Page 1 of The Damned (Coven of Bones #3)

B EE L ZE B U B

Before

It was fucking cold.

Lucifer had promised us a haven, and we’d gotten a half-frozen tundra where frost covered the grass in the morning. I’d never thought to miss the heat of Helfyre lingering nearby, but would it kill them to have the fireplaces lit in a place this cold and damp?

My black leather wings brushed against the archway as I crossed through one of the narrower hallways, forcing me to tuck them in tight and duck my head down low so I could fit through.

Scraping my wings against the stone walls might not have caused any damage, but it sure as fuck would serve a single purpose.

Pissing me the Hell off.

Lucifer was out of His mind giving that much of His blood to His consort, and I’d left them at the boundary of the woods, feeling entirely unsettled, after she’d clearly attempted to escape.

I didn’t know how she’d managed to wrap Him around her finger so efficiently; it wasn’t like she was a Red witch and had corrupted Him with the addictive nature of sex.

She was nothing special, just another human. He’d seen countless others who would have been willing to warm His bed and been far less complicated in the end.

I’d seen demons and lost souls fawn over Him in Hell, and I could only imagine the way they went for Him in the plane of the living, especially at a time when they hadn’t known how dangerous He truly was.

I strode through the hallways, heading toward the rooms Lucifer had given to the archangels in the meantime. It was a tiny, secluded hallway just off the Tribunal rooms and the courtyard that was crawling with plants that practically writhed with life.

Whatever the witches had done, that part of the world oozed with power in a way that the rest of Hollow’s Grove didn’t.

I’d spent the rest of my day after leaving them tending to the business that Lucifer should have been handling Himself. Keeping the archdemons in line, teaching them not to eat the witches for their lunch.

To keep their hands off until Lucifer worked out how He saw all this going down. Ruling over them had always been His intent, and where our visions for this world differed. He saw them as wayward children, as beings He could bring to heel and live alongside.

I saw them as the reason Lucifer had abandoned us in Hell, and it stood to reason that they should know how that solitude felt for themselves.

They didn’t seem to appreciate having Him walk among them for all these centuries, not the way His faithful demons would have been overjoyed to have Him return to us.

To choose us.

Him having a witch for a wife—a complication none of the archdemons had seen coming—wasn’t part of the plan.

I faltered in my steps, hearing the soft sound of an innocent melody ringing through the night as I went about my patrols.

All the witches had retreated to bed before dark, as if they feared what the archdemons might do to them if they were caught out of their rooms at night.

It was a wholly foolish endeavor. They should have known, as well as anyone could, that evil wasn’t relegated to darkness.

We could kill them just as easily under the shining sun of day.

The plants in the courtyard swayed in place in tune with the soft melody. The woman’s voice was husky and low. I glided forward on steady, sure feet, unable to resist the call of that tone. I couldn’t see her, not with the way the plants shielded her from view.

Muffling her song, I realized. Keeping it private in an area that might have otherwise been occupied if not for the witches’ fear of us.

The very notion that one of them was brave enough to come out alone when the others weren’t would have been enough to pique my curiosity as it was.

But the heartbreaking beauty in that song tugged at the place a heart would have been, had I believed myself to have one.

A smarter male would have turned away for that reason. While I’d never heard the song of a witch before, I knew of the power they held for all who heard them—the way some witches used them to ensnare their victims so they could feed from the lust they crafted.

I moved forward anyway, drawn to that sound in ways I couldn’t otherwise explain, enraptured like a moth to the flame.

I approached the stone wall at the side of the courtyard, stepping over it with ease to approach my captor.

The roses formed an archway in the center of the garden, almost like a walkway that was created for me, leading me down the path to temptation.

A woman lingered at the end of the tunnel they formed, her back to me.

Wavy blond hair fell to just above her shoulders in layers, making it look fluffy and softer than anything I’d ever felt.

The sudden need to touch it overcame me, making me take another step as my gaze trailed down over the smooth expanse of her shoulders.

Her deep red top dipped low in the back, revealing the curve of her spine.

She’d tattooed music notes up the center, the ink billowing out into wisps as it met the defined lines of muscle that ran down either side.

Her plaid skirt was short, and the white thigh-high stockings hugged her long legs and the smooth definition of them.

There wasn’t a lump in sight where the top of the stocking met her thigh.

I could already imagine the strength I would find in those legs if I ran my fingers up the length of them, immediately making me want to know more about her vice of choice—the exercise she used to gain such obsessive control over her body.

There wasn’t a hair out of place on her head, not a speck of dirt or lint anywhere to be found on her clothing.

She was careful and meticulous about her appearance, but something in it felt more forced than natural, the tattoo up her spine the only hint of the real woman who lingered beneath that careful external control.

I took another step, wincing at the sound of a stick cracking beneath my boot. The plants ceased to move as they sensed my presence, the swaying roses and vines of ivy stilling in a way that only made my misstep feel louder in the silence that followed.

The woman spun suddenly, her song stopping as her hair flipped to reveal her pretty, shocked face.

No, pretty wasn’t a strong enough word.

She was an angel, her mahogany eyes wide and her perfect bowed lips parted in shock. Her eyes drifted closed as she took in the sight of me and sighed, and I couldn’t stop the growl that rumbled in my chest.

Didn’t she recognize the predator in her midst?

I stalked forward, pausing only when she stumbled back a step in fear. Her cheekbones were high, cut like glass, and her nose the perfect button at the center of her face. Her uniform revealed a line of cleavage, showing breasts ample enough to fill my hands.

“I didn’t mean for anyone to hear me,” she said, her voice a husky melody tinged with apology. There was a roughness to it that reminded me of passion on a hot summer’s night, that made me think of balmy air and sweat-slicked bodies.

“I heard you, songbird,” I said, taking another step forward.

The woman winced as if I’d physically struck her. “You’ll unhear me soon enough,” she said, stepping around me. She kept her head down as she tried to pass me by, her entire body scrambling frantically when I reached for her and my fingers brushed her arm.

I retreated from the touch immediately, unable to understand why I cared enough to respect her wish for space.

She was a witch, the very creature I had spent centuries of life despising and plotting for the day I could punish them as I’d been punished.

They deserved to know every bit of pain that came with being left behind, to have a life without hope in the darkest of all places.

So why did the very idea that she’d already known such pain fill me with rage I thought myself incapable of after all these years?

My brow furrowed, narrowing down on the look of panic on her face. There was no mistaking the caution there. The fear of being touched.

Who?

I didn’t voice the question, shoving my hands into my pants pockets to appease her. She was already so jumpy. She tracked my every movement, her body tense as if waiting for me to attack.

Her feet were shoulder-width apart, braced to fight just as much as to flee. That alone earned my respect, knowing that she would do whatever it took to navigate her way out of danger—that she’d likely vowed to take any would-be attacker down with her.

The muscle tone in her delicate body only confirmed it.

“What’s your name?” I asked, watching as she ran her tongue over her lip to wet it.

My entire world narrowed down to the movement, my body tensing with the need to feel that wet heat on my lips.

I knew it had to be a consequence of her song, this attraction that was so potent and unnatural it could be nothing less than her magic working its way through my body, attempting to twist me into her willing servant.

“My name doesn’t matter. You’ll forget all about me soon enough,” she said, turning on one of her high heels.

She moved like a professional in them despite the dirt beneath her feet, easing her way over the stone half-wall border that surrounded the flourishing courtyard.

Her heels clicked against the stone floors as she fled quickly, but she didn’t run.

She didn’t give me the privilege of that fear.

Leaving me staring after the mystery woman, wondering how anyone could ever forget her.