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PROLOGUE
“HIS RAGE…”
“I know”
High in the heavens, Zacharel watched the world below hienial Paris murdered yet another of his enemy, the Hunters How el could not say He’d long since lost count And even if he paused to do the tally, the ansould have changed a second later as yet another body fell to the slick, blood-coated blades the warrior wielded
Of course, the panting, sweat-soaked Paris spun to engage two others, his raceful…as unstoppable as an avalanche At first, he played A punch, cracking bone A kick, s the worst of curses Soon none of that was enough for the demon-possessed soldier, and he danced his blades over the tendons in their ankles, hobbling his prey for easier elimination
Paris had made himself Bait to purposely draw these Hunters to hi to steal the vile demon tethered inside him and finally end him So Zacharel could not fault the warrior for what he did to defend himself, even as several new bodies joined the already mountainous pile enveloped by a sea of crimson and black And yet, he could not commend the warrior, either
These were not s or even carried out in the naeance birthed in the bowels of an equally cold rage No, these were a spew of fire, hate and desperation hotter than anything hell had ever created
“He is like a poisoned apple,” Zacharel said to the angel beside him And because Paris was bonded to the deed not to the huels, who policed different realms of evil “Poison of this nature spreads slowly but corrupts absolutely”
Beads of ice fell around Zacharel, as they always fell around hi in front of his face Every crystal was to be a reht to his attention But unlike Paris, he did not wearit close to his body, relying on it, feeding it, helping it grow Zacharel cared for nothing, not anymore
In his quest to destroy the demons that had ruined his life, he had slain “innocent” humans, and this was to be his punishment—to carry his Deity’s displeasure with him always
“As succulent as others consider this particular apple,” Lysander proclai he offers”
Zacharel ht him how to survive on the battlefield The elite warrior was awhite robe, his ed around hile flake dared land on the man Perhaps, like htly so In their world, he was judge and jury, his word law
“Do we remove temptation?” Zacharel asked For centuries he had acted as Lysander’s executioner
“I will not order his assassination, no,” Lysander said, resolute “At the moment, Paris is redeemable”
Unexpected Even with the great distance between the heavens and the earth, Zacharel could hear the grunts and groans Paris elicited, the screams of his enemies The pleas for mercy that would echo into eternity, forever unheeded And as determined as this Lord of the Underworld was, this was only the beginning
“What will you have me do, then?”
“Paris searches for his wo’s enslaveirl Theher here, where she will live out the rest of eternity”
EvenLysander had shown to only one other demon-possessed immortal in all the millennia of his life: Amun, Paris’s friend And only because Bianka, Lysander’s Harpy mate, had asked
She must have requested this second favor, as well, for it idely known that Lysander was powerless against her wiles But even a besotted groo the heavens, responsible for all that transpired there, should not have asked another angel to do this deed Aid a de
Zacharel offered no objection And despite the fact that he had never experienced desire himself, he would do his best to cure Paris of his so that, when the inevitable break with the fee
“Paris will protest her loss” After everything the warrior had done to find and save her already, everything he would soon do…oh, yes, he would protest—using those dripping blades to make his case
“You must convince him that he will be better off without her,” Lysander said
“Will he be?”
“Of course” There was no hesitation in the pronouncee, for Zacharel knew Lysander would not, could not, lie
“And if I fail to convince hi heavy on his shoulders, driving him to succeed
Eyes of pitiless navy frosted over, revealing the iron depths of Lysander’s warrior core “We are lost, for the greatest war the world has ever knos The girl will lead us to our victory—or our enemy to theirs It’s as simple as that”
Very well, then When the time came, Zacharel would take her No matter how Paris was affected
Paris would hate hie There was no stopping that, not when so much darkness swirled inside him, a rot in his soul, far worse than any spiritual poison But that wouldn’t stop Zacharel fro his duty