Cassie smiled briefly, and looked down to where Alexander’s head lay against her leg. His eyes were open, but sightless. A slight smile played over his lips. Gently, she ran a hand down his face, the only part of his body that wasn’t covered in blood, closing his eyes, and brushing damp locks of blond hair away. She clutched his lifeless body closer to hers.
He’d risen once before. He would do so again. He had to.
Chapter Nineteen
He awoke disconcerted. Shaking his head to clear the cobwebs, he pushed himself to his feet. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, orangey glow around him, he wondered where he was, how he’d come to be there. Immediately, his memories flooded back, and he remembered Max—his own son—and Nicolette.
“So you finally awaken?”
Maximilian Cronin spun in the direction of the deep, masculine voice, but found no one. He blinked rapidly and drew in a deep breath, gagging when the smell of sulfur invaded his nostrils and settled in his lungs.
“Who are you and where am I?” he demanded with false bravado. Nicolette had promised him painful retribution when he’d ordered Annabel branded traitor for taking up with the werewolf.
“Some call me the devil, or Satan, but I despise those names, so I will give you the one by which you will address me for the rest of your rather long life. Master. Lord and Master.”
Spinning once more, he attempted to find the person who’d spoken. Despite his fear, he was reassured by the surge of his powers beneath his fingertips. As long as he was not dead, he still had a chance…. “Show yourself. Or are you afraid of what I will do to you?”
Laughter greeted those words, and Maximilian swallowed at the depravity he heard in it.
“I fear no mortal, nor immortal, yet they all fear me.” The voice was amused.
“If you don’t fear me, prove it and show yourself!”
A tall, cloaked figure appeared a few feet from him, and Maximilian took steps away.
“Why do you back away, Grand Wizard?” he taunted. “I am over here.”
“What is this place?”
“Tartarus. Your new home.”
Tartarus? If this was Tartarus, then he was…. It couldn’t be. No. It couldn’t.
He continued to back away. “Why am I here? Am I dead?”
The cloaked figure chose that moment to laugh, a deep rumbling sound that was as frightening as anything Maximilian had ever heard before.
“You will never die,” he finally said, pushing back the dark hood of the cloak around his head. Maximilian did not know what he’d expected but he hadn’t expected a man who looked almost model-esque to be under there. He was deeply tanned, with raven-black hair, black brows, and even blacker eyes. White teeth gleamed out at him from the man’s smile. “But you will wish for it daily.”
Deciding he’d had enough banter, Maximilian raised his hands and prepared to launch an attack. One moment the man was feet away, and then next, he was before him, a hand wrapped about one of his. He applied pressure, and Maximilian screamed, feeling a few of his bones give way. He fell to his knees before the figure in black, attempting again and then failing to put up any sort of fight.
“This is where you belong from now. On your knees. Do you understand?”
When he did not answer, the man caught him by the throat and lifted him off the ground. Maximilian used his unbroken hand to try to pry the fingers away but they did not move. They only tightened.
He felt as if at any moment he would pass out from lack of air. He nodded his submission.
“You will call me Lord and Master.”
“Yes…Lord…and…Master.”
Released, he wheezed and struggled to put distance between them. When he was satisfied, he cradled his damaged hand in his lap.
“Your hand will heal, Grand Wizard, as will the other injuries you sustain in my domain.” He grinned. “But that won’t make them any less painful.” The smile vanished. “You have been tried, judged, and found guilty of crimes against the goddess Artemis. For that, your punishment is an eternity of suffering in Tartarus, under the supervision of yours truly. Me.”
He looked around the dark hovel in which Maximilian had woken, and clapped his hands together once. Two men appeared immediately, both seeming to walk from clouds of black smoke. One was dressed similarly to the man who’d broken his hand, in the hooded black robe, but the other, from his rumpled state of dress, bloodshot eyes, and the large scowl upon his face, looked as if he’d been sleeping.
“What is your wish, Hades?” the cloaked one asked, and Maximilian’s fear was confirmed. He was in Hell, at the whim of the lord of the underworld himself. Nicolette had somehow brought him to Hell.