Hellbound Warrior: (Dark Warrior Alliance Book Five) (4 page)

Finally reaching the portal, he paused to make sure Dante and Kellen were right behind him. Seeing that they were, he closed his eyes, took a deep breath and stepped through to his father’s realm.

Flames immediately licked across his skin. His body and soul were being pulled in different directions while the flames attempted to sever the connection between the two. One circle was trying to hold tight to the soul while the body fought to get through to the next plane. The sensation was not as physically painful as it was emotionally.

Asmodeus ruled the Second Circle, but his father, Lemuel, was the second in command and held a high level of power. Keeping his identity hidden from his father was going to be a challenge for Rhys.

Rhys felt the give of the veil and the flames disappeared as suddenly as they had formed. Patting his arms, Rhys was glad to see the flames hadn’t damaged his clothing, which was good because the violent windstorms of the Second Circle immediately battered them.

Rhys pulled out a leather tie to bind his long locks that were whipping against his face. Glancing at Dante with his buzz-cut, Rhys momentarily wished he kept his shorter, but then again, the females loved his long hair which was the reason he kept it long. Kellen ran a hand over his bald scalp and tilted his head against the winds, “Where to now?”

Rhys squinted, taking in the familiar dens of iniquity. The Second Circle was where those ruled by lust were sent. It was a vast city of bars, casinos and strip clubs, but the streets weren’t anything like what was found on earth. They were hard-packed dirt that was kicked up every once in a while by the winds and the buildings were made from black stone harvested from the cliffs of the Eighth Circle.

Calling them buildings was a misnomer, Rhys thought. They were huge, multi-level structures, but there were no windows or electricity in Hell. Inside, the lighting was provided by candles made from the fat of humans, which added to the already putrid stench of the realm.

Putting their heads down to block the strong force of the winds, they walked down the street. “Do you know how to get from here to the Third Circle?” Kellen called out.

Rhys had never traveled deeper into Hell when he’d been there before. Who in their right mind would want to? “I’ve heard the rumors, but I’m not certain,” he responded.

“Let’s head into one of these bars and see if we can learn anything about the portal or news on Lucifer. We need more information and that’s the only way we are going to get it,” Dante added, pointing to one of the buildings.

Rhys could hear the catcalling even through the whipping winds and he cringed wondering what kind of show was going on inside. In Asmodeus’ realm, it was never anything as straightforward as a male or female stripping for the sex-demons’ pleasures. There was always pain and torture involved, and it wasn’t the good kind. No, it was typically brutal and sadistic.

The three of them crossed the street and entered the open doors, relieved to get out of the high winds, if nothing else. The noise and cold temperatures outside were already getting to Rhys.

Taking in the place, he noticed the bar was more like an apartment complex with a sex club in the lobby. He ground his teeth, trying to maintain control of his inner beast as the sexual energy in the place set him on edge. It was another reminder that he would need to feed his beast sooner rather than later.

Plush gold carpeting covered the floor and the tables and chairs looked like they were in decent condition. Clear glasses hung from the long bar that took up the left side of the open room. Glass was difficult to come by in the Underworld and stone vessels were far more common. The club was more opulent than most establishments in the area, and Rhys thought it might be Shax’s club.

Had to be his place, Rhys thought, as he turned around and recognized the tapestry Shax had won from his father in a game of poker a long time ago. At least, he hoped the tapestry still belonged to Shax. Working from the assumption it was Shax’s place, Rhys would need to be careful or his father’s best friend would serve him up on a platter to dear-old-dad.

Several demons exited the stairwell and Rhys ducked behind Dante, lowering his head. Shax strode by at the head of the group, acting like king of the castle while females flocked to his side for more reasons than his wealth. He never wore a shirt and loved flaunting his tattooed, muscular chest. So did the females if the way they pawed at his flesh was any indication.

The incubus gave instructions to his bouncers before heading out the door with his entourage. “Let’s see what we can learn and get the hell out of here,” Rhys murmured, heading for the room on his right where a show was in progress on the stage.

Reacting on instinct, Rhys lunged when he saw the male and two females performing for the cheering crowd. One of the females was tied to a cross, bleeding profusely while the male raped her. The other female, a tall, slender bald beauty, was directing the action. She wielded a whip, cracking it at just the right moments to incite the crowd. The blood, degradation, and torture were typical entertainment for these parts.

The sight reminded Rhys why he hated what he was, and more importantly, what he was capable of perpetrating. It would be one thing if all parties involved were there voluntarily and enjoying themselves, but the only one on the stage enjoying the show was the male. The females both wore slave collars and looked both miserable and terrified.

An impulse Rhys didn’t understand had him wanting to force his way onto the stage and gather the tall, skinny female into his arms. He felt compelled to protect her. When she turned to the side his blood boiled at the sight. He wanted to tear Hell apart from the ground up with his bare hands.

The female was an angel, and he was horrified that the demons had taken her wings. All that was left were bloody stumps along her shoulder blades. She cradled herself, obviously enduring a great deal of pain despite not being the one on the receiving end of the abuse. With every crack of her whip, she winced and fresh blood trickled from the wounds on her back.

His thoughts immediately went to the three angels who’d cornered him and accused him of kidnapping their sister. Could this be her? So many thoughts, questions and emotions raced through him at once.

How long had she been there? Would her wings grow back? He didn’t know enough about angels. Supernaturals healed fast, but couldn’t grow new limbs like a demon. Were angels like demons? If so, he could only imagine having to endure the pain over and over as they began to grow back.

His vision went red as his anger surged over her treatment. She should never have been harmed in such a manner and, mission or not, Rhys wasn’t leaving Hell without taking her with him.

Illianna hated her life. As an angel of joy and happiness, to feel such revulsion was like acid eating away at her from the inside out. And then there were the actions she was forced to perform that were slowly killing her.

She’d stopped wondering long ago how the vile demon had managed to kidnap her. The fact of the matter was that Lemuel had taken her as his slave and enjoyed tormenting her for the past hundred years. Lending her out to his friends for them to torture, as well, brought him sick gratification

The familiar anger over how impossible it was supposed to be for demons to force angels to Hell came to the surface, adding a bit of bite to her next strike. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t supposed to happen because somehow it had happened to her. So why was she still allowing it to make her angry? Maybe because even after all these years she recalled with excruciating clarity the pain of being drug through the entrance in the Cave of Cruachan, and then having her wings removed from her body. Or, maybe it was the darkness that was growing inside her that she couldn’t shut off.

The darkness was born out of the torture she’d experienced. She remembered how she had been chained facedown to a stone table while hundreds of hands pawed her. Initially, all they had done was rip feathers and that was painful enough, but then the cutting had begun.

Lemuel had intervened when his minions became frenzied from the effects of her blood and feathers. She’d almost breathed a sigh of relief, thinking it was over when the silver of his saw had flashed in the periphery of her vision.

The vile incubus had taunted her, telling her what he planned to do to her. She fought to get free of the shackles holding her down, unable to hold back her screams. She knew evil beings existed, but she had never been exposed to such malevolence. To shut her up, Lemuel had shoved a filthy rag in her mouth, making it difficult to breathe.

Completely helpless, the only thing she could do was pray to be rescued. He laughed as he began cutting through flesh, tendon and bone. Agony seared and she passed out before he’d removed the first wing. He’d thrown a nasty smelling liquid at her and waited until she regained consciousness before he continued removing her wings. It was the first time in her existence that she wanted to end someone’s life, and it had rocked her soul to realize she possessed such darkness.

Her blood had run in rivulets off her back, splashing onto the floor. Bile rose in her throat when her tormentor had run his finger through the crimson liquid and leaned into her line of sight as he sucked his digit clean. She watched pleasure cross his features, as he seemed to strengthen right before her eyes. She knew that he was gaining a boost in power from her blood. He’d drawn out the rest of his torture after that, stopping to enjoy what he wrought, each step of the way.

And, that was just the first time her wings had been removed. For angels, wings were the source of power and strength. Without them, she was no stronger than a human, and had lost all of her special abilities. Not that being able to instill happiness would do her any good in a place that was the antithesis of everything sanguine.

Useless tears sprang to her eyes and she wiped them away. Her brother’s storming in with weapons blazing and avenging her was what kept her going. She knew them, and there was no way they’d ever give up looking for her. She was their baby sister, and they had protected her since their father had been killed in battle when she was a young angel.

Her brothers were warrior angels, and could call weapons of Light to eliminate every demon in Hell. She wanted nothing more than to see every demon that’d harmed her dead with no chance of coming back. Her father had been one of the mightiest warriors in the heavens and her brothers had followed in their father’s footsteps. Rescuing and avenging her would be an easy task for them if they could find her. Problem was, it wasn’t supposed to be possible for her to be in the Underworld so they wouldn’t think to look there. No doubt they had scoured every realm available to them.

Shoving those thoughts aside, she looked away from the male and female she was violating, and locked eyes with a demon across the room. He had unique, kaleidoscopic eyes that were mesmerizing. He was handsome and had a human visage, telling her he was either a Daeva demon or an incubus.

His mouth twitched, drawing her attention. He had full lips that she suddenly wanted to kiss. She was completely losing her mind now. Why would she want to kiss or touch any part of any demon?

Shaking her head, she turned away. Her brothers had better find her fast or she would not be salvageable. The male was a demon, and she wanted to kiss him, not because she was being forced to, but because she wanted to. Her darkness teased the edges of her awareness, reminding her that she was no longer a pure angel.

Her time in Hell had changed her. Just how much was beginning to frighten her. Angels didn’t consort with the enemy, and they certainly didn’t lust after them.

Several of the burly bouncers Shax employed were positioned in front of the stage, keeping the audience at bay as much as they kept her in line. The vile creatures that called the Second Circle home were crowded around numerous tables, shouting at her to make the male cut the female, or worse.

The VIP members sitting in their fancy, cushioned chairs calling out for blood sickened her. Trying to escape her surroundings, she shut everything out and imagined that she was in heaven with the archangels watching the training of the warrior angels. She recalled being a young angel and sitting on the sidelines while her older brothers fought and trained, but it was the words being shouted that reminded her nothing in the Underworld was like it was in heaven.

Everything about Hell was vastly different from where she’d come from in heaven. The homes and other buildings in heaven were bright, happy colors and everything was sparkling and clean. There were also countless windows so you could enjoy the beauty around you. Color everywhere and the sun shone brightly each day. That was one thing she missed most. She had a balcony at her home she preferred to sit on and soak in the sun’s rays while enjoying her morning coffee.

In Hell, everything was dark and dirty, and there was nothing bright except freshly-spilled blood. The sun never shone, and the constant wind kicked up dust and debris, making life miserable. Especially, when you were denied clothing.