Heart of flames, p.9
Heart of Flames, page 9
“Some of them are likely already here,” Gabriel said. Then, careful not to reveal Jacinda’s name—or their relationship, or the fact that she was in that very manor at that very moment—he said, “One of our associates familiar with succubus lore told us that such demons often initiate sexual encounters with humans in order to breed demon-human hybrids.”
Rogozin nodded. “I’ve heard of such practices, but I’ve not met any of these hybrids personally.”
“You may not have realized it if you had met one,” Gabriel continued. “These hybrids can allegedly pass between our realm and hell at will, and can exist here as is, no human vessels required. To most of us, they’d appear human—an advantage that allows them to hide in plain sight.”
“Hide from what?” Rogozin asked. “What is advantage, exactly?”
“Are you familiar with the term ‘sleeper cell?’”
Rogozin’s face paled. “You think hybrids here are just… just waiting for call to arms?”
“I think it’s entirely possible, given what we know about the demon behind all of this.”
“The succubus,” he said. “She is commander?”
“That’s what we thought initially, but no. Looks like she’s just following orders.”
Rogozin closed his eyes and sighed heavily through his nose. He seemed to be collecting his thoughts. Weighing his options.
When he glanced up at Gabriel again, his face was even more grim than before. “Azerius. That is why you called me here. You believe he is behind plot.”
Gabriel nodded. “Apparently, the prospect of a thousand-year banishment in hell isn’t sitting well with him. He wants out.”
“And you are certain your succubus is working for him? Working to bring him here?”
“Certain? No,” Gabriel said. “But it’s a very strong possibility—one we must give serious consideration.”
“Our source on that particular matter was unreliable at best,” Dorian said, “but also in no position to lie about it.”
“Was?” Rogozin asked. “Source is… past tense? Who?”
Gabriel looked at Dorian, who nodded for him to continue.
“Renault Duchanes,” Gabriel said.
Rogozin arched an eyebrow. “You found vampire traitor?”
“We captured him from a warehouse in New Jersey where he’d been working to amass a supernatural army of sorts,” Gabriel said. “We’d hoped to learn more about his plans and their connection to the demonic plot, but he was killed by the succubus just this morning.”
He relayed the story of Viansa’s hit-and-run, then filled him in about what they’d discovered at the warehouse, once again leaving Jacinda’s identity out of it.
“Duchanes ain’t the only one playing Dr. Frankenstein, either,” Cole said when Gabriel had finished up. “One of my guys checked in earlier. They’re still tracking grays in the woods all over the region. Got some new reports of shifters gone missing—all males, all from further upstate and into Vermont.”
“Missing?” Gabriel asked. This was the first he’d heard of more shifter abductions.
“Nabbed right outta their beds, according to their family members.” Cole scratched his beard, trying but failing to hold back a shudder. “Evidence of silver poisoning.”
Gabriel’s gut twisted. He could only imagine what the wolf had endured in captivity. He’d hoped they’d seen the last of those particular experiments when he’d killed the poor beasts trapped in the warehouse cages, but it seemed that wasn’t the case.
Fucking Duchanes. Death was too good for you…
“There’s a good chance whoever’s releasing the grays and kidnapping the shifters is a follower of Duchanes,” he said to Cole now. “Based on the numbers you gave me after your initial recon, I’d say we took down less than a third of them at the warehouse.”
“Figured as much about the mages,” Cole said. “I counted at least a hundred that first day. You took out, what?”
“Two dozen at most.”
“Math ain’t my strong suit, but… yeah.” Cole nodded. “Still a bunch more unaccounted for. And those fuckers sure seem happy to carry on the tradition of torturing my people.”
“And we’ll happily carry on the tradition of sending every last one of them to hell,” Gabriel said.
“Assuming we can find ‘em.” Cole slid a cigarette from his pack, tapped it against the table. “I know Duchanes said he was preppin' for some kinda war, but I’m not so sure about all that. From what I saw on the inside? He was just a cowardly bloodsucker stacking the deck, waiting to see which faction would come out on top so he could slide right in. All those monsters he created, all those mages… They were always gonna pick the winning side.”
“Common strategy among lesser men.” Rogozin hissed into his vodka. “Where is loyalty? Where is sense of honor?”
“You won’t find either among the followers of Renault Duchanes,” Dorian said. Then, to Cole, “Given what you saw at the warehouse, do you believe Duchanes was doing all of this to help Azerius, or to take a stand against him?”
“Help,” Cole said. “His money was always on Azerius. Azerius and Viansa—that’s the winning ticket right there.”
“I understand the connection between Azerius, Viansa, and the mages,” Dorian said, gazing into his half-empty glass. “They’re working together to break down the hell gates and give Azerius enough power to leave hell and take his true form in our realm. But the other supernaturals, the experiments… It almost seems beneath him. What does Azerius want with a bunch of mangled grays and resurrected shifters? Even the demons and vampires on Duchanes’ payroll were low-level henchmen, easily replaced.”
“Someone to fight his battles,” Rogozin said. “All-powerful demon lord such as Azerius… He does not want to get hands dirty. To him, other supernaturals are…” He rubbed his fingers together, searching for the word. “…expendable.”
“He’s not merely looking to overthrow our rule here,” Gabriel said, a few more of the pieces sliding into place. “He wants to turn our realm into a demonic realm. An entirely demonic realm. ”
“Hell 2.0?” Rogozin laughed, but the punchline was utterly lost on Gabriel.
“Forgive me, Alexei, but do you think this is funny?”
“Gabriel,” Dorian warned. “Let’s not insult our guest. He’s only trying to lighten the mood.”
“We’re talking about an apocalyptic event, Dorian. There’s no lightening that mood.” Gabriel rose from his chair, paced the dining room. Dorian could play politics all he wanted, but Gabriel was damn near crawling out of his mind trying to figure this thing out.
Azerius. Viansa. Keepers of the Dark Flame. Demon-human hybrids.
It was one thing for them to take out the royal vampires and assert themselves as leaders of the supernatural world—after all, that’s why Viansa and her mother had bred Jacinda, hoping to create an even more powerful hybrid than the ones the succubi could offer.
But turning the earthly realm into a second hell? That was bloody terrifying.
“Think about it, Dorian,” Gabriel said. “What is hell but a prison for banished souls? A place where the most powerful demons have free rein—sanctioned rein—to eternally torture and brutalize the souls of every human and supernatural who ends up there?”
“What are you getting at?” Dorian asked, a flicker of concern finally flashing through his eyes.
“If Azerius and Viansa rise to power in the material realm, take out vampires and the rest of the supernaturals in their way, and create a second hell, then every remaining soul on this planet immediately becomes part of hell’s domain—not just the souls who’ve earned the trip there.”
“You’re talking about an eternal torture chamber,” Dorian said. “The demonic enslavement of every being on this planet.”
Gabriel gave him a sarcastic grin. “Is your mood lighter yet, brother?”
“Hell 2.0 ain’t gonna happen,” Cole said adamantly. “Not as long as I’m still breathing.”
Dorian plucked the cigarette from between Cole’s lips and broke it. “Let’s not tempt fate, shall we?”
“We need to go after Azerius,” Gabriel said. “Viansa’s our first priority, but he has to be next.”
“But if we eliminate Viansa,” Dorian said, “Azerius has no way to manifest here. He’s depending on her to see this through.”
“Yes, until she fucks off into the sunset and the next original demon moves up the ranks, all too happy to plant his lips on the King of Blood and Ravens’ all-powerful arse.”
Rogozin set his glass down hard on the table, spearing Gabriel with an icy glare.
“Apologies if I’ve offended you,” Gabriel said, “but you’d be a fool to assume your hellspawn origin grants you immunity from a demonic tyrant.”
“Gabriel,” Dorian hissed, but Gabriel was far from finished.
He was just getting started.
“He Who Drinks the Blood of the Fallen,” he continued. “That’s what they call him. He Whom Before All Mortals Weep. He Who Slaughters the Blood of his Blood. Azerius murdered his own siblings, for fuck’s sake. What makes you think he gives a fuck about you?” Gabriel stopped pacing and leaned forward, hands braced on the table, unflinching in the face of Rogozin’s mounting anger. “Your organization may be the most powerful demonic faction in this realm, Alexei, but with all due respect, you’re not originals. You’re not even ancients. Unless you can prove yourselves critical and irreplaceable, you’ll find yourselves weeping before the King of Blood and Bullshit just like the rest of us, and on that day, I want you to remember this moment. Remember that the vampire prince was the one who warned you of your demise when all others sought only to placate you.”
Rogozin stared at him for a long moment, fingers tight around his glass, eyes narrowed, assessing.
Gabriel had to give the man credit. He didn’t erupt. Didn’t roast Gabriel in a ball of hellfire. Didn’t demand an explanation from Dorian for his little brother’s outburst.
He just waited. Watched. Considered.
Gabriel didn’t flinch either, though he was starting to understand why Dorian wanted the demon on their side. For all Gabriel’s doubts, Rogozin was a formidable player. Whether he could be trusted or not was immaterial; Dorian was wise to keep him close.
But Gabriel was formidable, too. Had been since the day his bastard of a father had taught him the hard lessons about mercy and weakness. Jacinda may have melted the ice from his heart, but he had a lifetime of reserves saved up for just such an occasion as exterminating a nefarious demonic turncoat at the first hint of subterfuge…
“You have valid point, vampire prince,” Rogozin finally said, lowering his eyes and returning his attention to his drink. “Maybe work on delivery, though.”
He laughed, but once again, the humor was lost on Gabriel
“So you agree Azerius needs to be eliminated?” Gabriel pressed. “And you’ll help us with this?”
Glaring at Gabriel once more, Rogozin reached for the bottle, emptying the last of it into his glass. After a deep drink, he said, “Azerius is complicated situation. Taking stand against him… It is forbidden by sacred oath.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Rogozin set down his glass and rolled up his sleeve, revealing the white raven tattooed on his inner forearm. It shimmered eerily in the light, the sight of it sending an unexpected chill down Gabriel’s spine.
“Some oaths,” Gabriel said, finally reclaiming his chair, “no matter how sacred, must be broken.”
“Some, yes. This one? Not so simple.” He pushed his sleeve back into place. “This isn’t just tattoo from corner shop. This is dark magic. Sacred promise. Bound by hell’s most—”
Gabriel held up a hand, cutting him off. He’d heard enough about dark magical binds and all the ways hell had conspired to fuck the entire world.
“So you’re saying none of the Rogozin demons can help with this?” Gabriel asked. “Because of your sacred oath?”
“Rogozin demons aren’t the only ones who venerate Azerius, Gabriel,” Dorian said. “Many of the other factions in this city have sworn fealty to him.”
Rogozin nodded. “This is true. However, I did not say we can’t help. Only that we can’t take stand.”
Gabriel shot Dorian a glance, but the vampire king seemed content to let the princeling fight the good fight.
I will kick your arse later, Gabriel mouthed.
Then, to Rogozin, “You can’t take a stand? What does that mean, exactly?”
Rogozin tipped back his glass. Drained it. Tried for another go at the gold medal in their staring contest.
When it was clear Gabriel wouldn’t back down, Rogozin finally said, “I know you don’t always agree with our methods, vampire prince. And is clear you dislike me, despite my allegiance to your family.”
“Alexei,” Dorian said, “I can assure you, Gabriel is—”
Rogozin held up his hand. “I understand. I had brother once too. But prince—Gabriel—believe me when I tell you my organization wants peace. We want to work in this city, to exist below radar of human authorities. We do not wish to bring wars of underworld into streets of New York.”
“On that, we are absolutely aligned,” Dorian said, and Gabriel nodded.
“You have plan for dealing with succubus?” Rogozin asked.
“We are working with dark witches on a spell that will bind her power and keep her trapped here long enough for us to eliminate her,” Dorian said, thankfully leaving out the part about rescuing Jacinda’s father from hell. “But our witches have not yet perfected the spell.”
Rogozin nodded. “I do not know about magic and binding spells—that is witch’s domain. But I do know way to kill original demon like Viansa.”
“What about Azerius?” Gabriel pressed.
“I told you, vampire prince. Those who’ve sworn fealty to King of Ravens cannot actively take up arms against him.”
“But—”
“But to leave something is very different from taking something, yes?”
Gabriel reined in the urge to ask him if he was drunk. “I don’t understand, Alexei. Leave something?”
“Taking, leaving, it is all matter of interpretation.” He rose from his chair, lifting the small black briefcase he’d carried in with him. Then, setting it on the table, he said, “I am old. Not ancient, as you helpfully reminded me, but old. Memory is… unreliable. Sometimes I forget things. I leave them behind. Sometimes others find these things. Sometimes they remember conversations that I, being an old demon who is fond of vodka, do not.”
Cole—clearly fluent in the language of the perpetually inebriated—nodded sagely, but Gabriel was lost. He understood that Alexei meant to leave the briefcase behind, but he couldn’t make heads or tails of the man’s cryptic babble.
“Thank you for enlightening evening,” Rogozin said with a smile that appeared genuine. Then, turning to Gabriel, “And for honesty. When we meet again, perhaps we will drink to surviving King of Blood and Bullshit, yes?”
Gabriel had no idea what the hell to say to all that, so he just nodded and reached out to shake Alexei’s hand.
The demon said his farewells, then saw himself out.
After replacing the vodka with scotch and bourbon—and Cole’s favorite cheap whiskey—Dorian finally opened the briefcase.
“Bloody fucking hell,” he whispered.
“That old thing?” Cole shook his head. “And here I thought he was leaving us some of them Russian dolls or more vodka or… something.”
Dorian flipped the case around so Gabriel could see it.
His stomach bottomed out at the sight. “Is that…”
“The Blade of Azerius,” Dorian said.
Gabriel stared in utter disbelief.
Nestled into the velvet-lined case was a bone-handled dagger with a blade cut like a raven’s wing—a blade as magical as it was ancient.
It was a weapon with the ability to strip a demonic essence from its human vessel with a single nick, trapping it for eternity inside the blade itself, never to re-spawn, never to awaken. The effect on humans was equally dire, expelling a human soul straight to hell, turning the body into a vessel ripe for demonic possession.
It was the weapon Dorian had shoved into Malcolm’s chest at Bloodbath, saving Charlotte’s life and inadvertently summoning Azerius himself—one more falling domino in the chain that eventually led to Malcolm’s brutal demise.
The lore wasn’t clear on what the blade would do to vampires. In Malcolm’s case, it’d turned him into a vessel for Azerius. But then Dorian had killed the vessel, turning Malcolm’s body to ash and banishing Azerius back to hell. They had no idea what, if anything, had happened to Malcolm’s soul.
Through bleary eyes, Gabriel stared at the black blade, unable to form words. Unable to form a coherent thought.
For hundreds of years, the dagger had been hidden inside a sculpture—one Augustus had stolen from the former vampire king before he murdered him and usurped the throne.
Dorian and Charlotte had discovered it at Ravenswood a few months ago.
An expert in human art and antiquities, Charlotte had identified it as a Russian artifact known as the blade of the Bessmertnym Soldat—the Immortal Soldier—complete with a long and sordid history about all the human wars it’d helped win, all the human blood it’d spilled.
But eventually, they uncovered the truth of its origins—much older than the Russian tales. Much older than the entire span of human history.
The weapon Gabriel stared at now was the Blade of Azerius, forged by the demon himself in the bowels of hell.
Dorian had given it to Rogozin after the battle at Bloodbath as a down payment for wiping out Chernikov’s organization and aligning with House Redthorne. In addition to assassinating Chernikov, Rogozin had been prepared to pay Dorian ten million dollars for the thing.
Dorian had refused the money, using it to broker goodwill instead.
To say it was valuable to Rogozin was a gross understatement.
The fact that Rogozin had so easily left it behind—the fact that he’d even brought it with him tonight at all, well before he’d known the full extent of Viansa and Azerius’ connection—could only mean one thing.
