Devil of a Chance: Devil's Own, #1

By Ciara Graves

Lucifer, lords of hell, fallen angels, demons, corrupted mortals, hell spawn, and the dark creatures of nightmares. The Devil's Own series is just starting!

Ashmielle knows there's something different about her. She simply can't put her finger on it. Living on her own since she was thirteen, she's a cynic and hardened to the world's problems. She tends bar at the place of a crusty old dude named Hank, who is actually a softie on the inside. She minds her own business, puts on a fake smile, and slings beer.
Ashmielle only wants to be left alone.

Samazrael, a demon, has spent the last few decades in the ninth level of hell. And though Lucifer has released him from his incarceration, Samazrael has not released himself. He spends his days and nights in torment for having failed in his mission to keep Lucifer's daughter alive. Until one day, a trusted demon friend tells him there's something he needs to see.
Now, the last thing Samazrael can do is leave Ashmielle alone.

Warning: Unputdownable action-packed fantasy, with a touch of romance which features Lucifer, lords of hell, fallen angels, demons, hell spawn, and the dark creatures of nightmares.

• Language: English
• Publisher: CiaGra
• Release date: Apr 4, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393082613

Book preview

Chapter 1

Samazrael

Darkness filled the house. The only noise came from the light pattering of rain against the windows. A storm was moving up from the south, a bad one judging from the gusting winds. I stood in the living room of the sprawling one-story house, my head on a swivel as it was every minute I guarded Lucifer’s lover and their newborn daughter.

My sword, forged in the fires of Hell and imbued with the power of my domain, was sheathed at my back. I had five knives strapped across my chest over my black shirt.

Outside, thunder rumbled, and the wind howled around the corners of the house while the rain turned into a torrential downpour.

I told myself to move, the same as I did every time this night played out. I knew what came next. I’d known every day for the last however many years of my torment, trapped in this literal Hell.

I knew. And yet, all I could do was let it play out all over again.

Tugging my sleeves up my forearms, I turned, waiting for the impact that would break open the front door. Two lightning strikes, then the attack would come.

The first burst of light flooded the room, nearly blinding me, a sharp crack echoing through the house. The second lightning strike hit, and I told myself to turn and brace for the assault.

Yet, I didn’t move an inch.

A loud thud sounded behind me. I whirled around. The front door had been thrown open. A figure entered, my height, with a gun in his right hand and a sword in his left. Two more men stepped into view from behind him. They stank of the sins committed over their lifetimes, or at least, they had. Here, in Hell, trapped in this illusion, there was no smell. I didn’t need it to be replicated to remember the stench that wafted off their flesh.

Get the baby, the first man ordered while I drew my sword, my face morphing with my rage.

Demon Hunters, sent by the Order of the Unholy Dragon, had come for Lucifer’s child. Hunters or not, they were still humans. Easy enough to kill. And yet, somehow, they overpowered me. How? How had they bested me this night?

They charged into the house and opened fire.

I ducked, attempting to avoid the shots. The few bullets that did hit me weren’t enough to take me down. This might be a reliving of a memory, but the pain was real. Each round that burrowed deep into my flesh burned, not with fire, but with guilt and the knowledge of my failure—my greatest sin.

The men rushed for the hall and the bedrooms. I charged, tackling them to the floor. The first one, I bashed in the face, knocking him out. The second one, I tore his gun free of his grip, and we scrambled back to our feet. Our blades clashed to the sounds of the storm raging outside.

A vicious slash sliced open my back. I snarled, kicking aside the man in front of me to face the one behind me. A yell came from the back bedroom, followed by a baby’s shrill cry.

The man I thought was knocked out had snuck past me to the hall.

Cursing, I ran to follow. Two sets of hands held me back. They shouldn’t have been this strong. Each breath weakened me, and I sank to my knees, my vision blurring. Something heavy slammed into the back of my head. I toppled to the carpet, the baby’s shrieks fading away.

When I came to, every inch of me ached. I pushed up off the floor with shaking arms. My stomach heaved from the hit to my head. My clothes were crusted in blood from the bullet wounds and the slash on my back. I made it to my feet, leaning against the wall for support.

Look at what you did, a harsh voice whispered through my mind.

No, I uttered, because that’s what I’d said that night.

Blood trailed down the hall, past me, to the front door. It couldn’t be real.

Stumbling down the hall, I made it to the back bedroom, falling to my knees with the reality of my failure laid out bare. The room was a mess. Broken furniture tossed everywhere, blood covered the sheets, the walls, some even on the ceiling.

And the crib, the black crib where she’d slept, was empty and torn to pieces.

You did this, the voice went on while tears of disbelief and grief wended their way down my face. You killed them. Failure. That’s what you are. A failure, one who never deserves to see the surface again.

The bedroom shimmered in and out of view while the voice went on and on until I howled, beating my fists on the floor. A stab to my back drew a yell out of me, and I lashed out, fighting the demon who did it.

A demon who bore a striking resemblance to me.

His eyes were solid black, and in his hand was a dagger dripping with my blood. Two more figures stepped out from behind him, crowding the bedroom, all wearing my face.

Their blood is on your hands, the first demon grated.

I shook my head even with the truth right there in front of me. You’re wrong.

Am I? He nodded to my hands.

Slowly, I raised them, staggering back to see them coated in blood.

You swore an oath to protect them with your life. Lucifer trusted you to keep them safe, and yet, you’re the one standing here, not them. You’re a failure. A disappointment. You’ll never be worthy of his good graces again.

I threw myself at the demon, meaning to strangle him. Instead, he buried the dagger into my abdomen. I gasped, staggering back, and the other two versions of me moved in. Their whispered words turned into a chant that penetrated deep into my very soul, lashing it, tearing it to shreds. I was thrown from one demon to the other, beaten and battered, as I deserved to be for what I’d done.

This was my punishment, created from the stain of my sins.

That’s what every cell in Hell was created and powered by. Sins.

Mine had been against Lucifer himself.

The three twisted versions of me attacked me until I was on the floor, unable to move. One by one, they trailed away, leaving me in a bleeding heap. The image of the bedroom slipped away until I was left staring at the cold, grey stone walls of my circular cell. There were no comforts here. Why would there be?

The air was thick with the oppressive atmosphere of the rest of the sinners trapped in the ninth level of Hell. Their screams were nothing but background noise after all this time. I used to be on the outside of the bars, keeping an eye on the souls of the damned. Then Lucifer had taken me on as a personal bodyguard. His first duty for me was to protect his daughter, the only child he ever had. I wasn’t sure how long I’d been here. Time passed so differently in these cells. Not that it mattered. Time was irrelevant now. My eyes shut, and I passed out.

I thrashed and snarled on the ground, jarred awake by a stab to the back.

Three demons stood in the cavernous room of my cell. The voices inside my head hissed in a continuous rant even while I stood up to face the demons who’d joined me.

I had no weapons since this was not a vision. It was reality. My clothes were stiff when I moved, covered in decades of bloodshed, and ripped to tatters. The voices in my head shifted in tone until it was Lucifer himself shouting at me for what I’d done to him. Hearing his rage, his disappointment, his disgust was hard enough.

Feeling how deeply I’d cut him, how his entire body ached as if his heart was ripped from his chest and his insides shredded, was far worse than any sensation I’d experienced in my three hundred years of living. It drove me to slam my hands to my ears, falling to my knees. Nothing I did ever drowned out the voices or chased away the weakness and guilt spreading through my limbs, but I couldn’t take it any longer.

The demons gave me no chance to brace for their assault. I reacted on instinct, not that it saved me. This was my personal Hell, and there was no avoiding the pain no matter how hard I fought back. The madness running rampant in my mind came with flashes of that night. How I’d let three humans overpower me.

I was pathetic. Wretched. A stain on this world.

I was nothing.

A blade cut deep into my forearm, and I grimaced, jerking away from the pain. Blood spilled from the wound, one of many injuries I endured. A fist collided with my face making my eyes water. Another struck my stomach, knocking me to my knees.

Gasping for air, I wrapped an arm around my middle, spitting blood. The three demons surrounded me. None of them made a move forward, hesitating. I growled, and they charged. There was no room for mercy, not here, not after what I’d done.

Weakened by the numerous slashes and stabs covering my back, chest, and legs, I failed to block most of their hits and ended up taking a dagger to the back. Again. Another stabbed into my ribs. I waited for the third, needing to feel that biting agony when a furious bellow to stand down cut through my panting breaths. I hadn’t even heard my cell door open, let alone the heavy footfalls of another demon. His presence pushed in around me, his age and power evident in his aura filling the room.

Leave us, the voice ordered, the steel edge to his words sending the demons marching away.

I remained on the ground, gritting my teeth against the agony assaulting my body. Digging my claws into the stone, I waited for him to leave, too.

Instead, but he crouched before me. Samazrael.

Hephaestus, the blacksmith of Hell and the half-brother of Lucifer, scowled. Heph was as tall as me, nearly six and a half feet, with horns that stretched back with a slight curve at the end. His dark blue eyes bordered on black from his simmering anger. He wore a long, red leather jacket over a black silk shirt, black pants, and boots. His visible dark skin was covered in various tribal and demonic markings he’d collected over the centuries.

Why are you here? I whispered, my voice hoarse and coming out garbled.

Maybe he wasn’t even here. In all the years I’d been trapped in this room, my punishment hadn’t altered. That could always change. That’s how these cells worked for the damned.

Why do you think? he bit off. How much longer are you going to do this to yourself?

Wincing, I pushed off the floor until I was kneeling, wrenched the dagger from my ribs, and tossed it aside. The wound sealed too soon for my liking.

Eternity, I spat. No less than I deserve.

Eyes narrowing, he walked around me and pulled the dagger from my back, muttering under his breath while he hurled it away. Enough of this, you hear me? Enough of punishing yourself. It’s been years. Lucifer released you from this torment a decade ago.

I tensed. Had it really already been ten years since I was told I was free to go? How long had I been here until that point? No matter. This was my new home. I accepted that the moment Lucifer tossed me in.

And that absolves me of my sin? I snapped, feeling the rest of my wounds mending. Lucifer’s shouts rattled through my mind, and my eye twitched, fighting the urge to grasp my head and curl into a ball on the floor until it stopped.

It was nearly twenty-five years ago. You have to forgive yourself at some point.

That’s it? That was how long I’d been here? Why had Lucifer released me ten years ago? Why was Heph here now? How can I? I bellowed abruptly, my claws lengthening while my fangs protruded harshly from my gums. I failed him. I failed her. I should be down here forever.

Doing what? Reliving that night? Having yourself beaten to within an inch of your life, bled nearly to death just to do it all over again? There are far worse souls that deserve such torment.

You wouldn’t understand.

You’re right. I wouldn’t. Heph grabbed my shoulders, digging his sharp claws in when I tried to pull away. No one can, but I’m not going to let you stay down here being brutalized and reliving the worst moment of your life. Not anymore.

I growled, shoving his hands away. Getting to my feet took effort, and I grunted with each shift of my beaten and battered body. I stormed to the arched stone doorway that led out of the room I’d resigned myself to these last years. Lucifer had me thrown in the ninth level of Hell as punishment for my failure. I’d once been a renowned guard for the King of Hell. As a reward, he entrusted me to keep the one thing most precious to him safe. But I hadn’t. Lucifer locked me in this very room,