The Crossing (Immortals) (33 page)

Mac felt like hell.

And if Hell didn't feel so bloody bad, he would've
laughed out loud at such a feeble joke. As it was, he managed only the slightest amused grunt. His body felt as
though it had been put through a meat grinder. No, he
amended. A meat grinder would have been kinder.

He opened his eyes on utter darkness. The surface upon
which he lay was hard, wet, and slimy. His nostrils contracted against the stench-something akin to fresh blood
and rotten flesh.

He couldn't suppress a groan as he shoved himself up
on his elbows. Mud and death coated his life essence; he
couldn't get a firm grasp on his mind or his magic. The effort to find himself left him nauseated. His limbs were
leaden. His skin burned as if it were on fire, though no
flames were apparent.

Too bad. A bit of light would've been welcome.

His last firm memories were his surrender to Malachi,
and Artemis's tormented gaze. Then a sensation of falling,
through fire, wailing, and despair. He'd landed hard, then
blanked out completely.

Where was he?

He managed a seated position. At least he wasn't
chained, either physically or magically. There was no sign of Malachi, thank the gods. He'd need time to recover before he attempted another fight with that wanker.

And fight he would. Now that Malachi had let Artemis
go, Mac intended to keep the demon too busy to change
his mind and go after her.

He contemplated standing and exploring his prison. He
even tried it, but his balance was so bad he sank down to
the floor again rather than fall over.

Crouching on one knee, he peered into the darkness. A
futile exercise; the stygian blackness was absolute. Muted
wailing drifted within the gloom. He closed his eyesthough it made no difference at all in what he saw-and
let his nonphysical senses take over.

The limits to his prison cell weren't large. He was in a
niche or an alcove of some kind. One side was open, giving off into empty space. There was a slight hissing, off to
his left. He'd almost resolved to stand and make his way
toward it when a new sound from the right caught his attention.

A soft, barely audible female whimper.

"Artemis?"

No answer.

He bit off a curse. Had Malachi, the bloody bastard, reneged on his promise to let Artemis go? Mac stood, fighting vertigo as he inched toward the sobs. The closer he
came to the source of the sound, the more certain he became that the distraught woman was not Artemis.

He swallowed hard. Not Artemis, but another woman
he knew very well. The sound twisted his heart. Mac had
experienced Leanna's anger, her contempt, her laughter.
But never-not in the two centuries he'd known her-had
he heard his sister cry.

"Leanna?"

The sobs abruptly ceased. Deafening silence ensued.

"Leanna. It's me, Mac. Where are you?"

A cough, and a brief, startled silence, then, tentatively...
"Mac?"

"Yes." He inched closer and came up against a solid barrier, flat and smooth like glass, but hot. He ran his hands
over it, searching for a seam, until the heat forced him to
draw back.

"Leanna," he said, louder this time. "Talk to me."

"Mac? You're really here? That wasn't a dream, when I
saw you in the theater?"

"No dream. I was there."

Her voice dropped to a whisper. "No. That's insane.
Mac would never come to Hell."

The soft sobs began again.

"It is me, Leanna. I'm real. I'm in Hell because-well,
never mind all that. The important thing is, I'm getting
you out of here."

Exactly how that was to be done, he didn't know yet.

"That sounds just like something Mac would say. He's
always so... hopeful."

Mac pounded on the hot wall separating them. "I am
Mac, damn it! Your brother!"

Leanna continued as if she hadn't heard. "Mac thought
he could get me to love him. But... I never did. I hated
him. I blamed him for Niniane's rejection. But that was
never his fault. I wish... I wish..."

What Leanna might have wished faded to nothing.

Mac pitched his voice low. "Leanna, listen to me carefully. This isn't a trick. I'm Mac. I'm real."

"You're not." At least she was addressing him directly this
time. "You're just a memory Malachi pulled from my mind.
He loves awakening my deepest regrets. He feeds on my
pain, my grief, my guilt. But especially my hopelessness.
That's what Hell is, you know. A place without hope."

"Then we're not really in Hell, love, because we've got
a hope of getting out of here."

"I used to dream of that. When Culsu was destroyed... I dared to hope. I thought I could go home. But then
Malachi came. He claimed me-"

She broke off as a bone-grating sound of metal on
metal scraped in the darkness. A key in a lock? Perhaps,
because a moment later, the unoiled hinges squealed and a
door abraded a rough floor.

"Oh gods," Leanna breathed. "No. No."

Her voice was very close. Just inches away, and yet Mac
couldn't reach her. Frustration had him growling. Footsteps approached-steady, implacable.

"No, Malachi. Not now. Maybe later-"

Genuine amusement laced Malachi's even tone. "You
know better than to plead with me, whore. On your feet.
Come to me."

Mac heard her rise and stumble.

"No!" He joined his fists and swung them with all his
strength against the wall. The jolt sent a fiery pain up his
arms to his shoulders. Backing off, he gathered his weakened magic and released a bolt of hellfire. It spattered and
died.

A ghastly red glow sprang up, and Mac realized the barrier between him and Leanna was transparent. The new illumination bathed Leanna and Malachi in murky light, an
iron-studded door set in the rough stone wall behind
them. Mac's teeth clenched at the sight of Leanna, naked,
standing before her master with head bowed.

Malachi ran his hands over her shoulders. A sheen of
bright white flickered on Leanna's bare skin. Her life
essence. The Old One's lips drew back in a sudden smile.
Lowering his head, he pressed his lips to Leanna's flesh.

Leanna cried out; Mac pounded on the barrier, watching with horror as his sister fought to retain her life
essence. She clawed at her captor's face, kicked at his shins.
Twisted as far as his grip allowed. He held her as easily as
if she were made of rags. He raised his head only when
Leanna's light subsided.

He dropped Leanna to the floor, where she lay, limp
and unmoving. Malachi's vitality shone, enhanced by
Leanna's life essence.

The demon turned and addressed Mac. "Your sister's
Sidhe soul is quite invigorating, even after a year in the
death realms, Mac Lir. She will last several centuries at
least."

"You're despicable."

"Of course. Vile, corrupt, and lewd, as well."

"Let her go."

"But she is so very... inspiring. Leanna was a Sidhe
muse in the upper world, I understand. She inspired artists
with her body and her magic. Drank their life essence in
return. I'm merely doing to her what she did to so many. A
fitting punishment, don't you think?"

"Her true master is gone. You had no right to claim her."

"I had every right."

"You'll tire of her soon enough. Why not let her go
now? She's not what you truly want."

Malachi eyed him. "How would you know what I truly
want?"

"You want Hecate's destruction. I can give you that."

Malachi threw back his head and laughed. "Ah, but this is
rich! You think you can defeat Lucifer's consort? When you
could not even give me a satisfying fight? Your power is
nothing here, Mac Lir. You cannot even pierce the paltry
shield that separates you from your sister. Do you not understand? You are not in control here. Even the witch who
betrayed you is more powerful than you are in Hell."

"Leave Artemis out of this."

"Ah, but how can I? Without her assistance, you would
not be mine. She and I are allies."

"Hardly. You tricked her."

"Of course. She will help me bring about Hecate's destruction. As will you, though not in the way you imagine."

"How, then?"

Malachi toed Leanna's motionless body. "This whore's
life essence is strong. But yours-yours is eternal. A feast
that will never end. You will make me strong beyond my
wildest dreams. Strong enough to defeat Hecate." His
eyes flashed red. "Perhaps even strong enough to challenge Lucifer himself."

Mac's brows rose. "I had no idea you were so ambitious."

"Ambition is the spice of existence."

He sauntered forward. The barrier between Leanna's
cell and Mac's fell away. Mac tensed, marshaling his paltry
defenses. His strength was returning, though not as
quickly as he would have liked.

Malachi's attack came so quickly there was barely time
to react. A red beam shot from the demon's hand to Mac's
chest. Fire flashed over Mac's skin; he felt as though he'd
erupted in flames. Death magic seeped into his limbs,
weighting them like lead. His knees buckled, and he
couldn't even break his fall.

Malachi's leering grin loomed above him. "Ah, Mac Lit.
You should have known. Not even a god can best an Old
One in Hell."

There was no answer that wouldn't sound pathetic, so
Mac kept his lips pressed together.

"There's no escape. I am your master now. You are my
whore. And I will make you beg for your own defilement."

Abruptly, the demon's guise changed into that of a beautiful human woman. Lush breasts strained against a formfitting gown of purple satin; shining hair streamed over
ivory shoulders. The scent of sex, temptation, and dark,
secret pleasures teased Mac's nostrils. Leaning forward,
the demon provided Mac with a magnificent view of deep
cleavage. A black-lacquered fingernail reached out and
traced a line down Mac's chest. It didn't stop until it
reached his groin.

Against his will, he felt his body respond.

Malachi's sultry feminine voice drifted lazily to Mac's
ears. "I can give you pleasure. I could make you beg for
me. I could make you love me."

An abrupt hiss, a swirling cloud of smoke, and the demon reverted to Malachi's familiar male guise. When he
spoke, his tone was pure acid.

"I could drive you to the heights of ecstasy, but, personally, I find an unwilling whore much more gratifying. The
humiliation. The pain. The anger. It's quite invigorating."
He smiled thinly. "So I believe I'll remain male, and give
you the buggering you so richly deserve. But first, a taste of
your eternity."

The red beam moved from Mac's chest to his skull.
Raw, dementing pain slammed into his brain. He curled
knees to chest and rolled, trying to escape. Useless. The
agony came from within.

Malachi let out an excited growl. Mac's pain was the demon's path to his immortal soul. Life essence seeped
through Mac's pores, lighting his skin with a phosphorescent glow. Malachi held out a hand; Mac's body rose into
the air. The demon's eyes grew bright as he placed his lips
on Mac skin and absorbed the white light.

Utter revulsion ate at Mac's heart, his soul. "You really
get off on this, huh?"

"Oh yes. A human soul's anguish is pleasant, and your
sister's Sidhe soul is more than gratifying, but an immortal
soul? Nothing can compare."

Malachi bent his head and drank more. Each sip
brought searing pain. Mac felt his vision waver. When the
demon finished at last, Mac barely felt the short fall back
to the floor.

Malachi staggered, his gait that of a drunken human.
"Oh yes." His eyes closed on a sigh; his hand waved an upholstered armchair into existence. He sank into the cushions with a sigh. "Oh yes..."

The sated whispers continued. Disgust churned in Mac's
gut. Death magic clawed at his life essence; how had he
ever thought such magic would make him strong? Hecate
had tricked him. Embracing death magic had given Mac
temporary power, yes, but it had bled his soul. Far from
making him strong, his acceptance of his darkness had
only depleted his real strength-his life magic. Evil was
something to fight, not to befriend.

And now, because of his folly, he was trapped in a landscape of endless despair. Endless death. Because his life
magic was useless, and the thought of casting death magic
again ate at his soul.

"Not so cocky now, are we?" Malachi's eyes remained
closed, but his full lips parted in a smile. His breathing
slowed. Deepened.

A flicker of movement caught his attention. Mac raised
his head. Leanna. She had lifted her naked body into a
crouch. Arms wrapped around her knees, she was staring
at him.

"It really is you," she whispered.

"Yes."

He shoved himself into a sitting position. His sister sidled closer, giving the sleeping demon a wide berth. Her
haggard face carried only a shadow of her former beauty
and youth. A year in Hell had aged her.

But her gaze was steady. Clear.

She inched toward him. Mac moved as well, away from
Malachi. They met as far from the demon as possible
within the confines of the cell. Wordlessly, Mac removed
his shirt and offered the sorry garment to his sister.
Cheeks heating, she pulled it over her head. It covered her
body to midthigh.

She glanced at Malachi. "He took too much from you,"
she whispered. "He always does. Makes him too drunk to
stand. He'll sleep for a while now." She reached out and touched Mac's hand, as if reassuring herself he was real.
"You came for me? Why? How did you know I was here
with Malachi?"

He shook his head. "I didn't come for you, Leanna.
I... didn't know what had happened to you after Culsu's
destruction. I came to Hell for another reason. As for
how I can survive here-it's because my soul's no longer
pure. I caught a shard of death magic while battling
Culsu."

Leanna looked down at her crossed arms. "I see."

"Leanna, look at me." When she didn't, he tucked his
finger under her chin and raised her gaze. "Leanna, I may
not have come to Hell looking for you, but I swear, I'll get
you out of here."