Lord Have Mercy: The Mercy Aymes Series, #1

By H. M. Mills

THERE'S A DARKNESS WARRING WITHIN HER, AND IT'S ABOUT TO BREAK FREE…

Lucifer's time has come for the outcome of his failed rebellion to be righted. When the Lord of all Demons is seated on Heaven's throne, he will revel in the sight of God powerless at his feet. All he requires is the one thing he could never claim to possess, until now—Mercy.

Mercy Aymes always thought she was a normal girl living a normal life, until five years on from the mysterious disappearance of her parents that left her world a seething pit of black, she finds herself thrust into the chaos of unfamiliar territory. It's more than the torments of her past that stalk her through the cold and lonely halls of the Lincoln boarding school.

In a desperate bid for survival, Mercy races for an escape from the wickedness of the school's notorious bully, and stumbles on the secrets of the Lincoln towers, hidden from the mortal realm for hundreds of years. With the blinders torn from her eyes, Mercy's world fractures at the sight of true monsters—but the eyes of their King are only for her.

Though captivated by the discovery of an odd array of Gargoyles, Mercy finds more than solace in the silent presence of one she favours above all. But when a powerful connection to the stone figure claims her heart, it's not long before the mysteries of Mercy's life unravel.

The discovery of unfavourable blood ties propels Mercy into an age-old war that splits the realms and tears her heart in two. Soon, she must choose which side is to dominate her future, as she faces unfathomable dangers from both forces.

The Archangels want her dead and the Devil wants her to lead. But whose side are the Gargoyles on?

LORD HAVE MERCY is a gripping paranormal, dark fantasy that will transport fantasy fans to a fascinating world, filled with suspense, danger, and paranormal romance. This fantasy is the epitome of the universal conflict between good and evil. This vividly drawn cast of Angels, Demons and Gargoyles embark on a battle for the realms and humanity. A journey of self-discovery, friendship, love, and heartache along with engaging and lovable characters.
 

• Language: English
• Publisher: H. M. Mills
• Release date: Sep 22, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215110485

Book preview

Acknowledgements

I would like to thank my family for their unwavering support and encouragement, without which, I may not have had the courage to share my stories in the first place.

To Tiffany Andrea, from Burden of Proofreading Publishing for your proofreading skills, a great big thank you. I’m still playing the hokey pokey with my commas and dashes, but I’m learning.

To my ARC Team, I would like to thank each and every one of you for taking the time to read Lord Have Mercy and share your opinions. Your time and support are invaluable.

I’d also like to give a shout-out to Warren Designs for the amazing book cover; I love it.

Finally, but not least of all, to my readers, you make it all worthwhile.

Lord Have Mercy

H. M. Mills

The Fall of Lucifer

‘How you are fallen from heaven,

O Lucifer, son of the morning!

How you are cut down to the ground,

You who weakened the nations!

For you have said in your heart ‘I will ascend into heaven,

I will exalt my throne above the stars of God;

I will sit on the mount of the congregation,

On the farthest sides of the north;

I will ascend above the heights of the clouds,

I will be like the Most High.’

Yet you shall be brought down to Sheol,

To the lowest depths of the Pit.

Isaiah 14:12-17 New King James Version

Prologue

Any sane person would have difficulties coming to terms with discovering they weren’t who they thought they were; but what if the discovery wasn’t who, but what ?

For Mercy Aymes it brings a mountainous landslide of complexities, not least of all—expectations. Everyone expects something from her, whether it be to remain as she has always been or become someone or something else entirely.

She senses when they’re watching her every move, listening to her every word, waiting—expecting. It’s inevitable she’ll disappoint someone, fail to live up to their expectations and let them down, even her own, especially since she too envisages heroics and fairy-tale endings.

You can’t live up to another’s expectations any more than you can see a precise image inside their head. A retelling is but an echo, a mere shadow of the original; no brush strokes the same, no matter how clever the forgery.

Mercy must face them all; she must be human when the expectation to act anything less will not do, despite having what made her human stripped away in a single moment. It leaves her with the glaring expectations of becoming the Demon queen Lucifer believes her born to be, or the fated Angel mate Talus expects her to choose.

Either way, Mercy’s desire to distinguish herself as at least one or the other will prove her biggest disappointment of all.

Even Immortal capabilities cannot erase the years of fear and insecurities she carries like a chain around her soul, and fashion her a kick-arse superhero. Profound change occurs like evolution—painstakingly slow

Chapter One

Crime and Punishment

‘W ho is the interrogator you sent to deal with the traitor, Xaphan?’

‘Thammuz, my Lord of Light,’ the Demon said, kneeling before Lucifer. ‘He has been working her over these past months; though, I fear unsuccessfully.’ He lowered his head, sending the thick braid of his blood-red hair sliding over his shoulder and down his back. His caramel skin was slick with sweat, it glistened in the flickering firelight, defining the well-cut muscles of his torso.

‘Do not call me Lord of Light again, Xaphan! That is your last warning.’ Lucifer sat forward, immense, and glorious to behold upon his throne of bones. White skulls lay scattered about his bare feet like bleached white petals. His crimson shirt lay open from collar to navel, baring a wide sculptured chest, with the hem tucked neatly into a pair of black leather pants stretched tight, like a second skin over his long muscular legs.

‘Of course, my Lord,’ Xaphan bowed lower, the tip of his perfectly straight nose flattening against the heated stone. ‘Thammuz has not yet extracted any useful information. It seems she regained some power after you freed her from the cells, allowing her to live amongst us,’ he explained, remaining still.

‘Argh!’ Lucifer hissed, rising abruptly from his throne. He strode across the room, coming to a stop at the head of the kneeling Demon. ‘Thammuz has had more than enough time to retrieve the information I require. Heliot is but a lower Demon, and she betrayed me, not once but twice. I sent her to destroy the Angel Theliel and his charge; instead, she allowed him to seduce her.’ His growl deepened with his rising anger.

‘When Heliot came before me, she knew there would be no escaping punishment, yet did I not allow her to atone for her sins? Did I not permit her to re-join her own kind? And how did she repay my benevolence? She plotted her escape to return to him, that’s how! I will not allow this to continue, Xaphan. Demons and Angels, not destroying each other, but copulating!’ he snarled, crushing a skull underfoot as he moved. ‘There was a defective few in the past who pursued these repulsive relations; I killed every one of them. My Demons know the fate awaiting them should they choose to stray. Still, I do not understand this freak compulsion some are afflicted with. Demons do not feel true love, so why then was Heliot prepared to risk all to return to Theliel?’

Xaphan remained silent, allowing Lucifer to speak through his thoughts without interruption. He knew, despite several questions directed at him, he wasn’t expected to answer; keeping his thoughts to himself was in his best interest.

Heat rippled over Lucifer’s golden skin, lifting pale blonde strands of hair around the beauty of his unearthly face. It rose in bursts of heated air, swirling about him, like a mounting storm ready to break. Xaphan kept his eyes averted; to be caught in the fiery beauty of the fallen Angel would mean to burn for all eternity. His own unique flames were no match for his Demon King’s. Once God’s greatest joy, Lucifer had become his most fearsome adversary.

Xaphan let his mind wander, reminiscing over the rebellion Lucifer led against God and his Angels so long ago. The rebellion he himself had joined attempting to burn down the heavens, hoping to prove his loyalty to the immortal he loved more than all the stars in the universe; a love that Lucifer did not believe Demons possessed, and a love he could never confess to.

He winced, remembering how horribly it had all gone wrong; defeated by the Archangel Mikha`el, and cast out of Heaven for all eternity. Lucifer had taken with him a third of the Angels who fought alongside them. Deemed Angels no more, they became the fallen, henceforth to be forever known as Demons.

Lucifer created for them: Hell; a realm of black-souled creatures given to all manner of sins. Their eternal mission – to corrupt the souls of every man, woman, and child on the mortal plain, twisting their minds and turning one against another until they lost all trace of their faith and forever cast God aside; as he himself had been.

Every act of evil executed by mortals began with the whisperings of a Demon. Their pitiless soul’s adept at taking command of the weak-minded and blackened hearts, created chaos and death. Still, Xaphan knew it would never be enough for Lucifer. The Demon King wanted it all, believing he alone deserved to rule the realms and, most of all, Heaven. He would stop at nothing to take back what he deemed rightfully his.

More beautiful was Lucifer than any Angel God had ever created; his intelligence beyond all of them combined, stronger of mind and governance than Lucifer believed God could ever be. He considered God’s love and compassion a weakness and the gift of free will for man and Angel kind, to be his greatest weakness of all. God would soon come to realise those weaknesses would inevitably lead to his demise.

Chapter Two

First Impressions

The tedious three-hour drive from London to Lincolnshire had been painfully quiet and uneventful, despite Colebec’s lame attempts to lighten the mood with bouts of idle chitchat. She was pretty good, as for as Child Service Officers go; it’s just unfortunate for her, they’re often depicted as heartless Demons by the media.

It wasn’t long before, she too, fell silent, realising my resolute mutism wasn’t about to change anytime soon. I sat staring out the window, watching the world I no longer felt connected to flash by in streaks of green and varying shades of gold.

For the most part, the drive was a pleasant, picturesque distraction; I’ll give it that, though the typical dreary English weather was nothing compared to how I felt, once again being uprooted, and forced into another profoundly life-changing situation. I was about to be thrust into unfamiliarity, left scrambling for solid ground in which to take purchase, and dumped into a school, miles from everyone and everything I’ve ever known. If that’s not bad enough, turns out, it’s not just any school. Oh, no! it’s a boarding school for the rich and inherently snobby.

I mean, come on! Who are they kidding? Until three weeks ago, I was a ward of the state, not a brass razoo to my name. I’d barely even bothered going to class at the last state school I’d been dumped in. Oh, and you think boarding school sounds bad, get a load of this. It used to be a cathedral; an-honest-to-God cathedral. With spires and flying buttresses, whatever they are, and colossal stone arches carved by Normans. It even has stained glass windows, and three towers, of which Ms Colebec, like a proper tour guide rattling off interesting facts, informed me were two hundred and seventy-one feet high. I mean, what the Hell? Talk about getting closer to Heaven!

I guess it’s not like I have friends or family to stick around for. I never stayed in any foster home long enough to make any.

Oh! Did I forget to mention – now get this, here’s the kicker – my name’s Mercy Aymes. Aymes as in of God, for real, that’s what it means, I kid you not. My name literally means Mercy of God. Yeah, the irony of that wasn’t lost on me either.

We pulled up, both cramped and weary, outside the great imposing edifice of Lincoln boarding school. The arched wooden doors reminded me of a pair of hands in prayer. I guess that was fitting, considering. I could already see the grounds were of ginormous proportions, though I was pretty sure there’d be an abundance of hidden treasures yet to be discovered.

I pushed open the car door, twisting to take a step and the heavens opened up; a last chance to wash away my sins before I stepped foot over His beloved threshold.

A statuesque woman stood beneath a limestone archway, handsomely framed by its ornate carvings. Ms Colebec had babbled on excitedly as we’d driven up, eager to pass on her knowledge, whether the audience was willing to listen or not. It was difficult prying my eyes away from the overwhelming expanse and sheer magnitude of the cathedral’s mind-boggling architecture. I felt tiny and insignificant beneath its great looming shadows.

The woman remained unmoved while we gawped, her expression quite severe for a welcoming party. I made an educated guess this was the headmistress, Mrs Rutledge; she appeared as stern and imposing as the building itself. By the look of her, perhaps swoop down and devour us was a more accurate description; either way, I didn’t care for her one little bit. She was, I realised, sheltered from the rain, though, to her obvious discomfort, not from the driving wind. It whipped a long black robe around her slender body, exposing a white silk blouse. A cameo brooch was pinned high at her collar, encompassing a long delicate throat. The shirt fit seamlessly into a black pencil skirt, wrapping snugly around her lean, shapely legs. They drew one’s eye to a killer pair of shiny black heels, finishing the outfit perfectly. The woman was a cross between a high-powered lawyer and a dominatrix in headmistress fetish wear. I had to admit; she had a kick-arse look.

‘Welcome to Lincoln boarding school, Miss Aymes, Ms Colebec. I trust you had a pleasant trip?’ She paused for a fraction of a second, giving the impression we had the opportunity to respond, only to continue before we could open our mouths. ‘I hope you will enjoy your time here, Miss Aymes, as well as taking every opportunity afforded to you in which to learn. We, here at Lincoln, pride ourselves on our unblemished reputation for producing students with the highest academic achievements, ensuring the uppermost probability of a successful future. I trust you will endeavour to fulfil your duty to do the same, Miss Aymes?’

I listened to her steely voice, unflinching at the barely hidden threat within her speech and studied the tight pull of skin around her narrow black eyes.

She studied me just as closely. Her straight black hair was pulled back into a severe bun, giving the appearance of a facelift of the non-surgical kind. At a distance she’d seemed youthful, almost attractive in a severe kind of way. Upon closer inspection, the fine grey streaks running through her hair were quite noticeable, despite the obvious attempt at hiding them under black dye. Her thin lips paled at my lack of response, or perhaps from the bitter cold; either way, she didn’t seem pleased to have me attending her school, nor the least bit trusting that I would leave her school’s reputation unblemished.

I couldn’t fault her for that; I hadn’t exactly lived up to anyone’s expectations of me so far, and I didn’t see that changing anytime soon.

Ms Colebec broke the awkward silence with a nervous cough, turning away from Rutledge.

‘I’m sure our Mercy will do everything in her power to fit in and make the most of every opportunity. Won’t you, dear?’ she asked, shooting a look of ensuing death if I didn’t agree.

‘Of course, Ms Colebec,’ I answered with hyperbolic politeness, gripping the sides of my jeans, and dipping into an exaggerated curtsy, flashing a megawatt smile.

‘Lord have mercy,’ Colebec muttered, rolling her eyes, turning to the obviously unimpressed woman displaying a fake smile of her own. I guessed she’d heard Colebec when her pencil thin brows shot up in a startled expression.

With a final stern glance, Rutledge opened the heavy doors, ushering us inside with an impatient wave of her bony hand. ‘Shall we?’ she asked, a little too sweetly, gesturing us forward.

I bent to pick up my bags.

‘Leave them. I will have someone take them to your room shortly,’ she announced, oozing irritation.

Chapter Three

It Starts With a Spark

Lucifer took his seat on the throne, considering the kneeling Demon before speaking.

‘Send for Thammuz, Xaphan. If he is unable to fulfil his duties, perhaps he would be of better use as kindling for my fires.’ Satisfied with his decision, he relaxed into his seat, eyeing the Demon.

‘Yes, my Lord.’ Bowing, Xaphan rose in a single, graceful movement of his powerfully built legs, that even Lucifer appreciated. He raised his blazing amber eyes, relieved to see the heat had settled into a mellow glow over Lucifer’s skin.

‘Ah, Xaphan, you are my most valued warrior.’ His gaze wandering appreciatively over his second in command’s perfectly defined muscles, attracted to their power and strength, rather than the Demon himself. ‘Soon, I shall have the greatest army that has ever been. A plague of Demons no sum of Angels could come close to defeating, in Hell or on Earth. It pains me to admit we are still yet to enter Heaven.’ Lucifer’s large, white-knuckled hands gripped the ends of the skull armrests. He said, his fervour waning. ‘Every Angel we’ve captured has either sacrificed themselves or killed my brethren, before fleeing like the cowards they are. We must find a way to harness Angel powers and gain entry. Tell me Xaphan, how are we to capture an Angel without it ending in their premature death or that of one of mine?’ He sat back, pinching the bridge of his flawless nose between long slender fingers, shutting his eyes against the dancing flames in frustrated concentration.

‘I do not know my Lord of—’

Lucifer’s eyes sprung open above his fingers, blazing a warning at the unfinished words.

‘M-my Lord,’ Xaphan stuttered, dropping into a submissive bow. ‘I’m only aware of Heliot’s relationship with the Angel Theliel, successfully uniting.’

Lucifer released the bridge of his nose, grabbing hold of the throne’s skull ends. He heaved himself forward; his eyes sparking dangerously in his excitement.

‘Heliot, yes, of course,’ he laughed, sending a wave of small flames flickering to life and spreading along his exposed skin like liquid gold. His clothing neither caught fire nor stirred in its exuberance. ‘I shall send my Demons out in human form to seduce Angel’s and take their power before they know what’s hit them.’ His sharp teeth glinted in the firelight when he parted his mouth in a satisfied grin.

‘My Lord, in the past, Angels who seduced humans have been cast out of Heaven, most of which are amongst us, and their powers to ascend have already been stripped. God does not leave their powers intact for long, and those who fraternised with Demons, you yourself have killed.’ Xaphan frowned.

‘Yes, yes,’ Lucifer waved a dismissive hand in irritation. ‘But not Theliel,’ he smiled.

‘I do not understand, my Lord. Theliel has also been cast out,’ Xaphan’s brows furrowed deeper.

‘Yes, but Heliot was able to turn Theliel from his beloved God, and from his brothers for twelve years before they were discovered. She could have taken his power at any time, instead she chose to betray us. Forget sending for Thammuz, I shall pay Heliot a visit myself.’

As Lucifer rose from his throne, the flames danced over his skin, growing in a rage of amber light, encasing him in a cocoon of fire. Xaphan stepped closer, his own flaming hands casting a bright red glow across the high stone walls. Lucifer’s Devil figure emerged from its midst; the receding flames devoured with every inch of his increasing size.

He stood, a powerful Goliath, towering over Xaphan, watching a myriad of emotions flicker across the Demon’s face. His muscles rippled reflexively under his blood red skin. It was stretched taut over the dips and plains of a powerfully built body. His leather pants barely contained the thickness of his legs, fighting against the limits of the material. His face was no longer beautiful, but a fierce glory, with eyes a fiery blaze, teeth of ivory points, and spirals of gold, twisting from base to tip around the black horns atop his head. A tail of metallic scales wrapped around his legs, its sharp barbed end snagging on the material of his pants.

After eons serving his Lord and Master, Xaphan, the second most powerful Demon in all of Hell, bowed low in awe and trepidation.

Lucifer flicked his fingers. ‘Come, let us pay Heliot a visit. Perhaps she has grown weary of the pit and is more willing to unburden herself of her sins; to me at least.’ Lucifer grinned.

Vertical plumes of red and orange wove around their bodies in an expanding tangle of fiery serpents. It immediately consumed them, hiding their forms from view before dissipating and was snuffed out altogether, leaving no trace of them behind.

Chapter Four

Home, Not So Sweet

He stepped over the threshold, wet and bedraggled, though that became a distant irritation once standing in open-mouthed astonishment amid our new surroundings. I’d never seen such breathtaking views of the vast and lofty heights of history before in all my life, not even on television.

I was standing in a structure commissioned by William the Conqueror, walking the grounds kings and queens had trodden; it boggled the mind. The stone carvings themselves were inspiring, let alone the dizzying heights of the ceilings, some of which were covered in painted biblical scenes, like the Sistine Chapel. Okay, maybe not quite so big, but I imagine not far off; not that I’ve seen the Sistine Chapel in person.

It had me wondering; was it really necessary for a church to be surrounded by such grandeur in order to convince God they’re more worthy of his love than the poor Joe Blow with nothing but his faith? Does God look down over his flock and think, Gee, you mustn’t love me that much if all you’re offering is a ruddy candle. No, my idea of God is a gentle giant with an abundance of love for those he deems good, kind, and honourable, keeping the faith, no matter what their financial and situational circumstances may be. I don’t believe God is vengeful or judgemental, as those claiming to devote themselves to him would have us believe. In fact, I think these terms and others are used as man’s way of controlling the masses.

Whatever the truth of it is, I don’t qualify to be embraced at the Pearly Gates when my name comes up. I’m bad or evil as such, I’m just not exactly good either. I always seem to teeter on the cusp, ready to tip over the knife’s edge one way or the other–especially since my seventeenth birthday last month.

Life has always pushed me around, given me hard choices, and daunting roads to travel, as though an outside force spurred me on to decide whether to turn down the path of righteousness or Hoodlumsville. I’ll admit, I’ve visited the latter on more than one occasion. What can I say? It was a heck of a fun place to visit; but I don’t think I want to live there.

I’ve worked on overcoming the odds since turning twelve and placed into child protective services. That was after the sudden and peculiar circumstances surrounding the disappearance of my parents. No bodies or blood were found at the scene, so I knew they hadn’t been killed there, and yet the house had been trashed, as though a fierce struggle had taken place. The police had said I was lucky not to have been there when it happened. Instead, while my parents were fighting for survival, I was at my friend Stacey’s house for a sleepover.

We’re not friends anymore. It happens. I guess when you move around as much as I do, you lose touch. It’s not easy keeping up with friendships when you’re not sure what state you’re going to end up in from one minute to the next. Still, I thought we were close enough for her to have made an effort. She refused to answer my calls; like I was suddenly tainted, and didn’t want my darkness to touch her, not even from the other end of the line. I wouldn’t put it past her to already be hanging around with Bendy Wendy. Don’t ask.

There’s been no sign of my parents in the last five years. Not a single eyewitness came forward; not even a bogus sighting for the police to chase. Just a big fat nada. An empty void, as though they’d never existed, leaving me lost and alone, and in the hands of adults who shipped me off as easily as an unwanted puppy.

As far as I knew, there was no extended family. Mum and dad never talked about them, and I wasn’t brave enough to push the subject. For whatever reason, it seemed taboo. Needless to say, no one rushed forward to claim me, and I began the foster home hop, shipped from one foster home to the next, quicker than you could say Lord have Mercy.

I take full responsibility for the fires I started, the windows I broke and the wounds I inflicted, but honestly, some people shouldn’t be allowed to have children.

It was two weeks before my seventeenth birthday when Ms Colebec turned up unexpectedly at the Reynolds’ house with a doddering old lawyer in tow. The Reynolds were the family I’d been placed with four weeks earlier. They weren’t too bad; a bit worn out by life and kids they’d fostered over the years.

So, there we all were, sitting on the shabby sofa, watching curiously as the old guy in his wrinkled grey suit fumbled with a leather briefcase as beaten up and dishevelled as he was. He produced documents from a folder, informing me of the newest disaster his visit was about to bring to my life. Would you believe my parents wrote a will that should have gone into effect five years ago in the event of their deaths, or for whatever reason they became incapable of continuing my care? It had somehow escaped the notice of Mr Lewis, the lawyer. Go figure. Insert eye-roll here. He claims, since there were no death certificates, it only came to his secretary’s attention while searching old cases and stumbled across it.

I suppose I could stay mad at his incompetence, but deep down, I feel sorry for the old guy. See, I’m not all bad. Besides, he looked like he could really use a break; like he’d seen far better days. In fact, he didn’t look suited for this world at all, let alone able to work in it for much longer. I let my anger go, and he offered to waive his fees. Not that any amount of money could make up for the years I’d spent in state care.

So, hold onto your hats. This is the part where you have that ahh! moment. There’s a section in the will regarding my care. It comes under the clause of conditions of the trust fund. According to the will, one day I’ll be a wealthy woman. Here’s the catch though – there’s always a catch – I will receive a small weekly allowance for my upkeep while fees are paid directly to the school for the duration of my education.

Two years, people! Two years of snobby Lincoln boarding school. Granted, it’s a magnificent specimen of English Gothic architecture – an architect’s idea of a wet dream and a cleaner’s worst nightmare – nonetheless, it’s still a boarding school for the incredibly wealthy and gifted. So why in Hell am I here? I have no idea, and apparently, it’s my home for the next two bloody years. God help me.

Chapter Five

From Death You Shall See

They materialised, facing the dark and eerie entrance to the bowels of Hell, known as the pit. A red glow emanating from the far end like a beacon, led them through the caverns of screaming men and wailing women, having sold their souls to the devil’s Hellhounds, for such inconsequential desires as vanity, fortune, and talent, amongst the more wicked motives for mortals to give up their most prized possession, and risk eternal damnation.

They entered a room devoid of all comforts. Its stone walls dark and slick with damp, incongruous with the heat of the outer caverns. The scent of mould was quickly overwhelmed by the thick stench of copper and impending death. Lucifer moved fast, with Xaphan close on his heels, striding towards an object at the centre of the room. They stilled at the sight of a mangled mess atop a stainless-steel table. Dropping heavily to his knees on the blood-soaked ground, Thammuz bent his head low, shuffling forward until his lips tenderly touched the tops of Lucifer’s bare feet.

‘My Lord,’ he whimpered, leaning his sweat-soaked forehead on Lucifer’s feet ‘She has paid dearly for betraying my most worthy Lord and Master, and yet she still refuses to answer my questions. I assure you, she will not last the night if she continues to defy us.’ He raised himself on his haunches, keeping his head subserviently lowered, so he resembled a pale, bloated bullfrog.

Xaphan kicked out viciously with a heavy booted foot, striking the kneeling Demon with a brutal blow, connecting sickeningly with his ribs. He landed heavily on the firm surface, expelling a hiss from between his dry lips – more than likely forced out by a punctured lung. He curled into a ball waiting for the next blow to land.

‘Do not ever touch my Lord; you are not worthy of kissing his feet,’ Xaphan snarled.

Lucifer chuckled, placing a placating hand on Xaphan’s bare shoulder. It sent a shudder of pleasure down the Demon’s spine, stirring his body despite all efforts to control his reactions.

Staring down at the cowering Demon dispassionately, Lucifer ignored the low, agonised moans.

‘What have you done, Thammuz? I gave you orders to retrieve information. I did not give you permission to kill her, you damned fool.’ Scorching heat rose from Lucifer’s blood-red skin, sending flames roaring to life.

Thammuz scrambled back on all fours, his black, sweat-slick hair plastered against his ridged forehead with the overwhelming heat rising in the room, and the sickening pain he felt in his ribs. The damp rock dried with a hiss, glowing with an orange tinge as they heated. Many walls throughout the realm were alight with eternal flames, excluding dungeons such as this, perpetually kept damp and cold, preventing the tortured prisoners from dying too quickly.

‘I’m sorry Master; she refused to divulge her secrets. I wished to be the bearer of the answers you sought, but I do not know how they came to hide themselves from your knowledge, nor from the Angels for so long. She is strong and has held on despite all my methods.’

‘You may be an ambassador of Hell, Thammuz. You may even possess the ability to rise repeatedly from death. But there is nothing stopping me from making you wish you’d never rise again.’ Lucifer stated in guttural tones, a sure sign of not only a threat, but a promise he would very much enjoy keeping.

‘Of course, my Lord, I am forever your servant. I want only to serve and please you,’ he trembled, wishing he could stand and stretch out his aching limbs; though he wasn’t sure how his screaming ribs would fare if he did. He also hadn’t been given permission to do so and wasn’t about to push his luck by asking. Instead, he continued to report the only thing he was able to extract from the She-Demon. ‘All she says, my Lord, is the word, Mercy, over and over. Nothing more, no matter what I inflict upon her body,’ he conveyed, keeping his yellow goat eyes downcast.

The threatening flare of Lucifer’s anger dimmed in surprise.

‘Get up,’ Lucifer snapped. Thammuz rose, clutching at his ribs. The first sign of Lucifer’s interest gave him a glimpse of hope, that maybe it was enough to save him. ‘No Demon would ever ask for mercy,’ Lucifer spat in disgust.

‘She does, Your Eminence, though she does not ask ‘for mercy or to give mercy.’ She merely continues to repeat the single word.’ He reached out to touch his master’s hand. It was an automatic gesture, seeking comfort from his King, then wished he’d thought better of his actions sooner when Xaphan stepped forward, and grabbed him firmly by his outstretched hand.

‘I will not tell you again, Thammuz. Do not lay your unworthy hands upon my Lord or I shall roast you where you stand,’ he said, crushing the offending hand with vehemence.

Lucifer signalled to Xaphan, who immediately let go and took a step back. The injured Demon kept as still as possible, apart from a slight sway of light-headedness, he suspected had been induced by the sharp pain, not only from his ribs but a few broken bones in his hand. He wrapped the injured arm around his middle, keeping the other fisted at his side.

‘I shall interrogate her myself. It would not go well for you, Thammuz, should Heliot die before we speak. In the meantime, you would do well to envisage the dire consequences of failing me again.’ Lucifer cocked his head, considering. ‘Better still, I think I shall leave you with a taste of what is to come if you do.’

Thammuz’s already ashen skin paled in fear; he’d stupidly begun to relax, thinking he’d avoided a more severe punishment than a few broken bones. He let out a blood-curdling scream as a white-hot storm shot from Lucifer’s hands, lighting him up like a pile of dry kindling in a firestorm. The screams reverberated around the dungeon, blending in with the tormented souls deriving from Hell’s underground pit.

Lucifer turned from the pitiful, writhing figure, motioning for Xaphan to follow with a quick snap of his fingers.

The bloody, battered mess lay barely recognizable from human or Demon form, chained to the steel bed. Strands of blonde hair, caked in congealed globs of rust-coloured blood stuck to the mounds of torn flesh in what would once have been a woman’s face. Her one remaining blue eye and fleshless mouth were all that withstood the brutality and kept a humanlike appearance, whilst her lower half had returned to its original reptilian structure caught mid-shift. A faint moan escaped from between her broken teeth. She turned her ravaged face slowly towards the burning radiance, her damaged mind seeking something in the light.

‘Theliel,’ she gasped; his name, thick and slurred, struggled past her swollen tongue. She squinted against the brightening glow, desperate for her failing sight to focus on the full shape of her beloved.

Lucifer shed his Demon skin and stood in all his Fallen Angel splendour. He shone, illuminating every corner of the once darkened room. The air had become ripe with the stench of copper and rusted iron, assaulting their noses and coating their tongues.

‘Theliel my love, my Angel.’ Heliot held out her crippled hand to Lucifer, who took it without hesitation.

If she believed him to be Theliel, perhaps she would be more inclined to divulge the information he sought. ‘Heliot, my love,’ he crooned, kissing her smashed and misshapen fingers tenderly. ‘Tell me, my love, why did Azrael send you away from me and back to the Demons?’

Heliot blinked her brilliant blue eye, trying to clear the haze blurring her vision. Lucifer called on the power of the morning star, burning brighter and further obscuring her sight.

She strained to understand the words her imagined beloved asked. ‘He sent me from your side to die,’ she groaned, sucking in a noisy, wet breath. ‘Take Mercy, Theliel. You must take Mercy and run, my love,’ she whispered, taking another desperate rattling breath. Blood bubbled and ran down the sides of her lipless mouth.

‘How, Heliot, tell me how I can take mercy?’ Lucifer urged. It seemed to him a strange way of asking for it. He wondered if perhaps she was asking her Angel to put her out of her misery and imploring him to run – to escape. Though it made no sense at all, he’d never heard of a Demon asking for mercy. Not even the lowliest in the ranks, no matter how terrible the torture.

Could bedding an Angel have weakened a Demon so drastically? He had, after all, heard her refer to the Angel as her beloved – a love he had never known a Demon to feel. How could this be? Demons have souls, of course, but they were as black as pitch and as unchanging as death.

Did Theliel have the power to change her soul? Impossible! And yet, here before him, this hunk of butchered reptilian flesh speaks of love. He frowned, his grip involuntarily tightening around her hand.

The remnants of her face contorted, and with a breathless gasp a single, red tear shook loose as she convulsed. He relaxed his hold, not from any sense of compassion, but rather not wanting her to expire before he’d extracted answers.

Wrapping her blood-slick fingers as tightly as she could around Lucifer’s wrist, Heliot pulled him in close, forcing out a raspy, gurgled whisper. ‘Save our Mercy, Theliel. Don’t let them find her. Promise me, Theliel. Promise me.’

A torrent of red foam poured from the sides of her mouth; her wracking coughs echoing through the hollow sound of her cracked chest, sending a splatter of crimson spray across his cheek.

He pulled back, glaring down at her in disgust, wiping at the mess running down the side of his face. A long, withered sigh slipped into the quiet of the room, leaving her blue gaze fixed and cloudy, finally seeing his light no more.

Chapter Six

Revelations And Fervent Kisses

Lucifer threw Heliot’s hand aside like a piece of discarded rubbish. He turned a beaming face of comprehension and wonderment towards Xaphan, who stared back in confusion.

‘Heliot was not asking for mercy for herself,’ he laughed, a great booming sound amid the silence of death. ‘It’s a name. Do you know what this means?’ He broke into an exultant grin, beaming at his right-hand Demon. Xaphan watched him in careful adoration but little more than that. ‘Don’t you see Xaphan?’ he said, clapping a hand over the Demon’s back. ‘She said ‘our’ mercy. Don’t let them find ‘her.’’ He exploded with another boom of glee.

Xaphan arched a dark brow at Lucifer’s unusual bout of levity.

‘They spawned a child,’ Lucifer whooped. ‘The Angel and Demon had a child together.’ He laughed again, doubling over, leaning his hands on his knees as though the weight of the moment had taken its toll. He shook with mirth, taking in great gulping breaths.

A warm smile spread over Xaphan’s lonely mouth. If this was to be his only chance to show Lucifer, somewhere deep inside his Devil’s torturous heart, he loved him too, he would grab it with both hands. Moving in close, he lay a tentative touch on the Kings shoulder, running his fingers over the hot, slick flesh and stroked it with a tenderness he wished could be expressed in other ways.

Lucifer straightened, forcing the Demon’s hand to slide over his chest. His eyes danced with sparking embers on black, reflecting in Xaphan’s burnt amber. He grinned knowingly at the fiery soldier’s unfulfilled desires, closing the distance between them. Pressing his hard-glistening body against him, he thrilled at Xaphan’s astonishment and look of raw hope.

He lowered his face almost in a kiss, whispering against Xaphan’s full, desperate lips.

‘We shall hunt down this hybrid child, and she will lead my army through the gates of Heaven. I will show them no mercy when I take back what is rightfully mine.’ He inwardly smiled at the play on her name, running the tip of his tongue along Xaphan’s lower lip. The excitement over the recent revelations urging him on before he took a deliberate step back.

Though Lucifer had no desires for other men, he enjoyed the effect he had over his Demon. Watching Xaphan react to his touch and tremble in frustration as he withdrew gave him immense pleasure. He wondered sometimes what it was about him that induced such need of his adoration; but then, he had, after all, been the most beautiful and desirable of all God’s Archangels. No man, woman or Demon could ever resist him; not even as the fallen Angel he’d become.

‘You are my most trusted warrior, Xaphan. I want this child found and brought to me unharmed. She is the key to it all. Never has there been a child with both Demon and Angel power before. She may possess both abilities, and, therefore, could possibly ascend into Heaven and lead my army through its gates. Take Pharzuph or Zepar and find her. Bring her to me,’ he ordered.

Xaphan grimaced in disgust, his mind whirling. ‘Why Pharzuph and Zepar, my Lord? Why not Botis or Bernael or even Abaddon. At least they are hunters?’

Lucifer grew rigid, an anger immediately surfacing at the insubordination. ‘Are you questioning my orders, Servus?’

Pain lanced his heart at the demeaning term – ‘Servus’ Latin for servant or slave. It was a deliberate crushing blow, annihilating the bridge he had painstakingly forged over a millennium to be by Lucifer’s side. Lowering his head to hide his welling tears, Xaphan fell to his knee in supplication, his leather pants creaking under the strain.

‘No, my Lord,’ he answered. ‘I only wondered, since Pharzuph and Zepar are Demons of lust and desire, it may not be wise since the girl is but a child. Why not send trackers at least.’ He worried at his lip, knowing he was treading the finest of lines.

Lucifer sauntered the few steps towards him, his silent footfalls halting beneath his bowed face.

Such a temptation. Xaphan’s lips tingled, longing to lean in and kiss them tenderly as Thammuz had done. When they didn’t move, he looked up the length of Lucifer’s smooth leather-clad legs, his eyes resting briefly on the bulge at the apex of his thighs, before roaming higher up the sculptured physique of his upper body. Orbs of dancing light met his gaze. He remained kneeling, bracing himself for imminent punishment, but in that moment, he didn’t care.

Lucifer grabbed his face, gripping his jaw tightly between his long fingers. ‘Do not question my orders again; you are here to do my bidding; nothing more.’ Lucifer watched Xaphan run a wet tongue nervously over his drying lips, trembling under his touch. He considered the Demon’s responses; it was apparent his earlier fear of punishment was no longer an issue.

Lifting Xaphan to his feet, Lucifer kept a firm grip on his face, fixing him with a penetrating stare. He leaned in slowly, pressing his mouth against his second in command and kissed the Demon. He pierced the plump pillows with the points of his teeth, forcefully parting his lips, and plunged a thick tongue into his shocked, yet more than willing mouth, hard and fast.

Groaning deep in his throat, Xaphan responded instantly to the attentions he’d craved for so long. He smashed his wanton body against Lucifer, grabbing hold of his waistband, and pulled his Lord flush, desperate to quell his ache.

Lucifer pushed himself away, laughing triumphantly.

‘Oh, Xaphan, my fire Demon,’ he chuckled. ‘Such longing, such sweet, all-consuming desire. You really ought to slake such frustrations, or soon I fear, one of these days you will spontaneously combust.’ He chortled, watching Xaphan take deep, ragged breaths, attempting to regain a semblance of control over his body.

Now bored, Lucifer turned his back on him, and the steel table, unfazed by its silent burden of death. He gazed down at the charred remains of Thammuz; his screams having died away some time ago. The burnt remnants shifted and realigned, alerting him that soon Thammuz would be resurrected from the ashes like a phoenix.

Having witnessed the event numerous times, he strode away, unimpressed. ‘Come.’ He gestured flatly with an