Descent - Tara Fuller Page 0,38
of life on earth. A cold copy, just close enough to torture the souls with what they’d never see again.
Out in the open, the streets were cluttered with demons looking for ways to inflict pain and souls looking for a way to outrun it. They never did, of course. If a soul ever found itself free this deep into Hell, it was only because the demons were in the mood for a little cat-and-mouse. Shoulders knocked into mine, and an occasional claw caught on my coat. There was no escaping the contact. I felt the crowd trying to pull Gwen and me apart, bodies working a wedge between us. I reached behind me to wrap Gwen’s hand in mine and pulled her closer. After our moment during the acid storm, I couldn’t seem to get her close enough. I told myself it was just self-preservation, the need to keep the boss’s daughter safe. But as her fingers laced through mine, I knew I was full of shit.
My reasons for keeping Gwen safe had nothing to do with Balthazar.
I wanted her safe for me.
Even now, the demons we passed on the street stopped, sniffing the air. Her purity was a siren’s call, drawing them in with the mouthwatering promise of peace. If one of them got a taste of the Heaven in her veins, there would be no stopping them. I’d die all over again to protect her, but in the end…they’d win.
That thought was the only thing driving me as I navigated us through the dirty streets, deeper into the heart of the city, where the lust clubs drew in demons, and insanity washed away the road to escape. And unfortunately, the only place I knew of in Hell where I might be able to barter for a safe spot to stay.
Ahead, the crowd grew more restless. The familiar glow of Desire spilled out onto the street, painting the cobblestones red. Memories of pain lanced through me. Wrenching. Cutting. Burning. Sweat dripped into my eyes, and I pulled the hem of my shirt up to wipe it away.
“What is this place?” Gwen asked.
“A lust club,” I said. “But more importantly, a place to get off the radar.”
A woman with slick, pale skin and long black hair leaned against the crumbling brick wall outside the club. She grinned at us, teeth gray, lips crimson and raw.
“I’ve always wanted to taste a reaper,” she said, voice like sandpaper. “You don’t mind sharing, do you, pretty?”
She pushed off the wall, a predatory gleam in her black eyes. I pulled Gwen against my side and kept moving.
“What is she?” Gwen shivered, staring over her shoulder at the creature licking her lips with want.
“A succubus,” I said, stopping at the wide steel door that pulsed with a violent beat. “She’s looking to feed. There are going to be a lot of them here.”
“Feed?” She blinked up at me, confused and innocent. Way too freaking innocent. Jesus, I was not in the mood to give a crash course in sex to an angel. Especially an angel I’d had my hands all over just hours ago with not-so-innocent intentions. My gaze drifted over her glowing skin, her soft lips. I had no business touching her, looking at her. There was no doubt about it. I belonged in Hell.
I sucked in a deep breath and grabbed her shoulders, steeling myself for what I was about to expose her to. “Sex, Gwen. She feeds on a soul through sex. Kissing. Touching. There is going to be some of that going on in here, so…just keep your head down.”
Her cheeks flushed but she nodded. Stunned into silence, maybe? Good. I wasn’t in the mood to explain mechanics. If Balthazar didn’t annihilate me for bringing his only daughter to Hell on this suicide mission, he would after he found out I’d allowed her to witness this. He might have said he wanted this for her, to teach her some kind of misguided lesson, but I’d seen the truth and warning in his eyes. He’d agreed to this only because he didn’t think she’d make it past the shadow lands. I pushed open the doors, and a sickening mixture of moans and screams and music bled out into the night.
Inside, the smell was overwhelming, coppery and foul like blood. Demons and imps sat huddled around tables, slinging back glasses of…well, chances were I didn’t want to know. Bodies fought for space on the cramped dance floor. Succubi writhed and rubbed to the