On the Rugged Hills

By Dan Ackerman

Ira never anticipated having a life of his own, let alone having the most powerful creature in Hell as his lover. On top of learning how to live, cook, and work on his own, Ira has to navigate the political landscape that comes with being the Devil's kept man.

Exes, estranged family members, political rivals, discontented workers, and those who'd compete for Satan's affections all worm their way into Ira's life and between him and his Prince.

When things become chaotic and turmoil erupts in Hell, Ira has to decide if he should take action to help his Prince or step aside as nothing more than a pretty face. But can he help or will his inexperience get in the way?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Supposed Crimes, LLC
• Release date: Oct 1, 2020
• ISBN: 9781952150579

Dan Ackerman

Dan Ackerman is a section editor at leading technology news site CNET. He regularly appears as a technology correspondent on major news outlets including CNN, the BBC and CBS where he is CBS This Morning’s in-house technology expert. He lives in Brooklyn, New York.

Book preview

On the Rugged Hills

The Serpent’s Throne #2

Dan Ackerman

Smashwords Edition

Supposed Crimes LLC

Matthews, North Carolina

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All Rights Reserved

Copyright © 2020 Dan Ackerman

Published in the United States

ISBN: 978-1-952150-57-9

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author

The sky above had barely started to grow dark but Ira still found himself hurrying to get home, an instinct left over from decades of having a curfew. A year had not broken him of that habit. He still paused at his door every time he wanted to leave his apartment, feeling like he couldn’t go out without someone’s permission.

He let himself inside and called hello to the landlady, who almost always had her door open.

She greeted him with a pleasant screech and a twitch of her wing. He’d picked up a handful of words in Ancient Greek, enough to know that she was fond of him.

As he started up the stairs, she called to him, Garbage night, or at least, that’s what he thought she said.

Thanks, Mrs. Spiros.

She bobbed her head and went back inside her apartment.

Ira continued up to the fourth floor and pushed open the door to his apartment. He emptied his pockets on to the kitchen table. Half a dozen silver serpents clattered against the wood. One clinked against the other coins that had built up there.

Every night for a week or so he had dumped his pay on to the kitchen table, not knowing what else to do with it.

He sat and looked at today’s coins.

One from Tycho, who had spilled all over Ira’s back and hadn’t helped wipe it up, either. One from Molly, who had wanted the use of his tongue, two from Astrid, who he worried might fancy him a little bit too much, and one from Kal, who had disturbingly enough called Ira by the name of his son when he’d come.

And one that he’d won in a bet with Selene, one of the other pleasure workers. He’d bet her that he could guess what street she’d grown up on and he had guessed correctly – Notch Street, in the outskirts of the Eight.

She’d been so sure that she’d covered up all the telltale signs, but she hadn’t remembered to tug her sleeve down to cover the tattoo on the crook of her elbow. A spider, a dead giveaway that she’d worked for the pimp who ran out of that area.

He thought again of the look on Kal’s face, first grunting and heaving with pleasure as he’d spilled over Ira’s hand, his legs wrapped around Ira’s waist, and then the contorted expression of panic that had come over him when he’d realized he’d groaned ‘Lucas.’

Ira played with that coin, rubbing his fingers over the monstrous beast stamped into one side. He wondered if turning Kal away would mean that he’d start trying to get his son to fuck him.

Of course, Lucas was grown and could do whatever he pleased, but the idea sat strangely in Ira’s belly. Even raised without a family, Ira knew some lines shouldn’t be crossed.

A knock at the door pulled Ira out of his thoughts. He went over to open it and looked up at the tall, lanky figure that darkened his doorway.

I told you, you don’t have to knock.

Lucifer stepped inside when Ira opened the door wider. I didn’t want to be rude.

Ira went back to the kitchen table and looked at the coins, then at the Devil. I want to pay my own rent.

The Devil shook his head, his fingertips brushing over one of the many tiny braids he’d woven through his ink black hair. By some miracle, he hadn’t unwound them yet, or he’d redone them right before coming over. There isn’t any rent to pay.

What do you mean?

You already own it.

Ira’s eyebrows shot up of their own accord. "You bought this?"

Lucifer nodded. His shoulders had a bit of a droop about them and he didn’t stand as tall as he usually did.

Ira sighed and looked at the coins. He pushed them into a neater pile, then went over to Satan, and wrapped his arms around the Devil’s waist. What’s wrong?

I…I don’t know.

Ira squeezed him tighter. How can I help?

In the back of his mind, it still felt like a ridiculous question. How could a whore help the Devil? It would have been one thing if Lucifer had been amorous and Ira had slid to his knees with that question on his lips, but the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind.

Lucifer raked his fingers through Ira’s curls, tilting his head back a little so that he could press a soft kiss to his mouth. Tell me about your day.

You don’t want to hear about my day.

Immediately, the Devil asked, his voice full of worry, Was someone—

No, no. I’m fine, Ira soothed. "It’s just, I don’t know. They all want the same thing every time. One always rubs my feet and one always kisses my wrist and one always wants me to call her momma. He rolled his eyes and took Lucifer by the hand, pulling him towards the sofa in the parlor. What about your day?"

Do I always do the same thing? The Devil’s eyebrows had knitted, his terrible reddish gold eyes squinted with concern.

It doesn’t matter what you do, I like you a fair amount more than them.

Oh.

Ira tangled his fingers with the Devil’s, ash-gray twined with milky white. Don’t you like me better than your other lays?

You know there aren’t any others.

Ira nodded. He had known, but he didn’t know how he felt about it. Even though they hadn’t imposed any agreements of fidelity or exclusivity on each other, Lucifer hadn’t been with anyone else.

Part of Ira liked very much that no one else put their hands on the Devil’s skin or their mouth on his lips.

They both stayed quiet, settled in on the sofa.

I went to the Third today.

Oh?

I saw your brother, Lucifer confessed.

Ira’s stomach dropped. You do that from time to time.

He asked how you are.

I don’t care how he is, Ira spat.

He wants to see you.

No.

Ira.

No! Ira pulled his hand back, crossing his arms.

Lucifer made a face but said nothing.

And maybe after that, I can go and see my parents, too! Ask why…! Ira stopped himself, his throat going tight. He didn’t know why he’d started but felt sure that he didn’t want to finish the thought.

Lucifer reached out and toyed with one of Ira’s curls. I love you.

What! Ira squawked.

I love you, the Devil repeated calmly.

"No, I heard you! But…I mean, that’s how you want to tell me for the first time!"

It might have been the first time you heard me but it’s not the first time I’ve said it.

Oh? When’ve you been saying it, then? Ira challenged.

Usually when you’re sleeping. After a moment of thought, the Devil added, Or when you’re making that absolutely wonderful sound you make when you come.

A crooked half-smile crawled across Ira’s face.

But I wanted to make sure you heard me this time.

Ira really grinned this time. And you haven’t even taken me captive yet.

Lucifer smiled, his black teeth disturbingly stark against the pallor of his skin. He took Ira’s hands and kissed his fingers. What if I just ate you up instead? Swallowed you whole so we’d never be apart.

Maybe later, I have plans for tomorrow. Ira had gotten used to these sorts of odd statements from the Devil.

What are you doing tomorrow?

Figuring out what to do with all that fucking money!

Lucifer’s eyes went to the pile on the table. It must have seemed like a paltry amount to the Prince of Hell himself, but Ira didn’t know what to do with it. His rent was paid, or, it seemed, nonexistent. He’d gone out and bought himself new clothes when he’d first started making money, so he didn’t have to wear the same pair of breeches and two shirts he’d had since he’d stopped growing.

He quite liked the way he looked in trousers and suspenders instead of fashion that had died on Earth above ages ago.

You could put it in the bank, Lucifer suggested.

Ira frowned; the idea had never occurred to him.

Save it for something you really want.

You always get me what I want as soon as I mention it! Ira reminded, feeling spoiled and whiny.

Lucifer smiled just a little, one corner of his mouth tipped up. Is that why you’ve stopped mentioning things to me?

Maybe. I don’t know how to open a bank account anyway.

I’ll take you tomorrow.

Ira pressed a kiss to the Devil’s cheek, glad for the answer he’d given. Ira didn’t like to ask for help or admit how much he didn’t know about being on his own. At work, he tried to play it off like those things were beneath him, always saying, "I’ll have him take care of it for me."

Thank you.

You’re welcome, love. Is there anything you wanted to do tonight? Lucifer asked.

I haven’t had dinner yet.

Do you want to go somewhere?

Ira shrugged. He didn’t but also didn’t want to eat one of the paltry meals he cobbled together for himself. Cheese, dried meat, and bread, maybe wine or fruit. Things that didn’t need to be cooked. He had only turned his stove on five times in the year he’d lived here, and he’d scared himself each time; pots and pans he never used filled his cabinets.

Lucifer stood and went into the kitchen, peeking through the cabinets and the ice box. Love, you haven’t got anything in here.

There’s bread and I think half a bottle of wine.

The Devil shook his head and came back over to the couch. He took Ira’s hand again and pressed his lips to the small tattoo on his right wrist; the black ink barely stood out against the gray of Ira’s skin, but he hadn’t gotten it for fashion. It was meant to keep away the sort of poxes and diseases that came with his line of work.

So far it had worked, as had the contraceptive one on his hip.

So you don’t want to go out and there’s nothing to eat in here, Lucifer mused, I think we’re stuck. Maybe I will eat you after all.

Ira shrugged and didn’t look at him, embarrassed.

The Devil swooped down and scooped him up off the couch. Or, I don’t think it’s too late, and fuck it if it is, I am the Devil, after all, we can go fetch some ingredients.

I can’t cook.

Yes, well, I can. That’s why we work so well together, Ira, dear. I can cook and you can…I don’t know, sleep at night without the screams of the damned echoing through your skull. It’s called balance.

The Devil set him down.

You sleep fine at night, Ira told him.

Only when you’re beside me.

Lucifer took him by the hand and Ira went, grinning like a fool.

They roamed the market, arms linked, with Lucifer holding up an item every so often asking, What do you think?

Ira shrugged each time, but the Devil didn’t grow irritated or impatient.

Back at Ira’s flat, Ira sat at the kitchen table and watched as the Prince of Hell peeled potatoes.

Do you want help?

The Devil pushed a small knife and a potato his way.

Ira picked it up and tried to peel off the skin in thin slices but ending up carving off a thick slab.

You know, I don’t know how we haven’t done this sooner, Lucifer said.

Ira lopped off another large slice of potato. You were. Uh. Well, you were having a rough go, there, for a while.

Lucifer hummed agreement.

How is the little one doing, anyway? Ira asked.

Good, good, really, the Devil answered. "Still can’t believe I’ve gone ahead and left my son in the care of a Reinhart, but…you know, Hiram and Phaedrus, they’re what he needs. Loving, kind. Stable. And Hiram can keep him hidden."

After Mercy had met her unfortunate end, Lucifer had tried to keep the baby in Hell with him, but all sorts of unsavory things had come to try to kill or capture the child. Angels and Moralists and even a few traitorous creatures among the ranks of the Fallen.

The fact that Felix was hidden with Hiram Reinhart and Phaedrus Queen on Earth was a grave secret, one that Ira almost wished he didn’t know.

He’ll be a year in April, Lucifer said, his eyes on the knife.

Ira touched his hand and gave him a smile. Lucifer had been ruined when he’d decided he couldn’t keep his son in Hell. Too many things had come searching and he had given the little thing a bad fright once.

That had really done him in, making the infant squall like that.

Better for him to be up there, Lucifer had announced. He is half-human. Mercy would have wanted up him up there.

Ira hadn’t known enough of Mercy to know what she would have wanted, and he hadn’t known what to say to soothe Lucifer’s distress. He still didn’t.

They finished peeling the potatoes in silence. By the time they’d been chopped and set to boil, Lucifer had regained some of his good mood.

When it came time to eat, the Devil heaped more mushrooms than meat on his plate.

Ira inquired, Have you got enough mushrooms there?

Yes.

You sure you don’t want more?

Lucifer pressed his lips together and Ira grinned at him.

They went to the bank first thing in the morning, Ira clutching the bag of coins in his arms like a child with a piggy bank.

Lucifer swept through the place as though he owned it, bypassing all the other customers and counters. He went directly to the office of who Ira assumed was one of the managers.

Your Highness, the demon squawked upon their entrance. He stood to give a bow. What can I do for you?

Lucifer put a hand on Ira’s shoulder and brought him forward. We’d like to open a bank account, please, Yage.

Of course, Your Highness. Have a seat, please. Yage gestured to the set of chairs in front of his desk.

Ira sat, playing with the purse strings, and looked up at the Devil, hoping he didn’t seem too pathetic.

Lucifer sat beside him.

Now, what’s the name on the account? Yage asked.

Lucifer gave Ira a nudge.

Ira.

Yage waited a moment, pen in hand, then looked up when Ira didn’t say anything else. Ira…?

That’s it, just Ira, Ira said.

Yage glanced at Lucifer.

Some Hell-born demons had family names, others used patronym or something like it for their second name, and others still had titles. Ira had nothing, just three letters.

Lucifer leaned in to whisper, You can call yourself whatever you like, but your given name—

Ira pulled back, shaking his head. No.

He was on his feet before he knew what he was doing. He walked out of the manager’s office, through the bank, and out the door, his heart thrumming in his chest.

He heard, faintly, Lucifer calling after him.

People pushed past him to get into the bank, wealthy demons all of them, with glittering rings and silken clothes. He pushed back, through the crowd to the street, where he looked about, wondering where to go.

He had lived in the Ninth since he was barely more than a toddler but still didn’t know the streets as he should have. His mistress had forbidden him from going too far from the Trade House. Even now, he traced the same routes between work, home, and the market.

When he looked up the street, he could see the fenced-in estate where the Devil’s palace sat. His feet well knew the way there. He walked there when the Devil hadn’t stopped by in a while, usually to have Imogen tell him, He’s been busy, or worse, He’s resting.

Hey. Lucifer had caught up to him, putting a hand on his elbow. Ira, love…

Ira pushed the bag of coins into the Devil’s hands. I don’t want to open a bank account.

Lucifer opened his mouth.

"And I don’t want to you to tell me their last name."

Lucifer nodded. Would you like to go home?

Ira shook his head. I’ve got to go to work.

I’ll walk you—

No, I know how to get there, he snapped and set off, though he wasn’t sure where he was going.

He was stupid, he knew, and too bold with his Prince. He should have been grateful, he should have been at the very least respectful, instead of snapping at him.

He didn’t know why the Devil bothered to visit him. He wasn’t the handsomest demon to be found, bought or otherwise. He didn’t know why the Devil cooked him dinner or loved him. There was nothing about him worth loving.

He could spread his legs or get on his knees, but that was it. He was useless and stupid and, as his mistress had always reminded him, worth very little. He hadn’t earned much for her, he’d never had clients clamoring to come to him.

His own parents had parted with him for nothing more than a few months’ worth of groceries.

And, like that, absorbed in the spiral of his thoughts, Ira was lost. He looked up and could see the faraway spires of the library jutting up above the roofs and recognized nothing else.

His breath quickened.

The houses were spaced far enough apart that he knew he had not wandered into the Eighth. It was the middle of the morning. Most demons would be at work by now, toiling to clean and prepare the souls.

He should have been at work.

Lost? came a slippery voice from his right.

He looked over to see a woman leaning against a doorway, her eyes raking over him. No.

"Standing there looking around for the last five minutes, you look lost. She came down the steps. And young."

He stood up straighter. Slim and short as he was, people always mistook him for a youth. Born before the Wasting Plagues.

She laughed at that. "You are young. Where do you need to be?"

He tried to keep his back straight. Just…point me towards Queen Street.

She grinned, her smile wide and toothy. Nothing but whorehouses there, lad.

He shrugged.

She put her hand on her shoulder. I can show you a good time.

He stepped back. No, I…I work there. At Marius’ house… He hoped that dropping the name of the brothel’s owner would buy him some safety. Marius was well respected throughout the Ninth.

At that, though, she took his face in her hand, squeezing so that his teeth ached. I can put you to work, too, little thing.

Ira tried to step back but she kept her grip, sliding her hand down his neck and squeezing his shoulder hard.

From a sheath on her belt, she produced a knife and placed it to the thrumming vein in Ira’s throat. What’s your rate?

I…I need to go, I… He took half a step back.

She pressed the blade to his neck. Your rate.

A serpent…for, for an hour… His eyes searched the street, but he saw no one.

What a high-priced whore you are! I’ll give you two bits for the use of your tongue.

He shook his head. I’m not…I have clients there, I’m not looking for work.

She slid the knife up his throat, leaving a smarting line from the base of his neck to just beneath his ear. Or you can do it for free.

He swallowed and squeezed his eyes shut. He hadn’t gotten that sort of offer for a while now.

It was better to service her and get paid for it. At least he could make that choice, to give it or have it taken.

He nodded, his eyes still shut.

With a coo, she traced her tongue along the shallow cut on his neck, then along his jaw. Pretty thing, too, how lucky you were to have gotten lost.

Her hand still clamped onto his shoulder, she brought him up the stairs and closed the door to her house behind them.

Her mouth tasted sour on his when she kissed him.

He pulled away. I…I’ve… His tongue ran over an ulcer on the inside of his bottom lip, left from when he chomped down on it during dinner. He dug his teeth into it to make it look angrier. I’ve got sores, he warned.

She moved back a little.

He put a finger in his mouth and pulled down his lip to show the wound. See?

In the Eighth, no one would have batted an eye, but demons in the Ninth tended to be a little more fastidious. Going to an orgy with sores on her lips and between her legs wouldn’t be fashionable, he knew.

And what about on your cock? she asked.

He swallowed.

Go on, let’s see it.

His fingers fumbled at his belt and he found himself, for the first time in his life, wishing for a blemish on his privates.

Once he was exposed, she gestured for him to move things around for her inspection. Free from sores, free from anything more than a single, thin scar on one side which he’d gotten climbing through a broken window when he’d been thirteen and not particularly wise.

She grinned and before she could state her approval, he asked, Do you have somewhere I can wash up first? Marius says it’s good practice, before and after.

She looked a little taken aback by the question but nodded towards a washroom. He shoved himself back into his trousers and hurried towards it before she could change her mind.

Within he found a pitcher full of water and a basin. His hands trembled as he reached for the water.

He had no wish to bed this woman, for two bits or a whole serpent.

He spied a lock on the door and twisted it, sinking to the floor, his hands gripping his curls.

Someone at Marius’ would worry when he didn’t show up and some of them knew enough about his personal life that they would tell the Devil he’d gone missing.

Whether Lucifer would come looking for him after he’d stormed off was up in the air.

The woman rapped on the door, scaring his heart into his mouth.

One moment, he called.

He made himself stand, searching through the cabinets to find anything that might be of use.

He found nothing, though, and after another moment, made himself leave the washroom.

Lucifer would not be happy when he heard of this, Ira knew; he would be angry that Ira hadn’t stood up for himself and that terrible form he took would rear its head.

That stretched-out, spindly beast with its gaping maw and talon fingers.

Ira had a single card to play and wondered if it would work.

The woman had put her knife away.

I’m not looking for work, he told her, making himself stand up as tall as he could.

She grinned. We’ve been over this—

His voice shaking, he threatened, If you make me, I’ll tell our Prince, I’ll go right to his palace—

She cut him off with a laugh. As though the Devil cares what happens to some lost whore.

He’ll care if you do it to me. He’ll come and rip you to bits, shove your meat and your bones down his throat because I asked him to.

She drew her knife again and approached. Then you won’t be leaving and—

And if you kill me it will be worse! You know what he’s done to others who have displeased him, what he did to Mylas last year! We all saw him eat those traitors from the last coup!

She paused her advance. Watching the Devil gulp down those unlucky bastards had been a gruesome sight, even for the denizens of Hell.

"I’m a whore, but I am his."

While she considered his threats, he moved toward the door, edging around her. His nerve held for only a moment and when he was close enough to reach the knob, he lunged for it and broke into a run.

He sprinted towards the spires of the library and ran all the way there. He stumbled inside the door and made such a commotion that everyone looked at him.

He drew himself together as best he could and marched towards the stacks. He had taken refuge there often as a youth and he knew which sections did not have heavy foot traffic. His mistress had allowed him trips to the library, thanks to Nial’s encouragement.

Once on the fourth floor, in the back corner, he crumpled to the floor and pressed his knees to his chest.

He didn’t know how long he’d been sitting there but eventually, a quiet, amused voice interrupted his solitude. I thought I might find you here once you’d had time to cool off. I asked them to point me towards the most adorable but distraught demon who’d come in recently.

He looked up to see the Devil above him, smiling.

I didn’t mean to upset you about the names… Lucifer’s eyes fixed on the cut on Ira’s neck.

As soon as Lucifer’s face soured, tears began to stream down Ira’s cheeks.

The Devil crouched in front of him, his long body folding. What happened, darling?

Ira shook his head and wiped his face with his sleeve.

Lucifer’s spidery fingers caressed Ira’s cheek. Tell me.

No.

Why not?

You’ll be angry. He pushed the Devil’s hand away.

Never with you.

Ira shook his head again. I’m late for work.

Love, look at you, I’ll take you home. Marius will understand.

No. I’ll go to work, Ira insisted.

Ira.

I’ll go to work. Ira made himself stand, even though his legs felt like they might give out and his heart had not yet settled comfortably in his chest.

Lucifer stood at the same time and followed him out of the library. He trailed behind Ira until they reached the pleasure house that Marius owned.

When Ira entered, Selene came up to him and pulled him into a hug, enveloping him with her wonderfully fat, soft body. Ira!

Is he mad? Ira asked in a low voice. His eyes flicked towards the bar behind which Marius could almost always be found.

No, we were worried! Selene assured. Molly came to see if you were in, too.

He nodded. He’d have to make it up to her.

What happened your neck?

He put a hand to the scabby cut. Just a scratch.

Lucifer went over to the bar and slid behind it like he belonged there. He approached the pander and put a hand on his arm, then leaned in to whisper something in the demon’s ear.

Marius numbered among the Fallen, though his sandy brown skin made him appear more human than a lot of them.

While Selene tried to get an answer out of Ira about the scratch on his neck, the two once-angels conferred in hushed voices.

"Did he do it?" Selene whispered.

Ira pulled his eyes away from the two behind the bar. He?

Our Prince.

No, no, of course not.

Lucifer left Marius, giving the other Fallen a clap on the shoulder and a fond smile. He came back over to Ira and kissed his cheek. I’ll come back to see you later if you don’t mind.

That would be fine.

I’ll see you soon, love.

Ira nodded.

When Lucifer had left, Marius called, Ira, come here!

Ira approached the bar, his stomach twisting. He hadn’t been late yet and didn’t know what repercussions it would have.

The pander asked, Are you alright to work today?

I’m fine.

Tell me if you aren’t.

I’m fine.

Marius brushed a hand over his tight, close-cropped curls. Listen, Ira…we’ve all been in a bad place at work, it’s a profession that can get a little dicey.

I told you, I’m fine.

The Fallen gave him a hard look, his topaz eyes boring into Ira’s dark ones. Marius had not always been a pander; he had started his career as