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Synopsis
h3>Enter an addictive world of sizzlingly hot paranormal romance . . .
'Wicked banter and smexy scenes galore'
⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ reader review on Hunted
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The fantastic next instalment in the delicious DARK IN YOU series.
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What readers are saying about Suzanne Wright:
'The chemistry sizzles off the page' Netgalley review
'Hot as hell . . . explosive' Netgalley review
'It's been two minutes since my last fix and I need Suzanne Wright to give me more' Edgy Reviews
'No words to describe how much I ADORE this extraordinary and magical read!!!' Gi's Spot Reviews on Burn
'Sarcastic banter, a sexy alpha demon and his smart-mouthed heroine, an intense, highly passionate romance . . . I devoured this book from start to finish!' The Escapist Book Blog on Burn
'Unique, original and very entertaining' Ramblings from this Chick
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If you love this book, make sure you check out the rest of The Dark In You series - discover how this sizzling hot story began . . .
BURN
BLAZE
ASHES
EMBERS
SHADOWS
OMENS
FALLEN
REAPER
HUNTED
Release date: July 18, 2024
Publisher: Little, Brown Book Group
Print pages: 120000
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Viper
Suzanne Wright
New Zealand, 1994
Breathing hard, Everleigh struggled against the sheer power pinning her hands to the wall behind her. She twisted. Pulled. Arched.
Nothing happened.
Similarly, her inner demon writhed and squirmed and fought to surface. It was trapped inside her, unable to be of any aid.
Feeling a flush of anger heat her face, Everleigh glared at the strangers fanned out in front of her. “What the fuck is this shit?”
One male took a step toward her—tall, lean, imposing, his hair so blond it was almost white. “There’s no need to panic. You need not fear us.”
Was he serious? “You kidnapped me.” She’d been in the middle of a wickedly hot kiss when … it was as if her senses had shut down. She’d been conscious, but she hadn’t been able to see, hear, smell, or feel a thing.
She’d been distantly aware that she was being moved. Taken. When her senses had rushed back to her, it could have been minutes or hours later. And she’d found herself here, in what appeared to be some kind of abandoned warehouse.
The only other people present were the six males who were evenly staring back at her, their eyes twin blue gems—striking eyes she’d only ever seen in one other person.
Everleigh swallowed. “Where is he?” She had the distinct feeling that they’d taken him, too.
“That isn’t important,” Blondie told her.
She felt her nostrils flare. “It is to me.”
“He is nowhere near here. We have plenty of privacy for what we’re about to do.”
Everleigh’s heart stuttered. “What does that mean? What have you done to him?” And why couldn’t she telepath anyone? Whenever she tried, she hit some kind of psychic wall.
“He is safe. Unconscious for the moment, but safe.”
Her instincts stirred. “You’re members of the Seven archangels.” Powerful beings who could, in fact, collectively do something as difficult as knock the seventh of their unit out cold. Few would manage such a feat.
A dark-haired, clean-shaven celestial inclined his head in confirmation. “Be assured that our intention isn’t to make you suffer. We will simply put you to sleep. That is all.”
Everleigh tensed, her heart banging against her ribcage. The word ‘sleep’ sounded so very final. “Why do I get the feeling that you don’t intend for me to wake up?”
“Your body will not wake up, but your soul will,” Mr. Clean-shaven told her. “Your life will start anew in another body, just as it has many times before.”
Her gut twisted. He’d said it like it was nothing. Like she’d merely be changing outfits. “In other words, you’re going to kill me. Let’s just call it what it is.” They could dress it up all they wanted, but it was murder.
“You could view it that way. We all see it as saving you both.”
She felt her face scrunch up. “From what?”
He observed her like she was clueless. “From what will become of him if he falls.”
“He has not told you?” Blondie pursed his lips. “He probably fears you would otherwise reject him. I doubt those fears are senseless, to be fair.”
“No one would care if you were just a toy to him,” cut in a dark-skinned, brawny male. “But you’ve become an obsession. He is prepared to fall from our realm to stay with you.”
Everleigh knew that much. She’d been shocked when he offered to fall—it wasn’t a small thing, and it meant leaving his life behind. She’d even objected at first, not wanting him to give up so much for her; not wanting him to suffer the consequences. But then he’d told her a little about his life, about how the darkness of it weighed heavily on him, and she could see how it was eating at his soul. So she’d ceased protesting—and no, it wasn’t at all a selfless decision. The fact was that she loved him and didn’t want to be without him.
He had wished to first say his goodbyes to these archangels he’d considered family. Falling meant leaving them behind. Going by their reaction, that had been a mistake.
“An archangel should never fall,” Brawny added. “One of the Seven? That cannot happen. If you knew what it would do to him, you would agree with us.”
She licked her lips. “I know about the curse. I know what he’d have to do to survive.”
“For one of the Seven, that is only the tip of the iceberg,” said Brawny sadly. “He would change. We cannot bear the thought of him becoming that. We care for him too much.”
“Care for him? You really see killing someone he loves as ‘caring’?” Everleigh ran her gaze along the line of archangels. “He spoke of you. Each of you. You’re all important to him. How shitty for him that it doesn’t go both ways.”
Mr. Clean-shaven’s brow pinched. “This is not a betrayal on our part. We look out for him as he does us. This is for his own good.”
“And yours,” Blondie chipped in. “A being with the volume of power he possesses … It is not good for such a person to love. It only makes them more unstable, more dangerous.”
Her pulse skittered as Blondie moved closer, the set of his jaw telling her there’d be no changing his mind. Helplessness battered at her, amping up her demon’s anger. “You may not see this as a betrayal, but he will,” she said. “That doesn’t bother you?”
Blondie waved that away. “He will not believe we were responsible. He will suspect our superiors. He would be right to do so—they would have come for you if we hadn’t. They wouldn’t have settled for hiding you, they would have obliterated your soul to rein him in.”
Her head swimming, she shook it. “Hiding me? What does that mean?”
“When he claimed you as his own, he placed an imprint of himself on your soul. It allowed him to know where you were. But we will take away that imprint. He will not feel you, and so he will not know that you have been reborn. When time goes on and your soul appears to have not been reborn, he will assume it is either in hell … or that it has been destroyed.”
Oh, fuck.
Right then, all six of the archangels began to close in on her.
Panic wrapped around her throat and squeezed. Everleigh shook her head. “Don’t do this.”
Blondie stared at her, his expression implacable. “As we have explained, it is for your own good as well as his,” he stated with such unbelievable arrogance and condescension … like she was a child who knew no better.
Her panic gave way to a fury that heated her skin. “He won’t be fooled, he’ll find me,” she swore with a snarl. “Maybe not straight away. Maybe not for a while. But eventually, he’ll find me.”
Brawny shook his head. “No, no, he won’t. He’s exceedingly powerful—one of the most powerful of our kind. But without the imprint, there is no way for him to track you.” It was said with such assurance that her belly flipped. “He will never find you. No one will, not even us.”
“There will be no need for him to search for you anyway because, as I said, he’ll presume your soul now dwells in hell or no longer exists,” Blondie reminded her.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“Now be still,” Blondie told her, all business. “We shall put you to sleep—there is no need for you to suffer as you die.”
A cold force delved into her mind, and she cried out with the shock of it. The force spread, turned even colder, seemed to numb her thoughts. She felt herself fading; felt a thick, gray cloud move through her mind.
“I am not so sure there is truly a point in this,” said one of the archangels, his voice seeming so far away.
“This is the only way to save him from himself,” Blondie insisted.
“But it will only work if he believes she hasn’t been reborn. We will then have time to talk him out of falling. But if he does not believe it—”
“He will be blind to her location without the imprint, so it matters not.”
“Perhaps. But we know our kind can be very obsessive when they want something—she has brought that out in him. Do you honestly think he will cease looking? That he will accept she has gone?”
Other words were spoken, but she couldn’t make them out. The archangels were too far away. Or she was. And she just kept fading and fading and fading until, finally, it all went dark.
Las Vegas, present day
Ella Wilde parked at the curb and pulled out her phone. Running late, have to make a quick house call, she texted to her sister.
Mia quickly responded: No problem, I’ll order drinks.
Usually, Ella would turn down any jobs that cropped up on a Friday evening—it was routine for she and Mia to meet at their local pool hall to eat dinner, knock back beer, and shoot some pool. But there were some matters that required a swift intervention, and this was one of them.
Having plopped her cell back into her jacket pocket, Ella slid out of the car and took in the cute two-story home. It was pretty with its window boxes, porch rocking chairs, and ropes of ivy trailing up the walls.
It made her think of the house that she and Mia had recently considered renting, but then their apartment complex had come
under new management. The place had since been spruced up—new security system, fresh paint, working elevator, better lighting for the parking lot, major cleaning job.
Ella strode up the path and rang the doorbell. When the door swung open, she smiled gently at the human male staring at her through tortured grayish-blue eyes. “Hi, I’d like to speak to Mr. or Mrs. Mills.”
He cleared his throat. “I’m Mr. Mills.”
She’d suspected as much, given how haggard the poor guy looked. Any father in his position would be so haggard. “I’m Ella Wilde,” she said, holding out her hand. “I believe you’re expecting me.”
He gave a slow nod as he briefly shook her hand in an absent manner. “Thank you for coming.” Stepping aside, he waved her into the house.
She accepted his silent invitation, and he then closed the door. Her inner entity eyeballed their surroundings, hypervigilant as ever.
He scrubbed a hand down his pale, drawn face that hadn’t seen a razor in several days. “I, we, it … Neve, a friend of my wife, told me you could fix this. Fix my daughter.”
“I can,” Ella assured him.
A local practitioner, Neve knew much about all things that went bump in the night. She was talented at her craft, but she couldn’t work the sort of magick that would aid this family. Not like Ella, who was an incantor—a breed of demon that could wield magick.
So, whenever Neve came across a situation that she felt required demonic intervention, she contacted Ella, who consulted for many people. Neve had told her all about Annmarie and Edgar Mills, as well as their daughter.
He looked at the ceiling. “Malia’s … I don’t know what’s wrong with her. I don’t know—” He cut himself off and pinched a nose that had clearly once been broken. “I wanted to call a doctor here, but my wife begged me to try something else first.” He let his arm fall back to his side. “She’s afraid our daughter would be hospitalized.”
That wasn’t a senseless concern. Such a thing had happened to humans in Malia’s present condition. “I can help your daughter, if you’ll let me. But if you would rather seek medical help, I completely understand. It’s your choice.”
He carved his fingers through his tousled chestnut hair, his hesitation clear. Finally, he sighed and said, “Malia’s in her bedroom.”
Ella followed him as he trudged up the stairs, exhaustion in his every step. She ran her gaze along the framed pictures mounted on the wall. Some featured he and a woman, who was presumably his wife. Others featured a girl who could only be Malia at varying ages. Many were of the entire family—posing, smiling, laughing.
It made her think of the wall of her mother’s staircase—there was an overabundance of pictures of Ella, her older sister Mia, and their parents. Well … their idiot-for-a-father’s body could be seen. Their mother had covered his face with those of various male celebrities that she’d cut out of magazines. Something that still made Ella smile.
“Neve said you’re a kind of psychic,” said Edgar as they reached the top of the stairs.
Uh, not even close. But the truth wasn’t something that Ella could share. “In a manner of speaking,” she lied.
The snick of a lock sounded at the other end of the hallway. She looked to see the dark-haired, middle-aged woman from the framed pictures stepping out of a room.
“I don’t believe in psychics,” said Edgar, drawing Ella’s attention back to him. “I don’t believe in God or the devil or heaven or hell.” A heavy sigh slipped out of him and pulled down his shoulders. “Or I didn’t, until now,” he added in defeat, his voice breaking.
Her heart squeezed in sympathy. She didn’t get the chance to respond, because he immediately began making his way to his wife. Ella trailed after him and gave the woman a soft smile. “You must be Annmarie. I’m Ella.”
Her arms filled with soiled blankets, Annmarie swallowed hard. “I appreciate you coming.” Looking as drained and weary as her husband, she cast the bedroom door a quick glance. “She’s in bed. But awake. We had to cuff her to the bedframe so she couldn’t hurt herself anymore.” A shaky breath left her. “What is it you’re going to do?”
Ella pinned her with a sober look. “No harm will come to your daughter at my hands.”
Annmarie’s hazel eyes went wet and glassy. “She’s only thirteen. I know it was stupid of her and her friends to fool around with a spirit board, but—” She stopped as tears trailed down her cheeks. “Neve said you had experience at this. Can you really help Malia?”
“Yes, I can. And I will,” Ella swore. “You should both wait out here.”
Her brow dented. “Won’t it be dangerous for you to go in there alone? Neve said you wouldn’t need the aid of a priest, but I thought you’d have someone with you. Perhaps a nun or spiritual practitioner of a sort.”
Ella felt her nose wrinkle. “Exorcisms don’t always happen the way they do in movies.” Technically, what she was about to do wouldn’t be an exorcism; it would involve a little magick. She couldn’t explain that to humans, however. “It’ll work better if I’m alone.”
“But why can’t we be there?” Edgar gruffly challenged.
Two reasons. One, they would learn things they shouldn’t. Two … “The presence inside Malia will feed off your misery and panic. That will make it stronger; give it fuel to fight me.”
He looked as though he’d argue, but then his shoulders drooped once more. “All right. Just … just get it out of her.”
Annmarie moved away from the door. “Be careful. It claims to be Beelzebub.”
Ella’s demon let out an impatient sigh. “I won’t be long.” She walked into the bedroom and closed the door behind her.
A sense of oppression lay heavy in the room. A room that was nothing short of girly. Posters were tacked on the pink walls. Makeup littered the surface of the chic vanity. A neon Malia sign hung above the bed. Shelves were lined with books, artificial plants, framed photos, and little knickknacks.
What held Ella’s attention, however, was the teenage girl who’d been cuffed to the bedframe by her wrists and ankles—her face pale, her lips chapped, her matted, sweat-slick chestnut hair plastered to her head. Slices, burns, and bruises decorated her body. Dark smudges circled her eyes—eyes that weren’t hazel like on her photos. No, her irises were now as black as her pupils.
Awake, it locked that cold gaze on her. A wicked grin curved its mouth as it chuckled, but there was unease rumbling through the sound. The damn thing should be uneasy—it would recognize an incantor on sight, and it would know what an incantor could do to it.
“You told them you’re Beelzebub?” Ella rolled her eyes at the wraith. “How cliché.”
“It’s not my fault humans are so naïve,” it said, its voice deep, grating, and eerie.
Hell was filled with all kinds of creatures. Some had ways of psychically attaching themselves to people who lived in other realms. Spirit boards were their main gateway, though such breeds of demon couldn’t actually walk the Earth. Sometimes, it was because they were incorporeal. Other times, it was because—as was the case with wraiths—their forms wouldn’t survive in this realm, so they could only leech onto the mind of someone who could.
When it came to possessions, it was very rarely the devil or any of his minions responsible—they generally considered that sort of thing beneath them. No, it was most commonly low-level demons like wraiths, who often tossed out names of biblical demons to scare the families of those they’d possessed.
“Ella Wilde,” it drawled.
That was another thing about wraiths. They could ‘scan’ a person; could tell many things about them on sight.
“You have two choices,” she told it, moving to stand at the foot of the bed. “You can release your grip on Malia’s soul and toddle off home, or I can destroy you.”
“I vote that we instead come to an agreement.”
Wraiths always made such proposals, and she always refused. “I’m not taking votes. Your choices are simple. Pick one. I have somewhere to be.”
“But you haven’t even heard my proposition yet.”
“I don’t need to. Choose.”
It cocked its head. “Wouldn’t you like to know the future? There’s much I could share.”
No doubt, considering that wraiths had foresight. “Not interested. I prefer surprises. Besides, I don’t make deals with anything that dwells in hell.” That kind of shit tended to backfire on a person.
“You have no interest in learning about the future, hmm?” It narrowed its eyes. “What about your past?”
She frowned. “I can remember it pretty well, thanks.”
“I mean your soul’s past.” One corner of its mouth tipped up into a sly smirk. “Surely your past lives would interest you. I could tell you things. So many, many things.”
Maybe, but none of it was worth trading the soul of a teenage girl. She lifted her chin and called to her magick—threads of green, red, and yellow shimmered like flames as they hissed and snapped against her palms. “Release Malia’s soul, or die.”
The wraith tensed, its gaze briefly dipping to her hands. Anger rippled across its face. “The human should be the least of your concerns. Forget her. It is your soul that you should worry about. He will come for you.”
A frown tugged at her brow.
“You will be chained to him forever, and you cannot imagine what that will mean for you.” It started to laugh.
Knowing it was just screwing with her, she hummed. “So you’ve decided to meet your end? Okay.”
It froze. “Wait.”
“No.” Chanting beneath her breath, she unleashed her magick. Two flickering, fiery ribbons rushed from her palms, streamed through the air, and slammed into its chest like cardiac arrest paddles. Malia’s eyes rolled back, hers head jerked hard, her body bucked and spasmed. With one last chant, Ella snapped her hands closed.
Black particles all but burst out of Malia’s body as it sagged to the bed. Those particles disintegrated fast, and the oppressive feel left the room.
Malia coughed, her eyelids lifting to reveal a beautiful, hazel gaze that was bruised with pain and terror. Those lids quickly fell shut again, but her breathing swiftly steadied.
Satisfied, Ella let Malia’s parents into the room. They thanked Ella even as they faffed around their daughter. Having assured
them that the demon would not return, she left the house and headed for her car.
She usually made such ‘house calls’ four or five times a year, and it was usually wraiths responsible for the possessions. Considering they weren’t difficult for incantors to kill, you would think they would give up their human victim voluntarily. Weirdly, though, they rarely did.
He will come for you.
Ella felt her brow crease as the words drifted through her mind. They meant nothing. The wraith had simply been messing with her—she knew that. Knew it well. As did her demon. So why did something about that phrase make her skin chill?
She was late.
Viper clenched his hand around his beer bottle, the pads of his fingertips tingling with both unease and a restless anticipation.
The redhead at a corner table—one who resembled his redhead—checked her phone, but she didn’t seem concerned. Maybe Mia had received a heads-up that there was some kind of delay.
The sisters were close. Best friends, really. They had little rituals; things they routinely did together. Like come to this particular pool hall every Friday.
‘Ella’ was his woman’s name in this life. It had taken him quite some time to find her. Too long.
Many things had delayed his locating her. He’d only had two clues that would aid him. One, she’d again be a demon. Two, her date of birth would be roughly nine months after the very day that her life as Everleigh had ended.
It didn’t help his search that, due to demons being exclusive and secretive, lairs didn’t have accessible birth records. Also, demons weren’t rare creatures, they existed all over the globe—that was a whole lot of ground to check out.
The timelines of the various realms were out of sync. Just returning home to the upper realm for a brief rest from searching for her had sometimes meant that months had passed when he returned to Earth to continue that search. At other times, it was only mere minutes.
Making it even harder, the six traitorous bastards he’d once considered ‘family’ had laid a false trail that—in his anger and desperation to find her—he’d been naïve enough to follow. They’d sure gone all out to keep him away from her so that he wouldn’t choose to ‘doom himself’. Their words.
On first seeing Ella here in Vegas, he’d known it was her. She had the same mannerisms and personal style. Even the same graceful, confident walk.
A slip into her mind as she’d slept had been enough for him to confirm it. Her brain might be physically different, but the psychic feel of her was the same.
It had taken him twenty-eight fucking years, but he’d found her. He’d fallen, along with thirteen angels who’d been part of his branch in the upper realm’s army; men he called brothers now that they’d formed a motorcycle club. And Viper was finally so very close to what he wanted most.
Not that he’d done anything about it yet. He’d had to hold off.
Viper had known that those in the upper realm wouldn’t easily accept that he’d fallen. He’d known that they’d try to persuade him to return and, more, that they’d try having him executed when he refused.
He’d also known they’d assume that he’d fallen because he’d managed to track down his woman. They would have taken her; would have outright destroyed her soul to get him in line. So, to keep their attention away from her, Viper had kept his distance from Ella over the past several months. He’d made it look to celestials as though his decision to fall had had nothing to do with her; that Vegas was a random choice of location on his part.
He’d butchered every slayer that the upper realm had sent, all the while focusing on getting his club settled, establishing their presence in Vegas, and forming necessary alliances with demons to get one foot in Ella’s world.
Viper had also spent a lot of that time observing his quarry from afar. At first, it had been strange to see his woman in a whole other body answering to a whole other name. But at this point, after several months of watching her, he’d gotten used to it; had even ceased refering to her as Everleigh in his mind.
In fact, he considered the situation similar to how he’d dropped his old identity after falling. They both now had new names, new circumstances, new families.
Before, she’d been a reaper. Now she was an incantor.
Before, he’d been an archangel. Now he was something … other.
Neither of them were exactly as they were before. But it meant they could start fresh as Ella and Viper. Meant they could get it right this time.
They weren’t so different than before that it would affect how well they ‘fit’. Small elements of a person’s character would vary with each life, but never their core nature.
He’d watched her closely so he could learn her patterns, familial situation, power-level, personal details, etc.
Basically, he’d discovered and filed away every aspect of her life to identify the easiest way to infiltrate it.
He’d already moved some pawns around, placing himself on the periphery of her world. Example: he’d recently bought this very pool hall that she frequented, and now he came here every Friday. Each time, he chose a table that was just a little closer to where she and Mia routinely sat.
Essentially, he’d set himself up to step fully into her life—something he’d soon do.
The coast was now mostly clear. The attempts to execute him had ceased. Celestials sometimes came to pass on messages from the Uppers, but there were no shows of violence. However, a new issue had cropped up. Once he’d resolved it, he could focus on Ella.
He planned to take things slow with her. To move with care, give her his full attention, and drag her so far under his spell she would accept all that he’d eventually have to reveal to her.
Some might say it made him a selfish bastard. There was no denying that since falling he’d become a literal stain upon this world. She deserved a life that wasn’t touched by him. But Viper hadn’t been ‘good’ in a long time, so here he was.
There was nothing sweet and flowery about what he felt for her. It wasn’t romantic or anyone’s idea of progressive. It was obsession and greed and a dark sense of ownership all tangled up with a blindingly intense emotion that, until her, had always eluded him.
She’d been easy to fall for—no pun intended with the whole ‘fall’ thing.
She was a person who would rise to any challenge. If she couldn’t move through something, she’d find some way to flow around it or leap over it—nothing was a true obstacle to her. Something he respected and admired.
She loved fiercely. Had a capacity for compassion that he found staggering. Anyone who’d heard about the life he’d led—a life that had weighed him down, darkened his soul, and stole so many choices from him—might have judged and shied away from him. She hadn’t. Nor had she shied away from being with him after hearing of the subsequent curse.
And she was happy for others. Too many people were jealous of those around him or resented them for having what they didn’t. Not her. Not as Everleigh or Ella, because they were one and the same.
In her previous life, she’d remembered him after their first meeting—nobody after did that unless he allowed it. Until her.
Sometimes, when Ella looked at him a certain way, he could even think she remembered him now. But that was likely wishful thinking on his part.
He tossed back a mouthful of beer and took an idle scan of his surroundings. The hall was dim—a deliberate effect of the tinted windows and low lighting. The neon ‘Beer’ signs hanging above the long mahogany bar did nothing to brighten the place.
Waitresses took orders from the patrons who’d either claimed tables or were playing pool. Other patrons sat at bar stools chatting, scrolling through their cell, or watching the darts game playing live on the wall-mounted TV. A few people hung at the back where gaming machines, an ATM, and a jukebox lined one wall.
An image shot to the forefront of his mind. An image of every single one of those patrons dead, their throats slit, their bodies gutted, their blood everywhere.
The image came from the once-holy being with which Viper shared his soul. Bored, it was ‘suggesting’ they instigate a bloodbath. Not unusual for the sadistic entity.
Viper focused on his five club brothers who were gathered around a pool table engaging in regular shit talk.
On falling, they’d all chosen the biker lifestyle. It fit the dynamic they already had after their years in service to heaven’s higher-ups. And they didn’t feel that they could connect with this realm’s normative society. They collectively had different values, different beliefs, different priorities.
Having secrets to protect, they hadn’t invited others into their club. Ella would join eventually, obviously. She just didn’t know that yet.
After doing a few ‘jobs’ with some local imps, they’d ended up with a surplus of cash that enabled them to buy land, businesses, and vacant buildings. They had no involvement in any sort of trafficking, and their businesses were legitimate—earning them no human attention.
But did they keep their hands perfectly clean? No. They hunted any hell-born demons who’d escaped from that place.
Old habits and all that.
Where the fuck was Ella?
She always arrived at six-thirty, give or take ten minutes. It was now seven pm, but there was no sign of her. He didn’t like it.
Viper rolled back his shoulders, struggling to tamp down his unease. The world of demons was brutal, and Ella … he’d swear she’d been hexed or some shit. Danger seemed to constantly dog her heels like a puppy chasing after its master.
She just stumbled into situations, always in the wrong place at the worst time. Like a month ago, when she’d come across a woman being mugged. Ella had intervened, only to subsequently get hit by a psychic punch that knocked her unconscious.
Viper had stepped in fast, killing the bastard who’d dared harm her and wiping the memory of it from the mind of the
Breathing hard, Everleigh struggled against the sheer power pinning her hands to the wall behind her. She twisted. Pulled. Arched.
Nothing happened.
Similarly, her inner demon writhed and squirmed and fought to surface. It was trapped inside her, unable to be of any aid.
Feeling a flush of anger heat her face, Everleigh glared at the strangers fanned out in front of her. “What the fuck is this shit?”
One male took a step toward her—tall, lean, imposing, his hair so blond it was almost white. “There’s no need to panic. You need not fear us.”
Was he serious? “You kidnapped me.” She’d been in the middle of a wickedly hot kiss when … it was as if her senses had shut down. She’d been conscious, but she hadn’t been able to see, hear, smell, or feel a thing.
She’d been distantly aware that she was being moved. Taken. When her senses had rushed back to her, it could have been minutes or hours later. And she’d found herself here, in what appeared to be some kind of abandoned warehouse.
The only other people present were the six males who were evenly staring back at her, their eyes twin blue gems—striking eyes she’d only ever seen in one other person.
Everleigh swallowed. “Where is he?” She had the distinct feeling that they’d taken him, too.
“That isn’t important,” Blondie told her.
She felt her nostrils flare. “It is to me.”
“He is nowhere near here. We have plenty of privacy for what we’re about to do.”
Everleigh’s heart stuttered. “What does that mean? What have you done to him?” And why couldn’t she telepath anyone? Whenever she tried, she hit some kind of psychic wall.
“He is safe. Unconscious for the moment, but safe.”
Her instincts stirred. “You’re members of the Seven archangels.” Powerful beings who could, in fact, collectively do something as difficult as knock the seventh of their unit out cold. Few would manage such a feat.
A dark-haired, clean-shaven celestial inclined his head in confirmation. “Be assured that our intention isn’t to make you suffer. We will simply put you to sleep. That is all.”
Everleigh tensed, her heart banging against her ribcage. The word ‘sleep’ sounded so very final. “Why do I get the feeling that you don’t intend for me to wake up?”
“Your body will not wake up, but your soul will,” Mr. Clean-shaven told her. “Your life will start anew in another body, just as it has many times before.”
Her gut twisted. He’d said it like it was nothing. Like she’d merely be changing outfits. “In other words, you’re going to kill me. Let’s just call it what it is.” They could dress it up all they wanted, but it was murder.
“You could view it that way. We all see it as saving you both.”
She felt her face scrunch up. “From what?”
He observed her like she was clueless. “From what will become of him if he falls.”
“He has not told you?” Blondie pursed his lips. “He probably fears you would otherwise reject him. I doubt those fears are senseless, to be fair.”
“No one would care if you were just a toy to him,” cut in a dark-skinned, brawny male. “But you’ve become an obsession. He is prepared to fall from our realm to stay with you.”
Everleigh knew that much. She’d been shocked when he offered to fall—it wasn’t a small thing, and it meant leaving his life behind. She’d even objected at first, not wanting him to give up so much for her; not wanting him to suffer the consequences. But then he’d told her a little about his life, about how the darkness of it weighed heavily on him, and she could see how it was eating at his soul. So she’d ceased protesting—and no, it wasn’t at all a selfless decision. The fact was that she loved him and didn’t want to be without him.
He had wished to first say his goodbyes to these archangels he’d considered family. Falling meant leaving them behind. Going by their reaction, that had been a mistake.
“An archangel should never fall,” Brawny added. “One of the Seven? That cannot happen. If you knew what it would do to him, you would agree with us.”
She licked her lips. “I know about the curse. I know what he’d have to do to survive.”
“For one of the Seven, that is only the tip of the iceberg,” said Brawny sadly. “He would change. We cannot bear the thought of him becoming that. We care for him too much.”
“Care for him? You really see killing someone he loves as ‘caring’?” Everleigh ran her gaze along the line of archangels. “He spoke of you. Each of you. You’re all important to him. How shitty for him that it doesn’t go both ways.”
Mr. Clean-shaven’s brow pinched. “This is not a betrayal on our part. We look out for him as he does us. This is for his own good.”
“And yours,” Blondie chipped in. “A being with the volume of power he possesses … It is not good for such a person to love. It only makes them more unstable, more dangerous.”
Her pulse skittered as Blondie moved closer, the set of his jaw telling her there’d be no changing his mind. Helplessness battered at her, amping up her demon’s anger. “You may not see this as a betrayal, but he will,” she said. “That doesn’t bother you?”
Blondie waved that away. “He will not believe we were responsible. He will suspect our superiors. He would be right to do so—they would have come for you if we hadn’t. They wouldn’t have settled for hiding you, they would have obliterated your soul to rein him in.”
Her head swimming, she shook it. “Hiding me? What does that mean?”
“When he claimed you as his own, he placed an imprint of himself on your soul. It allowed him to know where you were. But we will take away that imprint. He will not feel you, and so he will not know that you have been reborn. When time goes on and your soul appears to have not been reborn, he will assume it is either in hell … or that it has been destroyed.”
Oh, fuck.
Right then, all six of the archangels began to close in on her.
Panic wrapped around her throat and squeezed. Everleigh shook her head. “Don’t do this.”
Blondie stared at her, his expression implacable. “As we have explained, it is for your own good as well as his,” he stated with such unbelievable arrogance and condescension … like she was a child who knew no better.
Her panic gave way to a fury that heated her skin. “He won’t be fooled, he’ll find me,” she swore with a snarl. “Maybe not straight away. Maybe not for a while. But eventually, he’ll find me.”
Brawny shook his head. “No, no, he won’t. He’s exceedingly powerful—one of the most powerful of our kind. But without the imprint, there is no way for him to track you.” It was said with such assurance that her belly flipped. “He will never find you. No one will, not even us.”
“There will be no need for him to search for you anyway because, as I said, he’ll presume your soul now dwells in hell or no longer exists,” Blondie reminded her.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“Now be still,” Blondie told her, all business. “We shall put you to sleep—there is no need for you to suffer as you die.”
A cold force delved into her mind, and she cried out with the shock of it. The force spread, turned even colder, seemed to numb her thoughts. She felt herself fading; felt a thick, gray cloud move through her mind.
“I am not so sure there is truly a point in this,” said one of the archangels, his voice seeming so far away.
“This is the only way to save him from himself,” Blondie insisted.
“But it will only work if he believes she hasn’t been reborn. We will then have time to talk him out of falling. But if he does not believe it—”
“He will be blind to her location without the imprint, so it matters not.”
“Perhaps. But we know our kind can be very obsessive when they want something—she has brought that out in him. Do you honestly think he will cease looking? That he will accept she has gone?”
Other words were spoken, but she couldn’t make them out. The archangels were too far away. Or she was. And she just kept fading and fading and fading until, finally, it all went dark.
Las Vegas, present day
Ella Wilde parked at the curb and pulled out her phone. Running late, have to make a quick house call, she texted to her sister.
Mia quickly responded: No problem, I’ll order drinks.
Usually, Ella would turn down any jobs that cropped up on a Friday evening—it was routine for she and Mia to meet at their local pool hall to eat dinner, knock back beer, and shoot some pool. But there were some matters that required a swift intervention, and this was one of them.
Having plopped her cell back into her jacket pocket, Ella slid out of the car and took in the cute two-story home. It was pretty with its window boxes, porch rocking chairs, and ropes of ivy trailing up the walls.
It made her think of the house that she and Mia had recently considered renting, but then their apartment complex had come
under new management. The place had since been spruced up—new security system, fresh paint, working elevator, better lighting for the parking lot, major cleaning job.
Ella strode up the path and rang the doorbell. When the door swung open, she smiled gently at the human male staring at her through tortured grayish-blue eyes. “Hi, I’d like to speak to Mr. or Mrs. Mills.”
He cleared his throat. “I’m Mr. Mills.”
She’d suspected as much, given how haggard the poor guy looked. Any father in his position would be so haggard. “I’m Ella Wilde,” she said, holding out her hand. “I believe you’re expecting me.”
He gave a slow nod as he briefly shook her hand in an absent manner. “Thank you for coming.” Stepping aside, he waved her into the house.
She accepted his silent invitation, and he then closed the door. Her inner entity eyeballed their surroundings, hypervigilant as ever.
He scrubbed a hand down his pale, drawn face that hadn’t seen a razor in several days. “I, we, it … Neve, a friend of my wife, told me you could fix this. Fix my daughter.”
“I can,” Ella assured him.
A local practitioner, Neve knew much about all things that went bump in the night. She was talented at her craft, but she couldn’t work the sort of magick that would aid this family. Not like Ella, who was an incantor—a breed of demon that could wield magick.
So, whenever Neve came across a situation that she felt required demonic intervention, she contacted Ella, who consulted for many people. Neve had told her all about Annmarie and Edgar Mills, as well as their daughter.
He looked at the ceiling. “Malia’s … I don’t know what’s wrong with her. I don’t know—” He cut himself off and pinched a nose that had clearly once been broken. “I wanted to call a doctor here, but my wife begged me to try something else first.” He let his arm fall back to his side. “She’s afraid our daughter would be hospitalized.”
That wasn’t a senseless concern. Such a thing had happened to humans in Malia’s present condition. “I can help your daughter, if you’ll let me. But if you would rather seek medical help, I completely understand. It’s your choice.”
He carved his fingers through his tousled chestnut hair, his hesitation clear. Finally, he sighed and said, “Malia’s in her bedroom.”
Ella followed him as he trudged up the stairs, exhaustion in his every step. She ran her gaze along the framed pictures mounted on the wall. Some featured he and a woman, who was presumably his wife. Others featured a girl who could only be Malia at varying ages. Many were of the entire family—posing, smiling, laughing.
It made her think of the wall of her mother’s staircase—there was an overabundance of pictures of Ella, her older sister Mia, and their parents. Well … their idiot-for-a-father’s body could be seen. Their mother had covered his face with those of various male celebrities that she’d cut out of magazines. Something that still made Ella smile.
“Neve said you’re a kind of psychic,” said Edgar as they reached the top of the stairs.
Uh, not even close. But the truth wasn’t something that Ella could share. “In a manner of speaking,” she lied.
The snick of a lock sounded at the other end of the hallway. She looked to see the dark-haired, middle-aged woman from the framed pictures stepping out of a room.
“I don’t believe in psychics,” said Edgar, drawing Ella’s attention back to him. “I don’t believe in God or the devil or heaven or hell.” A heavy sigh slipped out of him and pulled down his shoulders. “Or I didn’t, until now,” he added in defeat, his voice breaking.
Her heart squeezed in sympathy. She didn’t get the chance to respond, because he immediately began making his way to his wife. Ella trailed after him and gave the woman a soft smile. “You must be Annmarie. I’m Ella.”
Her arms filled with soiled blankets, Annmarie swallowed hard. “I appreciate you coming.” Looking as drained and weary as her husband, she cast the bedroom door a quick glance. “She’s in bed. But awake. We had to cuff her to the bedframe so she couldn’t hurt herself anymore.” A shaky breath left her. “What is it you’re going to do?”
Ella pinned her with a sober look. “No harm will come to your daughter at my hands.”
Annmarie’s hazel eyes went wet and glassy. “She’s only thirteen. I know it was stupid of her and her friends to fool around with a spirit board, but—” She stopped as tears trailed down her cheeks. “Neve said you had experience at this. Can you really help Malia?”
“Yes, I can. And I will,” Ella swore. “You should both wait out here.”
Her brow dented. “Won’t it be dangerous for you to go in there alone? Neve said you wouldn’t need the aid of a priest, but I thought you’d have someone with you. Perhaps a nun or spiritual practitioner of a sort.”
Ella felt her nose wrinkle. “Exorcisms don’t always happen the way they do in movies.” Technically, what she was about to do wouldn’t be an exorcism; it would involve a little magick. She couldn’t explain that to humans, however. “It’ll work better if I’m alone.”
“But why can’t we be there?” Edgar gruffly challenged.
Two reasons. One, they would learn things they shouldn’t. Two … “The presence inside Malia will feed off your misery and panic. That will make it stronger; give it fuel to fight me.”
He looked as though he’d argue, but then his shoulders drooped once more. “All right. Just … just get it out of her.”
Annmarie moved away from the door. “Be careful. It claims to be Beelzebub.”
Ella’s demon let out an impatient sigh. “I won’t be long.” She walked into the bedroom and closed the door behind her.
A sense of oppression lay heavy in the room. A room that was nothing short of girly. Posters were tacked on the pink walls. Makeup littered the surface of the chic vanity. A neon Malia sign hung above the bed. Shelves were lined with books, artificial plants, framed photos, and little knickknacks.
What held Ella’s attention, however, was the teenage girl who’d been cuffed to the bedframe by her wrists and ankles—her face pale, her lips chapped, her matted, sweat-slick chestnut hair plastered to her head. Slices, burns, and bruises decorated her body. Dark smudges circled her eyes—eyes that weren’t hazel like on her photos. No, her irises were now as black as her pupils.
Awake, it locked that cold gaze on her. A wicked grin curved its mouth as it chuckled, but there was unease rumbling through the sound. The damn thing should be uneasy—it would recognize an incantor on sight, and it would know what an incantor could do to it.
“You told them you’re Beelzebub?” Ella rolled her eyes at the wraith. “How cliché.”
“It’s not my fault humans are so naïve,” it said, its voice deep, grating, and eerie.
Hell was filled with all kinds of creatures. Some had ways of psychically attaching themselves to people who lived in other realms. Spirit boards were their main gateway, though such breeds of demon couldn’t actually walk the Earth. Sometimes, it was because they were incorporeal. Other times, it was because—as was the case with wraiths—their forms wouldn’t survive in this realm, so they could only leech onto the mind of someone who could.
When it came to possessions, it was very rarely the devil or any of his minions responsible—they generally considered that sort of thing beneath them. No, it was most commonly low-level demons like wraiths, who often tossed out names of biblical demons to scare the families of those they’d possessed.
“Ella Wilde,” it drawled.
That was another thing about wraiths. They could ‘scan’ a person; could tell many things about them on sight.
“You have two choices,” she told it, moving to stand at the foot of the bed. “You can release your grip on Malia’s soul and toddle off home, or I can destroy you.”
“I vote that we instead come to an agreement.”
Wraiths always made such proposals, and she always refused. “I’m not taking votes. Your choices are simple. Pick one. I have somewhere to be.”
“But you haven’t even heard my proposition yet.”
“I don’t need to. Choose.”
It cocked its head. “Wouldn’t you like to know the future? There’s much I could share.”
No doubt, considering that wraiths had foresight. “Not interested. I prefer surprises. Besides, I don’t make deals with anything that dwells in hell.” That kind of shit tended to backfire on a person.
“You have no interest in learning about the future, hmm?” It narrowed its eyes. “What about your past?”
She frowned. “I can remember it pretty well, thanks.”
“I mean your soul’s past.” One corner of its mouth tipped up into a sly smirk. “Surely your past lives would interest you. I could tell you things. So many, many things.”
Maybe, but none of it was worth trading the soul of a teenage girl. She lifted her chin and called to her magick—threads of green, red, and yellow shimmered like flames as they hissed and snapped against her palms. “Release Malia’s soul, or die.”
The wraith tensed, its gaze briefly dipping to her hands. Anger rippled across its face. “The human should be the least of your concerns. Forget her. It is your soul that you should worry about. He will come for you.”
A frown tugged at her brow.
“You will be chained to him forever, and you cannot imagine what that will mean for you.” It started to laugh.
Knowing it was just screwing with her, she hummed. “So you’ve decided to meet your end? Okay.”
It froze. “Wait.”
“No.” Chanting beneath her breath, she unleashed her magick. Two flickering, fiery ribbons rushed from her palms, streamed through the air, and slammed into its chest like cardiac arrest paddles. Malia’s eyes rolled back, hers head jerked hard, her body bucked and spasmed. With one last chant, Ella snapped her hands closed.
Black particles all but burst out of Malia’s body as it sagged to the bed. Those particles disintegrated fast, and the oppressive feel left the room.
Malia coughed, her eyelids lifting to reveal a beautiful, hazel gaze that was bruised with pain and terror. Those lids quickly fell shut again, but her breathing swiftly steadied.
Satisfied, Ella let Malia’s parents into the room. They thanked Ella even as they faffed around their daughter. Having assured
them that the demon would not return, she left the house and headed for her car.
She usually made such ‘house calls’ four or five times a year, and it was usually wraiths responsible for the possessions. Considering they weren’t difficult for incantors to kill, you would think they would give up their human victim voluntarily. Weirdly, though, they rarely did.
He will come for you.
Ella felt her brow crease as the words drifted through her mind. They meant nothing. The wraith had simply been messing with her—she knew that. Knew it well. As did her demon. So why did something about that phrase make her skin chill?
She was late.
Viper clenched his hand around his beer bottle, the pads of his fingertips tingling with both unease and a restless anticipation.
The redhead at a corner table—one who resembled his redhead—checked her phone, but she didn’t seem concerned. Maybe Mia had received a heads-up that there was some kind of delay.
The sisters were close. Best friends, really. They had little rituals; things they routinely did together. Like come to this particular pool hall every Friday.
‘Ella’ was his woman’s name in this life. It had taken him quite some time to find her. Too long.
Many things had delayed his locating her. He’d only had two clues that would aid him. One, she’d again be a demon. Two, her date of birth would be roughly nine months after the very day that her life as Everleigh had ended.
It didn’t help his search that, due to demons being exclusive and secretive, lairs didn’t have accessible birth records. Also, demons weren’t rare creatures, they existed all over the globe—that was a whole lot of ground to check out.
The timelines of the various realms were out of sync. Just returning home to the upper realm for a brief rest from searching for her had sometimes meant that months had passed when he returned to Earth to continue that search. At other times, it was only mere minutes.
Making it even harder, the six traitorous bastards he’d once considered ‘family’ had laid a false trail that—in his anger and desperation to find her—he’d been naïve enough to follow. They’d sure gone all out to keep him away from her so that he wouldn’t choose to ‘doom himself’. Their words.
On first seeing Ella here in Vegas, he’d known it was her. She had the same mannerisms and personal style. Even the same graceful, confident walk.
A slip into her mind as she’d slept had been enough for him to confirm it. Her brain might be physically different, but the psychic feel of her was the same.
It had taken him twenty-eight fucking years, but he’d found her. He’d fallen, along with thirteen angels who’d been part of his branch in the upper realm’s army; men he called brothers now that they’d formed a motorcycle club. And Viper was finally so very close to what he wanted most.
Not that he’d done anything about it yet. He’d had to hold off.
Viper had known that those in the upper realm wouldn’t easily accept that he’d fallen. He’d known that they’d try to persuade him to return and, more, that they’d try having him executed when he refused.
He’d also known they’d assume that he’d fallen because he’d managed to track down his woman. They would have taken her; would have outright destroyed her soul to get him in line. So, to keep their attention away from her, Viper had kept his distance from Ella over the past several months. He’d made it look to celestials as though his decision to fall had had nothing to do with her; that Vegas was a random choice of location on his part.
He’d butchered every slayer that the upper realm had sent, all the while focusing on getting his club settled, establishing their presence in Vegas, and forming necessary alliances with demons to get one foot in Ella’s world.
Viper had also spent a lot of that time observing his quarry from afar. At first, it had been strange to see his woman in a whole other body answering to a whole other name. But at this point, after several months of watching her, he’d gotten used to it; had even ceased refering to her as Everleigh in his mind.
In fact, he considered the situation similar to how he’d dropped his old identity after falling. They both now had new names, new circumstances, new families.
Before, she’d been a reaper. Now she was an incantor.
Before, he’d been an archangel. Now he was something … other.
Neither of them were exactly as they were before. But it meant they could start fresh as Ella and Viper. Meant they could get it right this time.
They weren’t so different than before that it would affect how well they ‘fit’. Small elements of a person’s character would vary with each life, but never their core nature.
He’d watched her closely so he could learn her patterns, familial situation, power-level, personal details, etc.
Basically, he’d discovered and filed away every aspect of her life to identify the easiest way to infiltrate it.
He’d already moved some pawns around, placing himself on the periphery of her world. Example: he’d recently bought this very pool hall that she frequented, and now he came here every Friday. Each time, he chose a table that was just a little closer to where she and Mia routinely sat.
Essentially, he’d set himself up to step fully into her life—something he’d soon do.
The coast was now mostly clear. The attempts to execute him had ceased. Celestials sometimes came to pass on messages from the Uppers, but there were no shows of violence. However, a new issue had cropped up. Once he’d resolved it, he could focus on Ella.
He planned to take things slow with her. To move with care, give her his full attention, and drag her so far under his spell she would accept all that he’d eventually have to reveal to her.
Some might say it made him a selfish bastard. There was no denying that since falling he’d become a literal stain upon this world. She deserved a life that wasn’t touched by him. But Viper hadn’t been ‘good’ in a long time, so here he was.
There was nothing sweet and flowery about what he felt for her. It wasn’t romantic or anyone’s idea of progressive. It was obsession and greed and a dark sense of ownership all tangled up with a blindingly intense emotion that, until her, had always eluded him.
She’d been easy to fall for—no pun intended with the whole ‘fall’ thing.
She was a person who would rise to any challenge. If she couldn’t move through something, she’d find some way to flow around it or leap over it—nothing was a true obstacle to her. Something he respected and admired.
She loved fiercely. Had a capacity for compassion that he found staggering. Anyone who’d heard about the life he’d led—a life that had weighed him down, darkened his soul, and stole so many choices from him—might have judged and shied away from him. She hadn’t. Nor had she shied away from being with him after hearing of the subsequent curse.
And she was happy for others. Too many people were jealous of those around him or resented them for having what they didn’t. Not her. Not as Everleigh or Ella, because they were one and the same.
In her previous life, she’d remembered him after their first meeting—nobody after did that unless he allowed it. Until her.
Sometimes, when Ella looked at him a certain way, he could even think she remembered him now. But that was likely wishful thinking on his part.
He tossed back a mouthful of beer and took an idle scan of his surroundings. The hall was dim—a deliberate effect of the tinted windows and low lighting. The neon ‘Beer’ signs hanging above the long mahogany bar did nothing to brighten the place.
Waitresses took orders from the patrons who’d either claimed tables or were playing pool. Other patrons sat at bar stools chatting, scrolling through their cell, or watching the darts game playing live on the wall-mounted TV. A few people hung at the back where gaming machines, an ATM, and a jukebox lined one wall.
An image shot to the forefront of his mind. An image of every single one of those patrons dead, their throats slit, their bodies gutted, their blood everywhere.
The image came from the once-holy being with which Viper shared his soul. Bored, it was ‘suggesting’ they instigate a bloodbath. Not unusual for the sadistic entity.
Viper focused on his five club brothers who were gathered around a pool table engaging in regular shit talk.
On falling, they’d all chosen the biker lifestyle. It fit the dynamic they already had after their years in service to heaven’s higher-ups. And they didn’t feel that they could connect with this realm’s normative society. They collectively had different values, different beliefs, different priorities.
Having secrets to protect, they hadn’t invited others into their club. Ella would join eventually, obviously. She just didn’t know that yet.
After doing a few ‘jobs’ with some local imps, they’d ended up with a surplus of cash that enabled them to buy land, businesses, and vacant buildings. They had no involvement in any sort of trafficking, and their businesses were legitimate—earning them no human attention.
But did they keep their hands perfectly clean? No. They hunted any hell-born demons who’d escaped from that place.
Old habits and all that.
Where the fuck was Ella?
She always arrived at six-thirty, give or take ten minutes. It was now seven pm, but there was no sign of her. He didn’t like it.
Viper rolled back his shoulders, struggling to tamp down his unease. The world of demons was brutal, and Ella … he’d swear she’d been hexed or some shit. Danger seemed to constantly dog her heels like a puppy chasing after its master.
She just stumbled into situations, always in the wrong place at the worst time. Like a month ago, when she’d come across a woman being mugged. Ella had intervened, only to subsequently get hit by a psychic punch that knocked her unconscious.
Viper had stepped in fast, killing the bastard who’d dared harm her and wiping the memory of it from the mind of the
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