Hell—Maccus sanctioned by both Heaven and Hell. Then the bastard would finally die, something he should have done thousands of years ago.
Best of all, none of it would come back on him. He could point the finger at Lucifer. All he’d done was watch the scene unfold. And wasn’t that what angels did? They watched and didn’t interfere.
Still smiling, Gabriel walked away.
Chapter Nineteen
Morrigan drifted. It was such a pleasant state to be in that she didn’t fight it. It was like being hugged by a giant feather mattress—cozy, warm, and safe. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so content.
Something dark and ominous stirred just beyond her. She turned away, refusing to look. Maybe it was cowardly, but she was so tired.
Why am I so tired?
Memories were elusive, flitting just out of reach. Nothing existed beyond this moment.
But the longer she was aware, the less satisfied she became.
Where am I? What am I doing here?
These were questions that needed answers. And there was only one way to get them. She was going to have to move. Sighing, she went to sit upright. None of her muscles or limbs responded. Panic exploded. Was she paralyzed? A captive?
Images flashed through her brain of another time she’d been held immobile. Demons danced and laughed as she screamed. Blood dripped from her body. Fire scorched and ice burned. She shuddered, refusing to give in to the memory.
It’s not real. It’s not real.
But no matter how many times she repeated the mantra, the scene remained the same. It occurred to her that her eyelids were closed. This had to be a dream. All she had to do was open them, and she’d be free.
Like her limbs, her eyes weren’t cooperating. They weighed about two tons each and refused to budge.
Anger bubbled up inside her. Fear fell victim to indignation. Who was doing this to her? A picture of a man appeared in her mind. He was big and dangerous, his features rough. His hair was shaved on the sides, and the rest fell to his shoulders like a curtain of black silk. His dark eyes bore into her soul.
Maccus.
She shook her head to deny what she was seeing. He wouldn’t hurt her. Or would he? He wanted to survive just like she did.
But he would kill her outright. He wouldn’t torture her. Not like this.
Lucifer?
Yes, he’d not only torture her but enjoy every second of it. She had to open her eyes. It was the only way.
Why is it so hard?
She tried again and again, struggling to make her eyelids even flutter. Sweat beaded on her forehead and dripped down her temple. A sound penetrated her awareness, and she tried to home in on it, but it was difficult to hear anything beyond the screams of the demons in the nightmarish scene she was trapped in.
She searched for it endlessly but was unable to find the source. Despair threatened to swamp her. It would be so easy to give up, to give in to the inevitable.
Only she wasn’t a quitter—she was a fighter. Her fingers itched to hold her weapons. Since she didn’t have them, she’d have to fight with the only thing she did have—her mind.
Blocking out the howls and macabre laughter, she sought the voice. It was deep and male. There. There it was again.
She followed it, using all her tracking skills. She longed to know what it said, to hear any message of hope in the darkness.
“Wake up, damn it. You’ve been asleep long enough.”
No tender words of encouragement, but a demand. The familiar voice was a lifeline, and she grabbed at it with all her might. If anyone could defeat the demonic dream holding her captive, it was him.
The images and sounds of Hell were lessening the closer she got to his voice.
“It’s been long enough. Wake the fuck up, or I’m going to hand you over to Lucifer personally.”
His promise should have frightened her. It did the opposite, reassuring