Cat turned to the owner of the voice, and she would have gasped if her breath hadn’t clogged in her throat. Hades? What was he doing here? Of course, it might help to know where “here” was. “Here” appeared to be a room constructed from the same stone as the box she was sitting in. Iron sconces on the walls gave off a gloomy light, but the fire in the hearth kept the place from being completely horror-movie chic.
“Where am I?” Her voice sounded cobwebby, which seemed appropriate, given that the room looked like a tomb.
“My place.” Hades walked over to the far wall where a pot steamed over the fire’s roaring flames. He was shirtless today, and the light from the fire flickered over his skin, the shadows defining every glorious muscle as he went down on his heels and ladled something into a cup.
Gods, she was confused. Why was she here? What had happened? The last thing she remembered was being in Azagoth’s office...no, wait. She’d gone to the Inner Sanctum to find a human. But everything was pretty cloudy after that.
She rubbed her eyes, which were as blurry as her memories. “What happened to me?”
Hades came over, moving in that way of his, like a panther on the hunt. Not even the chains on his massive black boots made a sound when he walked.
“That’s my question for you.” He held out the cup, which was really more of a bowl. That looked suspiciously like the top of a skull. “Drink this.”
She eyed the contents as she took the bowl, nearly splashing the clear yellow liquid on her hand. It seemed safe enough, wasn’t full of floating eyeballs or anything.
“Smells good,” she said as she put it to her lips. “What is it?”
“It’s a healing broth. Made it myself from the skin and bones of a Croix Viper.”
Cat tried not to gag even though the liquid actually tasted decent, like spicy chicken soup. “Thank you.” She tried to hand it back, but he shook his head.
“Drink it all. It’ll heal the rest of your wounds.”
She looked down at herself, but there wasn’t a mark on her. Her jeans were dirty, and there were splashes of what might be blood on her feet, but it didn’t appear to be hers, and otherwise, she seemed to be in great shape. “What wounds?”
He picked up one of several blades he’d laid out on a crude wooden table and began wiping it down with a rag. “You were pretty messed up when I found you. I have the capacity to heal minor physical damage, but the other stuff is beyond my ability.”
“The other stuff?” She watched him slide the blade into a leather harness hanging off a chair.
“Psychic wounds,” he said gruffly. “The kind you get when an Orphmage thrusts his magic stick in you.”
She drew a sharp breath. “Magic...stick?”
“Not that kind of magic stick. Seriously, you ever seen an Orphmage’s junk?” He snorted. “I figure they use their staffs to compensate for their tiny dicks.”
She’d have laughed if she wasn’t so confused about why she was here and what had happened to her. She hadn’t spoken to Hades much, but she’d seen how he interacted with others, and she loved his sense of humor. He was so inappropriate and nothing like the people she’d dealt with in her sixty years of life in Heaven. She was pretty sure most angels had magic sticks up their asses.
“Maybe I could get out of this...” She looked around at the box she was sitting in. “This...um, coffin? Am I in a freaking coffin?”
“It’s actually more of a sarcophagus.” He grinned. “Cool, huh?”
Actually, yeah. Hades, guardian of the demon graveyard, had a sarcophagus for a bed. He really lived the part, didn’t he?
He offered her his hand, which she took, relishing the hot static buzz that skittered over her skin as she allowed him to help her to her feet and out of the giant coffin. And man, his hand was big. And strong. And it made her wonder what his fingers would feel like as they caressed her skin.
This was the second time they’d touched. She liked it. Wanted more. Being this close to a male was rare and strange, and aside from the unfortunate incident with Zhubaal, she’d never really had more than casual contact with the opposite sex. In Heaven, many angels were all “free-love” and “if it feels good do it,” but Seraphim tended to be conservative, determined to use ancient practices like arranged matings in order to preserve the inherent abilities that made Seraphim unique among angels.
She’d always thought Seraphim customs were a drag, even though her parents hadn’t been as militant as most others. Even so, just before she’d been booted from Heaven, they’d started to nudge her in the direction of suitable mates.
Now she was on her own, curious, and frankly, she was horny. Her brief encounter with Zhubaal had been ill-conceived and had only left her more sexually frustrated. Although, if she were honest with herself, she could probably lay some of her frustration at her own feet since she hadn’t been shy about asking Lilliana about sex with Azagoth.