Page 28 of My Demon Hunter (Hell Bent #2)
Mep h ilogue
V alefor, Duke of Hell, sat in his study, poring over ancient texts in a rage. Paimon’s territory had fallen, its queen with it. How had he not seen this coming?
“The prophecy said King of Hell, damn it!” He smashed a fist onto the desk, sending papers flying.
He’d been foolish to believe the humans’ interpretation of the seer’s words from centuries ago. He should have done his own analysis and translations. Maybe then he would have realized that since humankind had already mistaken Paimon for a King, it stood to reason they might make that same mistake elsewhere.
It was a minor miscalculation, but one with disastrous consequences. Because of that one mistake, he’d been looking in all the wrong places. All his careful plans were moot now, and it was too late to turn the situation to his advantage.
Like most powerful demons, Valefor had his own agenda. He hadn’t cared about preventing Paimon’s fall, but he had cared about taking her territory for himself and amassing enough power to hold it in the process. He’d cared very much indeed.
But thanks to the misinterpretation of the prophecy, he hadn’t been in position to fight when Paimon had fallen. He hadn’t even had time to gather his legions. Worse, someone else had already claimed it, and he didn’t have a clue who it was.
He’d sent spies to scout the territory, but whoever it was had already reinforced the boundary wards, and his minions had yet to successfully breach them. He had no doubt word would spread soon, but in Hell, it was always wise to be the first to know things.
“Cursed fucking witches!” He slammed his fist onto the desk again. This time it cracked in two and fell into his lap. The text he’d been looking through slid down and hit the floor, scattering half the pages in the process.
Valefor leapt to his feet and roared a mighty roar that shook the foundations of his lair. Collecting himself, he looked around the ruins of his office and sighed. He’d just had it reorganized after his last outburst, and now he’d have to do it again. Maybe he was overreacting a bit.
Or maybe , if life didn’t keep fucking him over, he wouldn’t be forced to react this way.
A summons request tugged at the corner of his consciousness, and he sneered. Murmur. As if he would leave his lair at the beck and call of that zombie-faced freak. If Murmur wanted to see him, he could damn well come himself.
He made the other demon aware of this by reversing the call of the summons. A battle of wills would ensue. Two rivals would not acquiesce to each other’s will without a fight.
But, to his surprise, a wind picked up in the hellgate in the corner almost immediately.
It swirled with greater effect until the tall, looming figure of a demon with proud upward-pointing horns appeared in it. The souls of the damned sworn to Murmur’s service swirled around his feet for dramatic effect, the vague outlines of their heads and shoulders just discernible.
Murmur stepped out of the sigil and approached gracefully. With his dead eyes and deader complexion, the Necromancer had always creeped Valefor out, but he hid it well. He was not without his own power, after all, and they were considered equals. Two Dukes holding counsel.
“To what do I owe the displeasure of your company,” Valefor drawled at his guest.
Murmur rested an idle hand on his sword hilt. Paying no mind to the destroyed table and scattered pages, he fixed his bloodshot eyes on Valefor.
“I have something you want.”
“Indeed?” Valefor leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. If Murmur wasn’t going to acknowledge the broken table, he wasn’t either. “And what is it you think I want?”
“You’re obsessed with collecting artifacts of power because you want to become a King. And you want your favorite toy back under your control so you can do it. You know that without him, you’re not strong enough to hold a larger territory.”
Valefor kept his expression neutral. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. If I wanted more territory, I could have taken Paimon’s.”
Murmur smiled. “No, you couldn’t have. Because I took it, and you wouldn’t have stood a chance against me.”
His shock got the better of him, and he stood abruptly. “ You took Paimon’s territory? How?”
“Careful preparation.”
The corpse looked so damn smug, Valefor wanted to make him regret it. But even as violent thoughts arose, the souls churned around Murmur’s feet, reminding him that at present, he wasn’t equipped to face this foe.
But he could be. With the right weapon at his disposal, he could defeat anyone.
The bastard was right. Valefor needed his “toy” back.
He dropped back into his chair and steepled his fingers. “So tell me, Necromancer. How can you give me what I want?”
That smirk never leaving his face, Murmur reached inside his coat and withdrew a vial full of red liquid, held carefully between his claws. “Allow me to explain exactly what happened to Paimon.”
“I already know.” Valefor waved a hand in impatience. “She was betrayed by the Hunter and defeated by the blood-born twins.”
“And then the Hunter went rogue.” Murmur gave him a pointed look.
He straightened in his chair. “Rogue? Like...?”
“Yes. In fact, Belial himself made a bargain with me to assist him and the witches in their escape and return to Earth.”
“Belial?” This was... unexpected.
“And what does this vial have to do with anything, you might ask?” Murmur’s smile returned. “The liquid within was charged with a simple siphoning spell. I hid it beside the hellgate the Hunter and the witches used to return to Earth. The gate was locked, and I didn’t try to track them, as per my agreement. But this siphon...” He shook it lightly. “There is more than enough information here to trace the gate’s path back to its precise location on Earth. I can’t use it, as I vowed I would not... but someone else can.”
Valefor had frozen, his gaze locked avariciously on the vial.
“I have here a direct route to Belial and the other rogues. Tell me, what do you think that information might be worth to others? To Lucifer, for example?” One brow lifted. “And yet, I am here, talking to you.”
“Why?” Valefor transferred his gaze to the Necromancer’s.
There was no point pretending he didn’t want the vial as badly as he did. Murmur knew how desperate he was to retrieve his former weapon and exact revenge. No one stole from him and lived to tell the tale. Nothing that was his was ever surrendered.
And Mephistopheles... terrifying, ungodly creature that he was... had always been his.
“Why you?” Murmur asked. “Because there is something I want—in addition to ample payment, of course. And you are going to get it for me.”