one like a book.

Raziel stepped tentatively into the large shower space. There was an inbuilt nook where plastic bottles were lined up, and what looked like a seat on the other side, created with the same material that the floor was covered in. A panel with numbers and buttons was beside the taps. Raziel would need to touch it to find out what it was, and how to use it.

“When you’re done there’s a towel hanging up; dry yourself and put these clothes on,” Conquest said. He gestured to where clothing was hanging from a hook near the mirror.

Raziel had seen mortals wearing them when he had first landed. But he couldn’t learn more until he got out and touched them. It meant walking past where Conquest was standing, so he decided to wait.

“You have five minutes,” Conquest told him.

And then he was gone.

Raziel had thought he would be able to relax and breathe easier without the large presence in the room and yet, it didn’t help at all.

Because he knew Conquest was just out there, and there was no escape.

* * *

Conquest crossed his arms and waited.

A determined look on his face, Raziel turned on Victory’s back, his black denim covered ass in the air as he climbed down the side of her to land clumsily on the sidewalk.

Conquest took pleasure in watching the way the denim tightened around his assets. The Angel was certainly lithe, even if he was incompetent and worthless in every other way.

“Are you staying?” Conquest asked Victory.

She lifted her head in the air and trotted gracefully past him. He bit back a curse as she stepped on his foot on the way.

“That way?” Raziel asked.

“Yes.”

“Where are we?”

Conquest didn’t answer as he brought up the rear of their party.

The outskirts of Houston, Texas, were busy, even for the late afternoon hour. Conquest wore his Demon vessel and was visible to the mortals, though he refused to move and forced them to circle around him anyway. Raziel and Victory, however, were still shielded by his power. Victory could hide herself but Conquest was being careful to keep Raziel hidden from any Immortal, be they Demon or Angel. Uriel may have left him, but the Archangels still wanted him, and Conquest wasn’t willing to chance a surprise ambush.

At least the Angel wasn’t wearing the ridiculous robe anymore, so he wouldn’t stick out like a sore thumb. The black jeans, light blue t-shirt and black boots suited him far better than the generic Angelic monstrosity. In some ways, the attire made him seem even more mortal, his innocence a shining beacon.

Conquest would enjoy corrupting that innocence.

Conquest forced Raziel down onto a nearby chair in front of a café. “Sit here and don’t move.”

Raziel didn’t respond, but he didn’t need to. He wouldn’t get far because of the tether and they both knew it.

“Stay with him,” Conquest ordered as he passed Victory. She snorted and he sidestepped when she tried to shove him with her shoulder. She was in quite the mood, but he wouldn’t be caught out by her theatrics twice in one day.

He entered the building, nodding in greeting as he passed the doorman. The building was nondescript on purpose, made to blend in among the others. No-one would suspect that some of the highest-ranking officials in the city used it to complete their underhanded deals, or that billions of dirty dollars exchanged hands here.

An important closed-door meeting was being held there today, and not everyone was going to get out of the building alive. Conquest was there to make sure of it. He made sure to pass by at least three security cameras as he headed in the direction of the elevators. When the police looked them over later his face and features would be a blur, but the information he left upstairs would point them in the direction of someone who already had negative public ties to the victim.

In the empty corridor, he went down on one knee and placed his crown on the floor in front of him. With one hand pressed to the floor and the other connected to his crown, he pushed his power outwards until the full building was in his mind’s eye.

Every person in the building was listed and categorized. Conquest methodically discarded bystanders as irrelevant, until only three names remained. Two guards outside the room, the second door to the right, on the third floor. His target was inside.

He was a Judge with his fingers in some very shady pies. The deal he was to make today would have lined his pockets, and condemned a lot of people. But his death would make far more blood run than any of that money would. He wouldn’t be a willing sacrifice, of course. They never were. Conquest preferred it that way. Mortals willing to die were never any fun.

Conquest set his crown back on his head, and headed for the third floor.

The guards at the door watched him warily, but since Conquest was holding their reactions firm with his power there was nothing they could do as he approached. Their fight or flight reactions didn’t even trigger, and they stood helpless as he pulled two syringes from the inside of his jacket pocket and injected the cyanide within them into their bloodstreams. They fell to the floor, convulsing.

Conquest personally preferred a messier death but it needed to look deliberate, the finger needed to point at specific people, in order to start the conflict rolling in the right direction.

He flung the door open with a gust of energy and stepped over the dying mortals.

The Judge stood, mouth gaping. “What in the-”

Conquest pulled the neck tie he had brought with him from his pocket and wrapped it around the man’s neck. He kicked the mortal's knee, delighting in the sharp crack of bone breaking, and forced him down to the ground where Conquest could crouch and watch the fear blossom in his eyes. After a few seconds, he used his grip on the tie to haul the man up and back into his chair.

“Don’t worry,” Conquest said, as the man struggled against his hold, his face turning a disgusting shade of purple. “Your death will mean so much more than your useless life ever did.”

Red flooded the man’s eyes as he hemorrhaged. He slipped into unconsciousness moments later.

He wasn’t dead yet, however. Conquest made sure to keep only enough pressure so that it would look like the work of another mortal. Too much strength and he would snap the head clean off. While amusing, he couldn’t play with this one.

Once the man was well and truly dead, Conquest removed the tie. The throat was swollen and red, and his pants were wet. Mortals were abhorrent.

He laid the tie on the table and conjured the information he needed to be seen. He spread it out, to ensure all the relevant information was read.

Conquest slid his energy through the floors of the building to flick on the alarm before he jumped from the window, landing heavily on his feet on the sidewalk in front.

Raziel, who had been resting his chin on the table Conquest had left him at, yelled in surprise and flailed, tipping backwards.

Conquest created an energy pocket just under him so he didn’t smack his head.

He frowned at Victory. “What are you eating?”

She snorted and turned away from him. He moved to the side so he didn’t get kicked.

“Let’s go,” Conquest said. He glanced to the end of the street, where an ambulance came roaring around the corner, followed closely by two police cars, their lights flashing and sirens blaring.

They all screeched to a stop in front of the building and rushed inside, speaking rapidly to each other.

Conquest smirked.

Perfect.

He put his hands in his pockets and began to leisurely saunter down the street, around the people gawking, pointing and recording with their phones.

Raziel ran to catch up, the tether compelling him after Conquest.

Conquest wrapped an arm around his shoulder and stroked lightly with his thumb, making sure to push tiny jolts of pleasure through his system.

Raziel’s stride faltered as his heart rate kicked up.

Conquest’s smirk deepened.

Yes, everything was going according to plan.