Page 73 of Samhain Savior
I nearly crowed in victory.
“I understand, demon,” she relented, but then smiled. “But I hopeyouunderstand...payback’s a bitch.”
Chapter thirty-two
Archer
The doors to the great hall opened automatically as soon as we approached them. Creaking ominously, the giant slabs of obsidian parted slowly, revealing a cavernous room illuminated by the low light of candles.
Taking one last deep breath, I stepped forward, hoping that for once the feisty little witch at my side would follow my lead and just do as she was told.
The hall was huge, the ceiling so high that the candlelight couldn’t reach it, leaving the space above us thick with shadows. Normally, I’d be able to control those shadows, using my magic to bend them to my will and have them reveal all their secrets. But when I reached for them, only silence greeted me, a hollow ache that left me cold.
Being cut off from my power had me feeling blind and more vulnerable than I wanted to admit.
We walked toward the far end of the long room, the sides of the space lined with dozens of Astaroth’s servants, all kneeling with their heads bowed, awaiting his orders. Glancing at them, I could see that they were human, but all of them had been mutilated in some way, their bodies displaying the physical manifestations of their eternal punishment.
They were also all naked.
Beside me, I could sense Delilah’s rising tension, her rapid breathing an indication of her shock.
“Archer.” The word was a tremulous whisper. Turning my head, I took in her wide-eyed gaze, the horror on her face painful to look at. “Archer, look at them. We have to help them.”
Not wanting her to do anything rash, I reached for her hand, clasping her small, delicate fingers in my much larger ones, trying to will her to trust me, to let me get us out of this mess.
“Not yet, little witch,” I soothed, my thumb tracing gentle circles on the back of her hand, my own blood singing at the contact. “You have to hold strong. We can’t help anyone if we’re dead.”
She didn’t look convinced, but she also didn’t pull away, and for that I was grateful.
“Imagine!” called a voice from the far end of the space, brash and loud in the silent room. “An uninvited guest! It’s been so long since someone has graced me with their presence without having earned the right to do so.”
Astaroth sat before us, sprawled languidly across a throne made of bones, his black shirt unbuttoned and his feet bare. The face he wore today was handsome, golden hair and eyes like the sea, even if they were reptilian in appearance, their vertical pupils giving one pause when they looked at him. His smile was wide and welcoming, and if you didn’t know better, you’d think he was simply a gracious host offering greeting.
But I knew better.
“Archer, it’s been too long, my friend.”
“Some might say not long enough,” I replied, lifting my chin.
Astaroth laughed, his head thrown back in malicious glee.
“I suppose they might. I see you’ve brought me something.” His eyes latched onto Delilah, then to the collar at her throat. But it was when he noticed our joined hands that his smile turned vicious and knowing. “Or perhaps she’snotfor sharing.”
“No,” I said, my hand tightening on hers. “She’s not.”
“More’s the pity,” he lamented, clicking his tongue. “Although, by the looks of it, you’ve not been treating her well.” Standing from the throne, Astaroth descended the short steps of the dais, a melodramatic pout on his face. “Holy Hell, you are a ragged little thing, aren’t you? Sweet mercy, what has this bastard done to you?”
“She’s fine,” I snapped before Delilah could answer him, the words coming out in a low growl.
“She’s hardly fine, Archer. The poor girl’s a mess.” Reaching out one hand, Astaroth gently lifted Delilah’s chin, frowning at the scabbed over cut that Helena had left on her neck. “Archer never did take good care of his toys.” Offering a wicked smirk, Astaroth stepped back, clapping his hands loudly and causing Delilah to flinch as two of the kneeling servants sprang to their feet in response. “Come! Bring water and clean clothes. This is no way to treat our honored guests.”
The two servants, both women, moved with efficiency born of long practice, bringing a bowl of warm water and several cloths, and I wondered how many centuries they had spent here, kneeling naked at the feet of a monster, doing his bidding.
In just a few minutes—or as near to a few minutes as I could tell given the strange way time seemed to pass in theVoid—they had cleaned the worst of the dirt and blood off of the two of us, even offering Delilah a brush for her hair. She accepted, undoing the braid and brushing out her tangles before she secured it again. She refused, politely, the offer of new clothes, keeping her gaze on the faces of the women serving us the whole time.
I didn’t blame her, although I didn’t think their nudity had anything to do with it. Both women were viciously mutilated, the flesh of their torsos hanging off them in long, bloody ribbons. The places that weren’t flayed open hadn’t escaped, either, showing dozens of ragged puncture wounds, each festering and dripping with pus.
Teeth marks. These women had been ravaged by hell hounds.
