She nearly tripped over her own feet. He was giving her a way out of this crappy deal?
Raphael stepped back and finished his nectar. “Oh,” he said, as he tossed the empty cup to the floor and strode toward the exit, “and good luck. Azagoth is an asshole.”
Chapter Three
Lilliana’s skin crawled as she took in the massive palace before her. True to her intel and research, the building, and all those surrounding it, were fashioned after ancient Greek structures. Great pillars rose up from the ground to support walls that went on forever. But unlike the bone-white framework that typified Greek construction, everything here was blackened, as if polluted by centuries of smoke buildup. She wondered what would happen if she scraped her fingernail down a wall.
Everything here felt...wrong. Even the air buzzed with a low-level sinister energy, as if she were standing next to a leaking, demonic nuclear power plant. Instinctively, she reached for her angelic power, but it was as if she struck a barrier. She could feel her power inside her, but it was trapped somehow, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t reach it.
Raphael had warned her that her powers would be all but useless here, but she’d hoped that somehow he was wrong.
Not so much.
Shuddering, she inhaled the air that stank of decay and filth, and climbed the seemingly endless steps to a landing that was as sprawling as a football field. The doors before her, large enough to allow a pair of elephants inside, opened up as if by magic.
No one was standing at the threshold to greet her. She hadn’t been sure what to expect, but silence and a warehouse-sized room filled with gruesome artwork and fountains that ran with blood wasn’t it.
Lilliana walked inside, her pristine white gown dragging on the polished obsidian floor. She hated the stupid dress, but it was what Raphael had insisted she wear, as if she were some sort of child bride being offered up to a sleazeball who’d paid for her.
Which probably wasn’t far from the truth.
At the far side of the room, a lone figure appeared through another set of double doors. Male. Tall. Blond. Handsome. Evil.
Fallen angel.
He gestured for her to approach, and although she’d been conditioned since birth to despise fallen angels, she obeyed. What choice did she have, after all?
“I am Zhubaal,” he said, when she was a few yards away.
Up close, he was obscenely good-looking in his black leather pants and wife-beater that revealed a massive, muscular upper body, but the malevolence in his gaze made her shiver. Relief that he wasn’t Azagoth was tempered with fear that her soon-to-be mate would be hideous...or that his eyes would be filled with something much worse than cruelty.
“I’m Lilliana,” she replied as steadily as she could, but she cursed the slight tremor in her voice.
“I know.” Zhubaal smiled, and if she’d thought his gaze was fiendish, his smile was a hundred times worse. This was not a male she’d want to piss off. “Tell me, do you feel like a sacrificial lamb?”
Fallen angels were assholes. “I was given more of a choice than any lamb.”
He snorted and started down a long, twisty hallway. “Keep telling yourself that.”
She amended her last thought. Fallen angels were major assholes.
They arrived at an arched doorway that seemed to be carved out of a solid piece of bone. A slab of thick wood studded with iron squeaked open at Zhubaal’s shove.
Warm orange light spilled from the opening, illuminating a room that was chilly despite flames that stretched a full six feet in height inside the fireplace on the far wall. In front of the fire, there was a claw-footed oak desk scattered with papers, pens, and tiny jade animals.
And standing next to the monstrosity was an impossibly beautiful dark-haired male with eyes the color of vibrant emeralds. His expression could have been carved from a solid block of ice, and the blade-sharp lines of his jaw and cheekbones only emphasized the hardness of his appearance. The fang tips glinting between his full lips were the icing on the oh-shit-what-did-I-get-into cake.
“Hello.” His deep voice turned her marrow to pudding even as a wave of heat licked her skin. “I’m Azagoth.”
Dear...God. He was both magnificent and frightening. “I’m Lilliana,” she said, somehow keeping her tone even, her words sure.
He strode toward her, his black slacks defining long legs, his European-style leather shoes tapping against the ebony floor, his rich gray dress shirt rolled at the sleeves to reveal powerfully muscled forearms. Lilliana resided in Heaven, where all male angels were perfect specimens of masculinity, but something about Azagoth made every last one of them seem average. Hell, even Raphael, with his jewels and furs, couldn’t touch Azagoth’s simple elegance and raw sexuality.
Or his deadliness.
He halted a couple of feet away. “Why are you here?”
She blinked, not understanding the question. Surely he understood the deal that had been struck between him and the archangels.
“Ah...I’m here for you.”
He looked at her as if she were completely daft. “I know. But why you?”
“I don’t know why,” she answered honestly. This was a punishment, yes, but the archangels could have chosen anyone to toss up as a sacrifice, so why her specifically? She’d wondered, but in the end it didn’t matter, she supposed.
Azagoth’s remarkable eyes narrowed. “Then why did you agree to mate me?”
She wasn’t sure she was ready to tell him. She could think of little more humiliating or insulting than trying to explain that being here was the least distasteful of two horrific options. “First, why don’t you tell me why you wanted this?”
If she’d thought his gaze was cold before, now it glazed over with ice. “Obviously, I desire a mate.”
“But why?”
He smiled, but it was as frostbitten as his eyes. “How old are you?” he asked, ignoring her question.
“I’m coming up on my four hundred and thirty-sixth birthday.”
He made a sound of disgust. “So pathetically young.” His gaze took a long, appraising tour of her body, and she bristled. “And you’re wearing white. Your idea? Or did the archangels send you to me looking like a virgin ready for the volcano?”
He’d hit that nail on the head. “It wasn’t my idea.”
“But are you a virgin?” he asked, and wow, he had balls, didn’t he. No, she wasn’t a virgin—at least, not in one sense of the word, but the hell if she was going to give him the satisfaction of an answer. When she remained silent, he cursed. “You are, aren’t you?”
“You say it like you might ask if I’m a cockroach. The sneer was a nice touch.”
“A virgin cockroach.” His mouth twitched in amusement. What a strange sense of humor. He returned to his desk and pulled a parcel out of a drawer. Lush gold silk surrounded the package, which was tied with a red satin bow. He handed it to her. “You will wear this.”
She had no idea what was inside the package, but she’d had it with his attitude. “I have my own clothes, but thank you.”
“Your shipment from Heaven is being delayed,” he said, and she had a sneaky suspicion he had something to do with that. “So no, you don’t have clothes. You will wear what I give you.”