Demon Forged

truly stood there. And even a demon’s pleasure would be tinged with pain when he held himself back.
    Anaria , however . . . Anaria fit.
    Anaria was Belial’s daughter. Even if fatherly love hadn’t been a reason to protect her after Michael ordered Anaria’s execution, her knowledge of the symbols and magic were. Anaria had power, and she wanted to challenge Lucifer for his throne. Even if she didn’t succeed, surely her attempt would weaken Lucifer, giving Belial an opportunity to take the throne for himself. Yes , Alejandro thought. He could easily see how Belial’s lieutenant had become an ally to Anaria and her husband, Zakril, while they’d hidden from Michael—and Khavi hadn’t yet given Belial the prophecy, on which his need to destroy the nephilim was based.
    Zakril had been murdered before Khavi delivered the prophecy, too. Murdered, and his body left with a message for the nephilim, telling them where to find their mother. A demon couldn’t open Anaria’s prison—only the grigori, Lucifer, or the nephilim could.
    But Khavi had been trapped Below, and Aaron, her husband, had been slain by Belial; they couldn’t have freed her. Michael and Lucifer would have killed Anaria if they’d been the ones to find her, and the nephilim hadn’t been released from Hell until two years ago, when the Gates to Hell closed.
    Rael had waited more than two thousand years—and lived as a saint during that time. Trying to make himself worthy of Anaria when she returned? Or just giving the appearance of it—to a demon, they were the same.
    Now, the husband Anaria had loved was long dead—and within months of her return, Rael rid himself of his wife, too.
    Cold certainty settled over him, but Alejandro turned each piece over again. They settled in the same way. Parts were missing, but the shape was clear.
    Rael had killed Zakril. He’d waited for Anaria. And when she appeared, he’d killed Julia Stafford. The demon had removed every obstacle he saw standing between them.
    Every obstacle except the Guardians.
    Had Rael already been in contact with Anaria? Had he approached her as a friend, offering his support and fealty?
    Alejandro sighed, knowing that if Irena had been with him, she’d have given him a look. Obviously, Rael had—and he also had the ear of Anaria or the nephilim. They’d shown up at Irena’s forge within hours of her telling Rael that she’d slay Anaria.
    That hadn’t been coincidence. That had been Rael.
    And suddenly, slaying the demon and taking his position had become far more complicated than it had once been—and more imperative.

CHAPTER 17
    Caelum’s silence wrapped around Irena the moment she stepped through the Gate. Earth could be quiet, but even on the tundra, background noises filtered through: the whisper of air currents across grasses or snow, the crack of ice and the drip of water, the settling of the soil as it warmed and cooled. Caelum’s silence wasn’t a deep quiet, but an absence of sound—and of life. It pressed on Irena’s chest until she pushed it back. Until she heard her heartbeat, her breath, her steps.
    Caelum stood empty—but never abandoned.
    And it was not completely empty, either. Somewhere in Caelum’s eastern quadrant, Khavi’s hellhound puppy roamed. Lyta hadn’t yet been on Earth; the puppy had only recently left Hell, where Khavi had been her only companion, and they were uncertain how Lyta would react to humans . . . and to Sir Pup. Like Sir Pup, Lyta was abnormally friendly for a hellhound, but that only meant they didn’t rip apart and eat every living thing they encountered.
    Irena did not mind the hellhounds. She found their unwavering loyalty to their chosen companions admirable—even if their companions were Lilith and Khavi.
    She formed her wings and took to the air. Her feathers ruffled, and each beat of her wings ended with a satisfying snap. Here was wind, and sound, though of her own creation. She flew toward the edge of the northern quadrant. The never-moving sun shone overhead; below her, the city rested in an endless, waveless sea, an enormous white disc on a smooth bed of brilliant blue.
    The buildings surrounding Odin’s Courtyard were stockier, less graceful than the temples and spires in the rest of Caelum. Alice’s quarters only consisted of a single building, but every Guardian considered Odin’s Courtyard hers. Irena landed at the edge of the courtyard. She coughed loudly before vanishing her wings and walking