Frowning, he looked down at the newest drawing he’d produced. Shoving his tangled black hair back behind his shoulders, he raised the drawing so it was bathed in candlelight. This one was different from the others. It was the same woman with the long black hair and mismatched eyes, but this time she was gazing up into the face of a man. Closing his eyes, he thought back to this dream. The woman had always been alone before, in various settings, but always alone. Sometimes it had even felt as though she were staring right at him. This time she’d been distracted and upset, then suddenly the man had appeared beside her to comfort her. He was tall and strong, with light hair and gray eyes that had softened the moment they’d connected with hers. She’d looked at the man as though he could make her world right again.
He had never felt a romantic connection with this dream woman, but a kinship, a bone-deep feeling that she was somehow connected to him. As the dream played over and over in his mind, all he could feel was a crushing sense of loss, sadness and jealousy. He felt as though she’d been taken away from him somehow.
Laying the drawing back down on the table, he traced his finger lightly over her face. Would he stop dreaming of her now? Was this man standing beside her a sign that she would disappear forever? Should he put this one up on the walls with the others? A part of him wanted to keep it all to himself. That being said, it was a part of a series of drawings that encompassed his lifetime…and hers if she was even real. Rising from his seat and taking a small amount of sticky tack from the small container on the table, he headed toward the wall that contained his most recent portraits. He placed the newest picture right next to the last.
He gazed intently at the young woman in front of him and spoke aloud to her, something he never did when he was alone in his room. “Whoever you are, thank you for keeping me company all these years.” With that, he turned back toward the table, blew out the candles in the candelabra and moved through the darkness toward his bed. He climbed in and curled into himself as though it would help him disappear faster. Closing his eyes, he tried to will himself to sleep. Perhaps the cold would finally kill him tonight. Death could come for him while he slept…it would probably hurt less that way...
Chapter Twenty
Blood dripped rhythmically from the tip of the blade onto the stone floor. The steady drip, drip, drip soothed his anger. Sitting in his large leather chair, legs propped up on the top of the cracked desk, Satan surveyed what was left of his right hand demon. Pieces of skin and bone littered the floor. Voss’s severed head sat atop a marble stand staring blankly ahead, his blood trickled down the walls and pooled on the floor. In retrospect, it was a shame that he’d killed Voss; the demon had been loyal to him for centuries. But at the end of the day, everyone was replaceable.
Wiping the bloody blade on his jeans and setting it on the table, Satan drew the phone Voss had retrieved from his pocket and scrolled through the contact list to the entry that made his blood boil. Katia Andreyev had turned out to be a cagey woman. Oddly, her ability to evade him was a total turn on. She was obviously devious to have manipulated Lucifer into helping her so quickly. Perhaps once he’d finished the binding, he’d keep her as his personal pet. The things he’d do to her — just thinking about it brought a smile to his face.
They'd tracked her cell phone to that fucking ugly motel room only to find it empty. The signal died four hours ago; the last point of reference had been at The Devil’s Advocate. Voss had failed. He’d been warned not to show up in Halja without her. Once he got his hands on that weak-willed prick of an angel Lucifer, he'd make sure he experienced pain like he’d never felt before.
Rising from his seat, Satan crossed his office to an armoire. He had a visit to pay, and couldn't show up covered in blood. Opening the armoire, he rifled through the contents until he found a change of jeans and a clean t-shirt. He removed his blood-spattered clothing and tossed them into a pile on the floor. He hastily re-dressed and headed out of his office for the long trek down to the dungeons.
It was unusual for Satan to pay two visits to his prisoner in such quick succession, but he was at a loss for how to locate his quarry and the prisoner and his drawings were his only connection to her. As he walked, Satan took in his collection of priceless antiques and artifacts. None of them brought him any joy. They were useless trinkets in comparison to the one acquisition he really wanted...Katia.
Satan entered the room and focused his attention on the candelabra, the candles burst to life, flames leaping several inches from the wicks before returning to a normal burn. The young man blinked at the sudden light as he rose from bed. He looked oddly disappointed. Surely a visit so soon after the last would’ve made him happy. Satan shrugged off his musings. In the end, he didn’t really care how the prisoner felt; it was his usefulness that was of interest. Crossing the room to the most recent pictures pasted on the wall, Satan began a slow perusal — surely
