A Betrayal so Cruel (The Reckoning Book 2) Read online

  A Betrayal so Cruel

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  Chapter One

  A month ago, my life was normal.

  Well, as normal as it could be—which is to say, not very normal at all. Being Marked means that my life was destined to be abnormal. Now that I know, being Marked by the Devil’s son means that an abnormal life is the grossest understatement.

  Yes, healing at a quicker-than-normal rate and being unable to die is fun, if you ignore the general earth-shattering anxiety that comes with constantly wondering when your Daddy Demon is going to appear and command you to murder your family while they sleep.

  That never happened, luckily. Not so luckily, though, is that it took the literal end of the world for me to be somewhat okay with my Mark. You win some, you lose some, right?

  …Right?

  Okay, so I’m not stupid or selfish enough to be thankful for the apocalypse. Meeting the four Horsemen—War, Conquest, Pestilence and Death—was on my list of things never to do. Actually, I don’t think I ever made that list, because, hello, I never thought about it. I had enough on my mind: college, exams, the never-ending cycle of trying to study and failing by getting distracted by every cute cat meme, not to mention avoiding my rich parents and stroking my hero complex. Special snowflake Lexa to the rescue!

  That’s a joke, but it’s also kind of the truth, because I’m currently doing something that also used to be on my list of things never to do. Sound familiar? It should. It’s a long list, apparently one I’m no good at following. I’m a little headstrong that way.

  David would definitely kill me if he knew what I’m doing, or at the very least talk sternly to me with that parental disappointed expression. Being a three-hundred-year-old Warlock has its perks, I guess, and the mastering of facial expressions is one of them. So is perfecting the art of invisibility potions and never aging a day, but that’s neither here nor there. The fact of the matter is he would try to talk me out of it. He’d also know that it would be impossible to talk me down, to stop me from doing it, but he’d try anyway. A good friend—my only friend, until this apocalypse business. Recently I’ve been collecting people like stickers.

  Every kid has a sticker book, right? With pages and pages of stickers? All kinds: colorful Lisa Frank puppies and kittens, cool felt horses, puffy smiley faces and sparkly stars, and the boring ones teachers stick on your classwork if you get all the answers right. They’re hideous and plain comparatively, but when I was younger I felt compelled to peel them off and add them to my book anyways.

  Oh, boy. I’m getting way off-track, probably because I don’t want to face what’s in front of me. You might be wondering just what has my mind running a mile a minute. There’s a big, gloomy world around me and a seemingly impossible task ahead of me.

  I’m in the Underworld to get Dagon back. To save his sorry, pathetic, irritating butt because I feel like I have to, just like those dumb, ugly stickers. Stupid sense of duty. Pointless morals. Who needs them, especially in an apocalypse?

  I sigh.

  I do.

  A heavy, golden band sits on my wrist, and I crouch near a jutting boulder, hiding under the bridge that leads to the only castle around, glancing at it. Somewhere between a bracelet and fashionable armor, the shimmering band weighs more than it looks—and it looks like fake fashion jewelry, so that’s not saying much. Three inches thick, adorned with snakes…if the woman who gave it to me didn’t seem so righteous, I’d have thought twice about it.

  “This is as far as I can bring you,” the woman told me after portaling us at the base of the mile-long bridge, hidden under its chasms. Her shoulder-length auburn hair swayed in the small breeze that seemed to be everywhere in the Underworld, rattling her yellow armor. Her sword sat on her hip; the same sword she so recently used to stab and impale me.

  Still hurts a bit, actually, but at least the bleeding stopped and the wounds are scabbing over.

  I don’t know why I trusted her, especially after that incident, but her wisdom hasn’t proved wrong yet.

  “You are past the Meadows and the Fields. This is a quest only you can finish.” Her strong hand moved to hold mine, gripping my wrist, where a band of snakes formed. “My boon. So long as your heart remains just, you will succeed.”

  Above us, creatures cawed on nests high in the jagged mountains that rose from nothing to greet the greyish sky, a watercolor of darkness. Most of the Underworld never saw the light of day. Their torsos were woman-like, their bottom halves more like birds, with feathers and everything. Though we’re far from them—at least a few hundred feet below. I didn’t need to be up close and personal with the beasts to know they’re ugly.

  “Harpies,” the woman whispered, slowly lowering her gaze back to me. Though she held her head high, her nose upturned, she didn’t seem haughty or overly self-righteous. She had my trust, for whatever strange reason. “I must go. Hades will sense that I’m here.” She took a step away from me, giving me a smile. Perfect white teeth. I didn’t imagine anything less. “I would stay near cover.”

  Yeah, otherwise those bird ladies—the Harpies—would tear me apart.

  With as little as a nod, she left, and I didn’t even know her name.

  A Greek goddess, definitely. As I scurried along the culverts that ran under the long stone bridge, around the ragged, rough landscape, sticking close to the rocky walls, I wished I remembered my ninth grade English class better. That’s when we read the Iliad and the Odyssey, learned about the ancient Greeks and their customs. Maybe if I knew they were real I would’ve.

  I tear my gaze from the bracelet, wondering if other ancient cultures have real gods, too. If Loki’s real and looks anything like Tom Hiddleston, I’m one hundred percent okay with that. I push the thought from my mind. Now’s not the time to daydream, especially about a man. The last time I dreamt of a man, it turned out to be Dagon, the owner of my soul. My Master. Dreaming of guys doesn’t turn out well, even if they might look drop dead gorgeous with chocolate drizzle on their washboard abs…

  Ah, crap. I need to focus. I’m not a hormonal teenager in deep lust.

  I am a young adult on a mission to save the owner of my soul. No lust involved here. Nope. None at all. Ew. I don’t even know the meaning of the word. Nasty.

  A tall, dark castle looms overhead, seemingly never-ending as it reaches toward the sky. It is not a blue sky that graces the Underworld; it’s grey with flecks of red. Whatever blue sits above the Fields and Meadows is nonexistent here. Purple lightning flashes occasionally, creating an eerie, unearthly glow.

  One of the Harpies rustles, leaping off her mountaintop and soaring through the air on her winged arms. I hop closer to the wall, nearer the castle, hiding under a pillar as she flies by. Once I’m sure she’s gone, I resume my search for a door.

  From my rudimentary knowledge of Greek mythology, and assuming it’s all true, I know the Underworld has a few parts. The Greeks thought all dead souls go to the Underworld, so naturally there’d be different places for heroic and evil souls. And there are a few rivers, too, flowing and intersecting throughout it. I don’t know names, and Google’s down right now, so it’ll have to wait.

  A psst sound echoes through the air, and I turn to see a hand motioning for me to move backwards, to an area I’ve already scoped out. Guard up, I warily return to the spot, mouth falling when I see a door on the castle’s outer, lower wall. It most certainly wasn’t there when I checked before. Not possible.

  I’m not going to complain about it. I was a few seconds from climbing the drawbridge and marching through the front
door. Hopefully this way, I can avoid the attention.

  I slip through the wooden door, closing it as quietly as I can behind me. I’m in the basement of the castle, as far as I can tell. The floor is a black and grey marble, the walls lighted with sconces every few feet. Not another soul near me, save for the pitter-pattering of feet leading to the left.

  A part of me wonders if I’m being led into a trap, but another part of me couldn’t care less. This is basically a suicidal rescue mission anyway.

  As I start to follow the sounds, I pass dungeon cells. Inside, I see a few Demons slithering about, wrapping tentacles around the bars, trying to get free. Demons belong to the Devil; why does Hades have them here, and how did he even get them here in the first place?

  I turn the corner, spotting a girl with messy yellow hair. Her clothes are bloodied and torn, and when she turns to me, I see a deep crack in her skull. Not older than fourteen, she motions for me to come closer. A sparkly key hangs on a rope around her neck.

  When I get to her side, I stare into her young, brown eyes, amazed at how familiar the girl seems. Despite the blood and her appearance, her eyes radiate a warmth and kindness I can’t describe. She already has lifted the gated door to this particular cell.

  “He’s in there,” she says, sounding tired and sad. Not the way a fourteen-year-old should sound. Then again, she’s in the Underworld, which means she’s dead.

  “Thank you,” I whisper. I don’t ask how she knows who I’m after. I don’t say anything else, mostly because I don’t know what else to say. I hurry into the room, stopping dead in my tracks when I see him hunched over on his knees, chains tied around his body, tying him to the floor. The chains shine brightly, glowing in the darkness. His muscular chest is riddled with stab wounds, and when I take a step closer, I see the chains have hurt him, just like how silver hurts David.

  But these chains aren’t silver. The way they glow with an unnatural light—heavenly, almost. No metal on earth does that.

  He lifts his head. For a moment, his brows come together, as if he cannot decide if I’m real or not. Even though he looks terrible, his voice comes out strong. “You should not have come for me.” He watches me heavily as I run to him, checking the chains.

  When I touch them, they burn me.

  “Why did you come?” he asks, and I see a hint of exhaustion break through his stolid features.

  I stare at him for a moment, not knowing the answer myself. “Will you just shut up and let me try to get you out of here?” I hiss, trying the chains again. And, as before, they sizzle and burn me.

  “Seraph chains,” he says. “Unless you are a Seraph, the only way to get them off is the key.”

  “And who…” I remember the little girl, standing and running back to the door. Or, I would have, if someone wouldn’t have gotten in my way.

  Holding the same dagger he tried to kill me with before, Mike stands, his posture terrible, his gaze full of remorse. “You shouldn’t have come here,” he says softly, fingers gripping the dagger tighter. “Now I have to kill you.”

  “You tried it once. What makes you think you’ll succeed this time?” I question him, tilting my head. The time I waste fighting him is time I waste when I could instead be searching for the girl with the key.

  “I don’t want to hurt you,” Mike adds quietly, lunging at me before I can give him a comeback. Though he’s a middle-aged man, he had a strong, fast body. He was an FBI agent, before the apocalypse business.

  I focus on holding his wrist, keeping the dagger away from me, and we tumble to the floor. Mike’s weight feels like a ton, crushing my lungs, and for a few, tense seconds, it’s a game of who-pushes-better. Mike bares his teeth, using his full upper body strength to push. I’m in the defense position, kicking my legs uselessly as I slowly move my chest to the right, knowing I can’t hold off the dagger forever. Behind us, chains rattle, but I know I can’t count on Dagon for help.

  Just as Mike is about to stab my shoulder, the girl shouts from the doorway, “No!” She clutches the key in her hand, yanking it off her neck. Her eyes well with tears. Mike stops, freezing before she whispers the next word, “Dad.”

  Dad?

  I use the distraction to my advantage, focusing on heat, burning his wrist while he’s distracted, causing him to drop the dagger. I’m able to roll him off me in his stupor and run for the weapon. Holding it in my hands, I feel an odd sense of power wash over me, and as I run for Mike, I stop short of stabbing him.

  He’s under orders. He’s not in control.

  Plus, I can’t kill him in front of his daughter.

  The girl wanders into the room, handing me the key as she gently touches Mike’s cheek with her other hand. “Fight him.”

  Mike’s shoulders slump. He takes her small hand in his, and before I know it, he’s crying silent tears. “I can’t. I need to do this for you, Erin, for Mom.” His words are jumbled, a mess coming out.

  I wander around the chains, finding the lock, sticking the key inside. The instant I do, the chains lose their glow and fall to the floor, allowing Dagon to stand. The big guy almost falls on me as he steps forward.

  Erin looks at her father sadly. “He’ll never bring us back. You know that. When he’s done with you, he’ll eat your soul.” When we get closer, she holds out her hand, expectant. The only thing I have is the dagger, and I give it to her, uncertain. Without hesitation, she cuts his chest, where Hades’s Mark is, making a cross. A flesh wound, but deep enough to draw blood. Mike barely flinches through watery eyes. Keeping hold of the dagger, she looks to me. “Once you’re on the surface, you can call another one of them.”

  “Another one of who?” I ask as she helps Mike up.

  Her eyes fall to the golden band on my wrist. “Not her. She’s already given you her favor. Dad needs another Mark to overpower this one, and only another who shares blood can do it.” A tear falls down her face, and she quickly wipes it away. Through the cut on her head, her skull is visible, and as she wipes her face, the wound tugs open. It takes every ounce of my strength not to pull away, drop Dagon, and run in the opposite direction. “I can bring you to the river, but that’s as far as I can go.”

  My heart breaks for her, for Mike. Suddenly I understand him so much better.

  “Thank you, Erin,” I say. She hands Mike over to me, and his weight is nearly too much for me. I soon remember he’s very much conscious and very much able to walk himself. I glare at him. “If you want to be free, you’ll have to work for it.” I point to the gaseous dagger. “Keep that away from him.”

  The girl holds it to her chest, nodding before leading us out of the room.

  We follow Erin through the halls. It’s beyond eerie how we see not a single soul, living or dead, besides the Demons. No windows, no decorations. Hades certainly likes his living area sparse, and full of dungeon space. As we walk up a set of winding stairs, I do my best not to think. If I do, if I think about Erin, why Mike got his Mark, I know I’ll lose it.

  And I definitely don’t want to think about how I realized Dagon is butt-naked, and my first thought was that he doesn’t look too bad.

  Definitely not.

  We stop in front of the castle door that opens into the drawbridge, where the Harpies patrol. With her hand on the door, Erin looks at me. “This is the fastest way. We have to run. If the Harpies—”

  A very unhuman scream bounces through the castle’s halls, and Erin grows frantic. Chills run down my spine. I do not want to meet that scream’s owner.

  “We have to go.” With that, the teenager, acting braver than me, pushes the door open. She is the first to make the mad dash across the bridge.

  I shove Mike next, and Dagon and I follow him in the rear. Both men limp; Dagon more so. We’re about halfway across the mile-stretch when shrieks pierce the air, and the Harpies awaken on their perches, stretching out their bodies before taking flight.

  Winged arms, wild hair frames each crazed face. Their legs are human until the knees,
where clawed bird legs take their place. Their breasts are coated in a thin layer of feathers, their mouths slightly oblong, beaked with sharp teeth.

  Mike makes it across with Erin, into the cavern that connects the castle with the rest of the Underworld, but the Harpies land between the cave and Dagon and I. They ruffle their wings, screaming at us, repeating no escape, no escape over and over.

  Since he’s recently tortured and currently useless, I make sure the knot around my neck is tight still, hiding my recent gash, and ready my fists. Yeah, I’ll go toe-to-toe with Harpies. Why not?

  “Come at me, bro,” I say. “Bros. Sis…sisses?” As I fumble, the Harpies recoil, and within a moment, they fly away. “Yeah, that’s right. Fly away like…birds.” My pathetic attempt at an insult earns a lifted brow from Dagon as he heads toward the cavern. “What?” I mutter as I get beside him. “It’s been a long day.”

  Of course, the adrenaline is pumping too hard in my veins for me to stop and wonder just what made the Harpies give up so easily.

  We meet up with Erin and Mike. This part of the Underworld is like a cave, with bowls of blue water, reflecting light that doesn’t exist. We resume our trek through the spacious place, and I find my little group amongst wandering souls. Wearing what they wore when they died, forever stuck the same age, the same way. Those who died in their sleep wear pajamas, blood-free. We walk by a man who must’ve died during heart surgery.

  You get the hint. It’s nasty.

  I’m amazed to see people from the eighties, with their punk look. We pass a woman in a frilly dress, her neck ending abruptly over her collarbone. Her arms cradle her head to her chest, and she sends us a glare as we go by.

  “Doesn’t this place get full?” I ask, and about a dozen or so clueless, wandering people pause to look at me, but in a blink, they return to their aimless shuffling.

  “It grows,” Erin says, ever the expert. I wonder how long the girl’s been here. Years? Months? “They don’t bother you, as long as you don’t bother them.” Her eyes widen. “Hurry. Up ahead—the river.”