Page 1 of Hell Sent

One

Azreth was hungry. But that was nothing new. To be a demon was to hunger.

So when a presence prodded at the edges of his senses, he picked up an obsidian dagger and crept to the entrance of his tiny shelter—a narrow gap in the earth that he’d disguised with black scrub branches.

He squinted at the barren fields and cracked earth of the fourth plane of hell. Mountains like jagged teeth rose up in the distance, their stark faces unwelcoming and impassable, and the Great Canyon cut the landscape in half. The ever-present winds blew red sand into his eyes, and he blinked rapidly. He saw nothing. Heard nothing.

Demons were like the hells in many ways. They were both eternal and unchanging. Both violent and cruel. Both lonesome and empty.

Or perhaps that last one was just Azreth.

He crawled silently out of the cave, keeping low to the ground. Briefly, he considered dispelling his arm and summoning a magical shield around himself instead. It had been too long since he’d fed, and he didn’t want to expend the energy for both.

He glanced down at his right arm and flexed the fingers of the facsimile, their unnatural transparent magenta contrasting with the natural deep blue skin of his left hand. The magic that replaced his missing limb was a small but constant drain on his energy. It was a luxury he couldn’t necessarily afford, but he couldn’t bring himself to go without it.

The last time he’d fed had been almost two weeks ago, when a fellow outcast had ambushed him while he hunted a velraven. Azreth had gotten lucky. He’d won the fight despite bad odds. His dubious reward was a solitary meal of the other demon’s fear and pain as he bled out.

Hunger, as always, gnawed at him.

“Azreth,” called a low, feminine voice.

He relaxed a fraction. He recognized the voice—but that didn’t mean it was a friend. There were no friends among the kin, only temporary alliances.

He couldn’t see her yet, so he stayed low. “Nariel,” he replied.

She stepped out from behind a gnarled, petrified tree to his left. Her hands were at her sides, and she carried no weapons. Nariel was tall and strong, with long legs and a full chest shielded by obsidian armor, and her skin was a particular shade of deep violet that he admired more than he liked to admit.

Azreth frowned. He would have to find another place to shelter after this. Now that she knew to look for him here, it was not safe.

She looked him up and down, assessing his health. If he seemed weak, she might decide to try to overpower him. In the end, she seemed to decide he looked strong enough. “I must feed,” she said flatly, her frown unchanging. “Shall we come together?”

He nodded. They fed from each other often. It was mutually beneficial, for now.

He put his dagger on the ground. Nariel came closer, unlatching her breastplate and sarong and letting them drop to the ground, leaving her bare. Azreth felt an annoying twinge in his loins.

He had heard that sex was different for mortals. They actually enjoyed it. Nariel enjoyed it too, he thought, but not like mortals did. It was always dangerous to be so close to another demon. They were never safe. They felt no love for each other.

His sexual desire was a vulnerability. It was a commodity to be traded or stolen. And he disliked the way his arousal could come without his permission. He would have disposed of it entirely if he could, but then he would have nothing to offer her.

He let out a slow breath. There was no point being annoyed or wishing things were something other than what they were. It was unproductive.He untied his sarong and let it slip off his hips, leaving him clad only in his tall, armored boots.

Nariel waited a few steps from him, her arms crossed beneath her breasts. Her eyes tracked over his body, flicking across his angled horns and his hands. She wasn’t admiring him—she was checking for hidden weapons or spells, and for weaknesses.

She was physically bigger than he was, but he knew his magic was stronger. They would be an even match in a fight, which was why they got along. But it was generally agreed upon among demonkind that the party being penetrated was at a natural disadvantage during intercourse. She would not agree to be penetratedandpinned on her back. So, he reluctantly sank to the ground and lay on his back, as he always did.

Nariel gracefully dropped to her knees atop him, straddling his hips. Her bright eyes were on his as she wrapped a hand around his stiffening cock. The muscles in his thighs tensed, and he hoped she would think it was only from arousal and not discomfort.

“Still healthy, I see,” she said with a smirk. “For a cripple.”

He glared at her and raised his hand to the triangle between her legs, weaving a spell. “I will prepare you?” he murmured.

She nodded once. “And I you?”

“Yes.”

With perfunctory permission obtained, they pressed magic into each other. Her spell sank into him more aggressively than he’d expected. His cock went rigid and tightened painfully, and he bucked against her hand, needing to be inside something. He pushed his own spell into her, commanding her body to open for him. She clenched her jaw to hide her reaction, but he could feel it. It wafted over him like sweet perfume. Lifting him with her hand, she aligned him with her entrance and then sank onto him with a sigh.

They entered a familiar rhythm as her hands braced against his chest—a cycle of both physical pleasure and feeding from each other’s emotional energy. They did not speak, and they did not touch each other more than necessary. The wrong sort of touch could easily be mistaken for an attack.He felt his strength building and draining at once. As her pleasure built, so did his power.

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