Page 75 of Samhain Savior
“I assure you,” Archer said tightly, his clawed hand clenching into a fist on the table before him. “We are not here by choice.”
“I find that hard to believe,” Astaroth scoffed, holding his goblet out to the side for a refill. A servant materialized from the shadows, moving with the cautious desperation of someone perpetually terrified. As she lifted her pitcher the liquid flowed, thick and viscous, clinging to the sides of the goblet and releasing the tell-tale copper and iron scent of blood. As she poured, the sound—a wet, gelatinous gurgle that had my gorge rising—mixed with the overpowering scent of rot, and I nearly heaved. The servant retreated, her mutilated back a mass of fresh scars that hadn’t yet scabbed over, and Astaroth took a long, loud drink, his tongue darting out to catch a stray drop that rolled down his chin, his eyes on me the entire time, but I refused to let him see me waver.
Turning back to Archer, he continued, “You are the master of shadows, after all. The Great Marquis Leraje. The Archer to whom Asmodeus offered all his favor. How could anything you do not beby choice?”
“You sound bitter,” Archer replied, his tail flicking restlessly against the stone floor. It was fascinating, that tail. I wanted to stare at it, to watch it as it moved, almost like a sinuous snake with a mind of its own. I wanted to touch it, to feel the heat of it in my palms. The need was so strong it was almost a compulsion. But instead I focused on the conversation at hand, knowing that I couldn’t falter for even a moment.
Still, the tail would absolutely be a conversation we’d have later.
“It is not my fault that you chose to fight for the losing side,” Archer went on. “Asmodeus offered you a place in his legion, and you declined. You now suffer the consequences of that decision.”
“He offered me scraps!” Astaroth’s fist slammed onto the table, the dishes rattling as he roared his anger at Archer. Against the wall, the servants shrank back, curling in on themselves in the face of their master’s rage. “A mere pittance of what I deserved. He felt himself so important, named a King of Hell by Lucifer after the Fall. All he did was lord it over everyone, trying to make us all feel inferior to him.”
“Asmodeus did his job, Astaroth. If you felt inferior, that’s on you.”
I wanted to kick Archer. Antagonizing the only person who could get us out of here was not how things were supposed to go, but neither of the two hard-headed demons seemed to be able to set aside their pride long enough to carry on a simple conversation.
Men.
Realizing things were about to go from bad to worse, I searched for a way to distract them both from their ridiculous male posturing.
“Tell me about the dragon,” I blurted, surprising myself as I attempted to change the topic. “Does it have a name?”
For a moment, neither of them spoke, Astaroth staring at me in confusion and Archer sending me a glare that promised retribution.
“It’s a wyvern, actually,” Astaroth finally said, settling back into his chair and taking another sip from his goblet. Somehow, he still managed to do it arrogantly. “And it has had many names over the ages. Currently I call it Balt.”
“Balt,” I repeated, the word feeling strange on my tongue.
“It’s Enochian for justice,” Archer added, sounding even more annoyed than he had a moment ago. “Astaroth has a ridiculous sense of irony.”
“I think it’s clever.” If Archer wasn’t going to work toward getting us out of our current predicament, then Iwas. And every woman alive knew that the number one way to get a man to do what you wanted him to do was to stroke his ego. “After all, what is the point of Hell if not for doling out justice against those who have done wrong?”
“See?” Astaroth crowed, his slitted eyes brightening with triumph. “She gets it.” He leaned forward, his smile turning sinful. “How delightful to finally have some adequate company to converse with. It’s so very dull here, you know?”
“But you have so many...staff members.” I hesitated over the word, not wanting to call them slaves, even though I knew that was what they were. “Surely they can offer some suitable conversation.”
“Oh, darling, no.” He looked at me, his lower lip sticking out dramatically, as though he was truly sad for what he was about to say. “I’m afraid that’s quite impossible.”
“Why?” I asked, realizing too late that I probably didn’t want to know the answer.
“They can’t talk to me,” he said, his tone gentle behind his sinister smile. “Because I’ve cut out all their tongues.”
My stomach rolled dramatically, acid burning the back of my throat as bile once again began to rise. The room seemed to tilt around me, the shadows expanding and contracting as my body struggled to comprehend the reality of such casual cruelty.
Seeing my distress, Astaroth began to laugh, a depraved cackle that sent shivers down my spine.
“Oh, she is sweet, isn’t she?” he teased condescendingly. “Sweet and probably delicious.” He licked his lips, and this time, I couldn’t stop the shiver that wracked through me.
Above us, Balt let out another heart-stopping roar, the kneeling servants seeming to shrink even farther into the shadows as Astaroth continued to howl like a mad man.
And maybe he was mad; I didn’t see how he couldn’t be.
Certain I was about to faint, I pressed my hands against my stomach tightly, trying to calm the storm that was brewing inside me, when my attention was suddenly grabbed by a warm touch on my leg. Looking down, I saw that Archer had reached for me, his large, clawed hand, covering my entire thigh, offering me solace in the face of Asteroth’s insanity.
And still, the demon laughed on.
“Enough!” Archer roared, lurching to his feet and sending the chair he’d been sitting on flying backward. I curled my shoulders forward, my body suddenly feeling ice cold where his touch had been. At my throat, the collar pulsed, its steady presence a comfort in the chaos that currently surrounded me. Sliding down in my chair, I tried to be as invisible as possible while also keeping an eye on the two raging demons now facing off over the dinner table, butneither paid me any particular mind. “There is no need for your theatrics. You know why we’re here, Astaroth. Give us leave to return to our realm and we’ll never darken your door again.”
