The Darkest Torment

“By enslaving me, you court the wrath of my family. An army you need if you have any hope of winning your war. You also court the wrath of William, your own son.”

Hades rolled his eyes. “Nice try, but you know nothing about the bond between father and son. William will support me. William will always support me. As for the Lords, I doubt they’ll ever back the monster who raped one of their own.”

No, they wouldn’t. Aeron, former keeper of Wrath, loved a demon-turned-human girl like a daughter. That girl, Legion...who called herself Honey...still suffered from the effects of Lucifer’s abuse.

Lucifer deserved a stake through his black heart, not another realm to rule. Siding with him would never be an option.

Hades was the lesser of two evils.

Baden flicked his tongue over an incisor. He had to play this bastard’s game—even though he suspected the outcome wouldn’t be as straightforward as Hades claimed.

Buy time. Figure out a solution.

“What of your father-son bond with Lucifer?” Baden asked with a sneer. “I’m not exactly feeling your love for him.”

“There is no bond. Not anymore. Now, that’s enough chatter from you. I have two tasks for you. One will take time. The other will take balls. I hope you’re wearing yours.”

Bastard.

Hades clapped his hands and called, “Pippin.”

An old man with a haggard face and humped back stepped out from behind the throne. He wore a long white robe and chiseled in a stone tablet. Never glancing up from his toils, he said, “Yes, sire.”

“Tell Baden his first assignments.”

“The coin and the siren.”

Hades smiled with fondness. “You spare no detail, Pippin. A true master of description.” When he held out his hand, the robed man placed a tiny piece of stone on his palm. “A male in New York has a coin that belongs to me. I want it back.”

This was an unsavory task? “You want me to fetch a single coin?”

“Laugh now, if you like. You won’t be laughing later.” The stone caught fire and quickly burned to ash; Hades blew in Baden’s direction. “You’ll need time, as I said, and cunning.”

He instinctively inhaled. A moment later, multiple images took center stage in his mind. A golden coin with Hades’s face on one side and a blank canvas on the other. A luxurious country estate. A chapel. A schedule. A picture: a twenty-five-year-old male with the face of an angel framed by golden curls that resembled a halo.

Suddenly Baden knew a myriad of details he’d never been told. The male’s name was Aleksander Ciernik, and he hailed from Slovakia, where his father built an empire selling heroin and women. Four years ago, Aleksander killed his father and took over the family business. His enemies tended to disappear without a trace. Not that anyone could concretely connect him to a crime.

“You now have the ability to flash to Aleksander,” Hades said. “You can also flash to me and your home, wherever it happens to be. The ability will expand to include any new assignments you’re given.”

The ability to flash was something he’d always coveted. Today, his excitement was tempered with caution. “How did the human obtain your coin?”

“Does it matter? A task is a task.”

True enough. “And my second assignment?”

Pippin placed a new stone in Hades’s palm. More flames crackled...more ashes floated in Baden’s direction. As he inhaled, a different image took shape in his mind. A beautiful woman with long strawberry-blond hair and big blue eyes. A siren.

Every siren could evoke certain emotions or reactions with her voice, but each familial line had a distinctive specialty. Her family excelled at creating calm during chaos.

The girl...she’d died centuries ago. Killed by—the details remained hidden. What Baden knew? She was now a spirit, though her lack of tangibility wouldn’t be a problem for him. Despite the bands, he was still able to connect with other spirits.

“Bring me her tongue,” Hades commanded.

As in, cut out her tongue? “Why?” The single word lashed from Baden.

“My sincerest apologies for giving you the impression I would assuage your curiosity. Go. Now.”

Baden opened his mouth to protest only to find himself inside the fortress in Budapest, where his friends lived. He was in the entertainment room, to be exact, with Paris, the keeper of Promiscuity, and Sienna, the new keeper of Wrath. A Hallmark movie played in the background as the two reclined on the couch, eating popcorn and strategizing ways to sneak into the underworld without detection.

Amun, the keeper of Secrets, sat at a small round table, with his wife by his side. Haidee was petite, her shoulder-length blond hair streaked with pink. A silver stud pierced her brow, and the tank top she wore revealed an arm sleeved with names, faces and numbers. Clues she’d needed to remind herself of who she was every time she’d died and come back, her memories erased. She’d died a lot, the demon of Hate reanimating her every time but the last, allowing her to continue her mission: destroying her enemies. The last time, the incarnation of Love reanimated her.

Baden had once been enemy number one, which was why she’d helped kill him all those centuries ago.

The memory rose, one he’d actually lived, and he couldn’t beat it back, as if—because he was both living and dead, body and spirit—he was trapped between present and past. He’d resided in ancient Greece with the other Lords. A distraught Haidee had come knocking on his door, claiming her husband had been injured and he required a doctor.

From the start, Baden had suspected her of malicious intent. But back then, he’d suspected everyone of malicious intent, and he’d been tired, so very tired, of the constant paranoia. He’d even begun to suspect his friends of wrongdoing, and the urge to hurt them, to kill them, had proven nearly irresistible on a daily basis. On several occasions, he’d stood at the foot of someone’s bed, a blade clutched in his hand. One day, he would have snapped.

Moving to a new town would have done him no good. Distrust had been as hungry then as Destruction was now. Eventually, the demon would have driven him home. Loose ends could not be tolerated for long, the paranoia they caused too intense. Suicide by homicide had struck him as the only option.

Seeing Haidee now sliced him up inside. He’d hurt her years before she’d attacked him—had killed her actual husband in battle. She’d hurt him in turn. They were even. Now, they weren’t the people they’d used to be. They’d started over with a clean slate. For the most part.

Destruction stopped playing dead and snarled at her, remembering her betrayal as if he had been the target. He craved revenge.

Not going to happen, Baden informed him.

Kane, the former keeper of Disaster, paced the length of a second table, while his wife Josephina, the queen of the Fae, studied an intricately detailed map. Long black hair tumbled over her delicate shoulders. Hair Kane stopped to smooth out of the way, revealing her pointed ears.

The warrior whispered something to her—something that made her chuckle—before kissing the scar on her cheek...the hollow of her neck. Her blue eyes warmed and sparkled.

“War is serious business.” She ran her hands over her rounded belly, a loving caress for her unborn child. “Let’s get serious.”

Need to leave. Now. Baden wasn’t stable. He shouldn’t be this close to the females, must less the pregnant one.

In unison, Paris, Amun and Kane noticed him. Each man jumped in front of his girl, acting as a shield while extending a bloodstained dagger in Baden’s direction.

He thrilled at seeing them work together. After his death, the twelve warriors he’d only ever sought to protect had split in two groups of six, severely weakening their defensive line. My fault.

While the groups had mended their broken relationships centuries later, Baden had yet to mend his conscience.

Destruction kicked at his skull. Kill!

The moment Baden’s identity clicked, the daggers were lowered and sheathed. Not that the beast was pacified.

“How’d your vacay with Willy go?” Paris winked. “As bad as the one I took with him?” The male was as tall as Baden, topping out at six-eight. He had multicolored hair, the strands ranging from the darkest black to the palest flax. His eyes were vibrant blue and, when not glaring at potential attackers, they almost always gleamed with welcome, inviting others to enjoy the party...in his pants.

Baden had always been the sympathetic one. Solid as a rock. There when you needed him. Sad? Call Baden. Upset? Show up at Baden’s place. He would make everything better.

But not anymore.