Page 11 of My Demon Hunter (Hell Bent #2)

10

H ELL H OLE

T he gate sigil had taken Mist to the safety of his cave, where he’d hunkered down to wait as long as possible before making an audience with Paimon. She would’ve been aware the second he arrived, but his delay was a small act of defiance.

He had never bothered to be defiant before. What was the point? Pain and torture followed disobedience. Rule breakers were punished, and he was far too clever to be one of those.

But now... he had lost his simple conviction, and nothing seemed so black and white anymore.

Finally, he could ignore the summons no longer. He double-checked the flower he’d stowed in the crevice with his other possessions, making sure it was safely hidden. The blossom had already died—within minutes of arriving in Hell—but it didn’t matter.

It was his, and he would keep it safe until it disintegrated to dust.

Dissolving to mist, he ghosted through the passages of Paimon’s lair until he was outside the throne room. There, he reformed his body, taking a moment to listen through the door.

The hall was known to play host to any number of nefarious activities, from torture parties, orgies, and fighting rings, to decadent feasts and drugged-out EDM raves. Unfortunately, now he heard only silence.

He’d hoped to arrive while Paimon was too busy to question him on his disappearance, but it appeared luck was not on his side. Upon entering through the towering doors—without banging the gargoyle-head knockers, since they were made of actual severed gargoyle heads—he found the hall mostly empty.

Except for Paimon, of course.

The Queen of Hell sat in all her demonic glory, clad in leather armor and gauntlets with deadly spikes protruding from the shoulders. At her side, Shaheen rested on the floor, red eyes gleaming beneath his long lashes. The camel’s spindly legs were folded beneath his skeletal body.

Paimon’s double horns and dark wings completed the forbidding picture, and her hair was wound into a braid and pulled over one shoulder, falling past breasts that were hidden by her armor.

She was not a succubus, and there was no other use for feminine softness in Hell. As a result, she did such a good job disguising any female attributes that most human records listed her as a “male with a beautiful face.”

Ignoring his heart’s nervous pounding, Mist approached the throne like he was making his usual report and nothing was out of the ordinary. Paimon was a volatile beast; there was no telling how she’d react. At least his brand had stopped burning now that he’d returned.

“Mishetsu, what a surprise,” she drawled as he halted before her.

Several of her minions hovered around, fanning her with some poor wretch’s amputated wings and balancing trays of dark red drinks that were probably blood, complete with straws and tiny umbrellas.

Mist bowed at the waist.

Paimon raised a brow at his failure to greet her as “Mistress” as he normally did. But he couldn’t bring himself to be subservient and willingly play the role of her dutiful Hunter as he had for millennia.

“Care to tell me why you’ve been out of touch for two months?”

“I was hunting my targets,” he replied, straightening.

Every ounce of control he possessed was channeled into maintaining a blank expression and even heart rate. If he so much as breathed unevenly, Paimon could discover his lies, and there would be hell to pay.

“And you couldn’t check in with a progress report in that time?”

“I have no progress to report. Thus far, I have been unsuccessful.”

Her brows climbed her forehead. “I find that hard to believe.”

With good reason. There had never been a target he hadn’t apprehended within a month or two, and the times it had taken that long were few and far between.

The truth was that he’d found Asmodeus only one week after his escape from Hell, shadowed him for another, and then located the others as well. If he’d reported his success to Paimon then, he would likely be out on his next assignment by now.

But he had lied.

Just as he had lied about the fate of Eligos.

“Belial is unlike my usual targets.” That much, at least, was true. “It’s probable he has discovered a way of masking his scent. I have not sensed his presence anywhere.”

“Hm.” Paimon steepled her claws. “And the other three?”

“I believe they remain together.”

She scoffed. “I never understood what they were doing, opening the borders between their territories like they didn’t want war. Perhaps they escaped to Earth to live peacefully like the humans they obviously adore.” She gave a bark of chilling laughter, but she had no idea how close to the truth she was.

As abruptly as it had come, the humor vanished, and she pinned him with a hard stare. “So, you’re telling me in two months, you haven’t found a single trace of them.”

“Correct.” His tail flicked.

“And you think that is because Belial has found a way to mask his scent. Nephilim blood, perhaps?”

“Perhaps.”

“Hm.”

She leaned forward and studied him through narrowed eyes. Leaning an elbow on the throne’s armrest, she propped her chin on one hand and said nothing. Neither did he.

Finally, she leaned back, shaking her head. “You’re lying.”

His blood went cold.

“Which is funny because, in all your time of service to me, I don’t think I’ve ever felt that certainty before.”

He thought of Eligos. At least he’d gotten away with it once.

Her head tilted, shifting the shadows on her face. “You’ve always been so obedient. What changed? What are you hiding from me?”

He lifted his chin though his blood was ice. “I am hiding nothing.” Yet he couldn’t bear to confirm her first statement and claim to be obedient. Even thinking the word made his stomach churn.

“Hm.” Her head tilted the other way, those great horns tilting with it. “No, I don’t think I believe you. I think you’ve been lying from the moment you stepped in here.”

“I have not lied, Mistress.” He had to grit his teeth to get the word out.

Where was his control? In the past, he would say or do anything to escape these meetings unscathed. Pride was for the foolish. The cleverest hunters waited in silence and stillness to conserve energy.

She flicked her claws, dismissing his efforts. “Let’s try again. This time, before you answer, remember what happens to those who try to betray me. Try , because they do not succeed. Now, where have you been, Mishetsu?”

His mouth had gone dry, so he swallowed before forcing his reply. “I was hunting my targets.”

“And did you find them?”

“No.”

She shook her head and clucked her tongue. “Let’s try again. Where have you been?”

“I was hunting my targets.”

“And?”

“And”—his tail flicked restlessly—“I have not found them.”

Her claws drummed on the carved-bone armrest. Her horizontal pupils burned with warning. “Where. Have. You. Been.”

“Hunting my—”

His words cut off as his heart seized in his chest.

Mist dropped to his knees, the pain of his frozen heart unbearable as his lungs sought oxygen and his blood stagnated in his veins. A human would have lost consciousness instantly; a demon was not so lucky. Gasping, he gripped his chest and fought with everything he had not to fall at her feet.

Eyes alight with the thrill of violence, Paimon leaned forward, her power stirring the air as she manipulated him through the brands. Beneath all that leather armor, a mark nearly identical to his graced the center of her chest, giving her complete control over him.

His life, his whereabouts, his liberty—even his heartbeat belonged to her.

Oh, how he loathed her. He hated her so much, it made his stagnant blood boil with rage. But it was a useless emotion because there was nothing he could do against her.

He was weak. He was powerless.

Sometimes he would rather be dead than remain her unwilling servant for even a moment longer. Now was one of those times. After tasting freedom on Earth and breathing Lily’s scent, he could not bear to endure another minute of this cursed life.

An involuntary gasp tore from him as Paimon released control of his heart and it lurched back to life. Coughing, lightheaded from the sudden influx of oxygenated blood, he tipped forward onto his hands.

His head hung, his hair falling over his face to hide his murderous expression. His wings draped limply over his back onto the cold stone floor.

“I’ll ask again, Mishetsu. Where have you been?”

Was this it, then? Did she plan to torture him until he told her the truth?

Then she will torture me for all eternity.

No matter what horrors she did unto him, he could not betray Belial and the others because of the blood contract that prevented him from revealing their location or Eva’s existence.

He was glad he had agreed to it now. It meant he could let go of his sanity to survive the agony without fear of violating the agreement.

No matter what happened, he would not break.

“Hunting...” he hissed, his heart still stuttering painfully back to life. “My... targets—”

It seized again.

His spine arched from the pain. His lungs fought to work, his blood burned in his brain, his body felt as though it might rupture.

Again, she released him. And again, he swayed, but he used every ounce of strength he possessed to remain on his hands and knees.

He would not lie prostrate before her until he was fully unconscious. This newfound pride had suddenly become the only thing giving his life meaning, and he clung to it.

Paimon’s power flared, the dark scent tainting the air as she activated the next set of brands. Manacles formed on his wrists, directly over the tattoo-like bands, a heavy length of chain between them.

The manacles adhered directly to his skin, and there was no way to remove them without her magic. They also bound his ability to turn to mist—there would be no escape that way. He’d tried severing his hands at the forearm before, and though he was freed for a time, as soon as his limbs regenerated, the cuffs reappeared.

The links between the manacles joined a longer chain in the center that led directly to Paimon’s outstretched hands. She gave that length a powerful yank, pulling his arms out from under him, dislodging his balance and forcing him to fall forward.

She smiled as he struggled back to his hands and knees, only to be jerked flat to the ground yet again.

“Keep going, Mishetsu. I can do this for days.”

She stopped his heart again, his breath rattling out like the wheezes of a dying man, and then restarted it. This time he blacked out, toppling over, only to climb back to his hands and knees as soon as he regained consciousness. His hair hung in his eyes, but he had no strength to brush it aside and welcomed the curtain blocking Paimon from view anyway.

“Tell me where you were, where you really were, and this ends now. I’ll let you go right back to hunting like nothing ever happened. All you have to do is tell me the truth.”

“I’m telling... the truth.”

“Did you forget who your mistress is? Do you think I can’t recognize a lie when I hear it? You’d have better luck fighting off my hungry goraths in the Pit. Which is exactly where you’re headed if you don’t start talking.”

So his fate was to be devoured by monsters before an audience, over and over again until Paimon chose to have mercy on him. Which would likely be never. Because she wasn’t capable of it.

“I’ll pull your half-digested carcass out when I need you to hunt again.” She cocked her head. “Or not.”

Some time later, the Hunter finally lost the ability to fight back, and Paimon grew bored. She had won their battle of wills, but she didn’t feel satisfied. Mishetsu’s stubborn silence kept her from reveling in her victory.

Her Hunter had lied to her. Her Hunter and no one else’s. The wrath bubbled inside like an active volcano, and she knew she needed more blood, more violence, more screams. More, more, more. Always more.

She stood suddenly, stretching her wings. Beside her, Shaheen lifted his head and blinked in question. He too had become bored by the spectacle and craved more exciting violence.

Dropping the chain connected to the Hunter’s cuffs, she approached his still form. Halting beside his head, she saw his yellow eyes blink groggily up at her. Not fully unconscious, then. Her lip curled with annoyance.

She lifted a boot and placed it on one of his delicate wing bones. And then she stepped down. The bone’s snap echoed through the cavern, and Mishetsu exhaled a low groan of pain.

Still not enough .

With a sigh, she beckoned to a nearby minion who hastily approached. Sensing his mistress was in a volatile mood, the gargoyle bowed deeply, careful not to meet her gaze.

“Yes, my unholy queen?” His bow was so low, his snout scraped the ground. Her servants all had remarkable hamstring flexibility.

“Drag Mishetsu through the castle by his chains. Make sure he is seen by all in this state.” She kicked at his side idly. “Perhaps that will take his pride down a notch.”

“Yes, Mistress.” The gargoyle remained folded at the waist, his wings submissively tucked against his body.

“On your way, spread the word that he’ll be thrown in the Pit. Wait until he’s healed enough to put up a good fight and the crowd has gathered, and then do it.”

She didn’t miss the stiffening of the gargoyle’s spine. Yes, anyone in the room had heard her make the threat when Mishetsu refused to talk, but she supposed they doubted she would actually dispose of her most valued servant.

“Yes, Mistress.”

“I want everyone there, do you understand?”

“Yes, Mistress. Your will be done, Mistress.”

She narrowed her eyes at the creature’s back a moment, disgusted by his meek subservience. This was why she had always favored Mishetsu. He was compliant and loyal, but he had a brain and could think for himself. Why had he felt the need to use that brain to betray her? He’d ruined everything.

She remembered a time after the branding ritual was completed that he’d tried to defy her, but she had eventually broken him. She’d drilled into him over and over that disobedience was punished and rebellion was never worth the consequences. He existed to serve, and he had always known it.

Until now.

She kicked him again. “Get him out of my sight.”

The gargoyle hurried forward to collect the length of chain and then heaved with all the might in his stubby body. Mishetsu barely budged. Eyes bulging with panic, the gargoyle heaved again, and this time, the Hunter slid forward... several inches.

Paimon’s nostrils flared with irritation. Now sweating profusely, nervous gaze flicking between her and Mishetsu, the gargoyle yanked again, gaining but a few more inches.

“What is taking so long!”

The demon lurched, trembling. “He’s h-h-heavy—”

“I didn’t ask for excuses, imbecile!”

“Y-y-yes—” The gargoyle set about his task and again proved himself useless. Dispensable. Disposable. Was there no one left to serve her who wasn’t just wasting air?

With a shriek, she snatched up the demon and buried her fangs in his squat neck. She drained the creature into a withered husk and then ripped his body into several pieces, tossing them across the room to hit the walls with a hollow thud since there was no blood left to squelch or spray.

Boring.

“You’ll have to do it, Shaheen, since you’re the only one without a rock where your brain should be.”

Shaheen rose gracefully and approached, picking up the chain in his teeth and striding toward the exit, the Hunter dragging behind him.

“You lot”—she pointed to the remaining servants cowering against the wall—“go with him and assist in spreading the word. Do not anger me or you’ll join Mishetsu in the Pit.” They began to bow customarily, and she snapped, “Now! Get out of my sight!”

Alone at last, she slumped back into her throne and drummed her claws on the armrest.

Mishetsu was up to something with Belial and the other rogues, and she needed to find out what.

Belial’s defection had shaken the very foundations of Hell—literally. He was so powerful that his presence actually played a critical role in upholding the foundations of the underworld. There had been several devastating earthquakes after he’d abandoned his territory, and the entire Screaming Souls mountain range had disappeared into an enormous crack that spontaneously appeared in the ground.

Why would a demon that powerful willingly leave Hell for a meaningless existence among mortals? His great power was dampened on the Earth plane, his indomitable demon form exchanged for a lowly human one, his lairs, legions, and servants all abandoned in favor of... what?

What could he possibly seek on Earth that would gratify a demon of his caliber? It was the great mystery, the whispered gossip spreading across Hell like wildfire.

And now this. She was certain her Hunter had found him. Maybe what Belial had left Hell to seek, Mishetsu wanted as well. But what? Riches? Power? It couldn’t be, for there were none with more of those than Belial, save Lucifer himself.

Paimon sat up straight in her throne.

The only one with greater power and influence than Belial was Lucifer himself. And Belial knew that.

What if he wanted to shift that imbalance? What if he sought some new power source on Earth because he planned to unseat Lucifer as High King? There had been talk among Belial’s legions for ages about him making a play for the throne, but most of the rumors agreed that he wasn’t powerful enough to defeat Lucifer head on. Perhaps the entire reason behind his escape to Earth was to secure some secret means to stack the odds in his favor.

And if Mishetsu had found them, Belial could have offered him freedom if he joined his cause. She had always known her Hunter would give anything to be rid of his ties to her. It was why she’d so carefully chosen the ritual that bound him. If there was a means of escape, he would have found it long ago.

But if Belial had convinced him he had the power to remove the brands, Mishetsu could be tempted by the offer.

If this was true... the implications were enormous. The search for Belial would need to become more than Mishetsu’s job. She would need to go to Lucifer himself.

She winced, quickly backtracking. She wasn’t going near Lucifer unless she had solid proof of her theory. Hell’s High King was everyone’s worst nightmare, and every instance she’d met with him stuck out among her most unpleasant of memories. His Unholiness had complete power over every being in the underworld, and he loved to abuse it.

Before she did anything drastic and risked facing his displeasure, she needed more information. She didn’t delude herself into thinking she could find Belial as easily as Mishetsu could—he was called the Hunter for a reason.

But perhaps there was another way. Perhaps, if she could find out what power source Belial was seeking... it might lead her right to him.