Divine Descent

Chapter Thirty-Four

My mind is far away, lost in an English forest. Cairo. Russia.

A world away from here.

A young demon purrs against the delicate curve of my shoulder, their fingers peeling my sleeve down to reveal more skin. The intimate parlor room vibrantly colored in violet velvet, met capacity an hour ago. A sordid love fest ensues around me, although love is far from this place. Pleasured moans of the debauched fill the air, and in natural reaction to pleasure, my hair stands on edge, chills cover me head to toe.

This realm between Heaven and Hell isn't for the faint of heart.

Heaven is in your eyes.

I cringe from the lips that flit lightly past my collarbone, inching downward while fingers begin to work on the buttons of my shirt, freeing each one to expose more and more skin to their waiting gaze.

"Off."

Heightened desire makes them deaf. I must be firmer.

My hand tightens into a fist in their hair. I shove their head back, so they are forced to gawk up at their master's scowl of disgust. "Off."

The brown-eyed woman crawls away once I've released her. "Yes, Mistress."

Heaving myself off the furniture sprawled with humping vagrants, I dive for the exit, fighting off the mental nothingness my insides so desire. When once I could turn to mindless sex as a coping mechanism, there is no getting Elijah from my mind now.

My memories are once again vivid. Jehovah's questionable words are still hovering.

Elijah would never fail in carrying out a promise. He may never achieve said promise, but he'd never give up, which makes it impossible to fail. It was no surprise to hear he'd still been searching for me. I knew all about that kind of madness. What has caught me off guard is the fact that he's gotten so close.

For a brief moment, he controlled a divine being. He rewrote history.

What I believed he could never achieve, he's done.

I find Samael where he usually dwells: deep in Hell, ensuring he's seen to evoke fear in his minions. Ever since Akan, I've disliked roaming these narrow streets, constantly reminded of him, and how easily manipulated I can be. Still, in some minuscule way, this place has become home. I know every crevasse, every spirit in passing. And they know me.

I am a decorative ornament in this cluster, like their Dark Lord.

"Mistress," they moan while I pass. "Mistress."

As I'm discovered by the droves, Samael's head bobs to attention. Jacques retreats when I near, head bowed in respect.

Samael leans his weight on his left hip. "So, you've come to join me."

"Reluctantly," I chuckle and his smirk widens. "I was bored."

"With our demons? Really?" He's disbelieving, but amused. "I'm more than happy to fill your time."

A spirit goes down a few feet away, falling from the void above. If he weren't already dead, this fall would have done it. Startled by the violence in the descent, my eyes scale the building of disrepute he's lying in front of. Spirits here don't sleep. When their eyes are closed, it means they have slipped under into their own subconscious. That is when the torment begins.

Snickering comes from the rooftop. Three spirits causing havoc. As soon as our eyes find them, they scatter hastily, fearing the wrath of the rulers of this realm.

"Well, shit." I walk over to the man whose face-down, now molded into the very foundation of Hell. "Seems he's messed with the wrong people."

Samael moves on, unfazed considering this is an everyday occurrence. "The scrolls can wait. What would you like to do?"