It had been twenty-seven days, give or take a few, since Nevar’s master had bothered to show up for his duty and relieve him, taking his place outside the crystal chamber in which the Great Destroyer slumbered, deep in the bowels of the Devil’s fortress in Hell.

A destroyer that Nevar had awoken by spilling Asmodeus’s and Liora’s blood in the very chamber he now guarded, and had become the creature’s master, much to the annoyance of the Devil.

Twenty-seven days of mind-numbing silence and boredom.

Nevar was going out of his head.

Or at least more out of it than normal.

He was feeling honest enough with himself today to admit that he might have been out of his head before the guard duty had started, but doing such a thing was dangerous.

The darkness within him spread tendrils outwards, filling his mind with vicious hissed words that goaded him into finding Asmodeus, the wretched angel who had turned him into a monster, and satisfying his soul-deep hunger to make the bastard pay.

Nevar closed his eyes and practiced his breathing, filling his lungs from the bottom up and counting slowly to five on each long inhale through his nose and five again on each exhale out of his mouth. Liora had taught him it as a method of regaining control of himself and quashing his darker urges whenever they came upon him. It had been step one in his rehabilitation programme—taking control. He was still working on step two—taking responsibility.

He drew another deep breath and shut out the coaxing voice and the other one that liked to mock him.

Once a proud guardian angel serving Heaven and the protector of Erin.

Now a loathsome creature forced into a contract with an evil angel, filled with darkness and an endless unstoppable hunger for violence, and cursed with an unquenchable thirst for blood.

Euphoria addict.

Recovering alcoholic.

Whore.

Bastard.

The worst part was that he couldn’t even bring himself to lay the blame squarely on Asmodeus’s shoulders. Some of it kept slipping off and landing back on his. He had been the one who had sought the sorceress and asked her to inscribe the spell on his shoulders that gave him control over his wings, and more control over his own body, making it difficult for Asmodeus to command him and force his compliance.

He had been the one to repay that sorceress by fulfilling the dark urge to kill her.

And she had repaid him by cursing him with her dying breath to feel an overpowering, never-ending craving for blood.

He had been the one who had sought a way of escaping the haunting memories of all the mortals and angels he had brutally slain whenever the darkness growing within him had seized control.

That escape had come in the form of sweet oblivion, delivered to him by Euphoria, a potent cocktail of alcohol, demon toxin and blood designed with enslaving mortals in mind and giving them a high that would make them forget every wicked thing they did while temporarily under its influence.

Demon toxin was fatal to angels.

When it had only made him high, giving him the beautiful escape he had craved and couldn’t find in alcohol alone, he had realised that he was no longer an angel.

And he had thrown himself head first into a downward spiral of Euphoria, screwing every demon female who offered it to him in exchange for sex. In hurling himself into that addiction, he had blurred the line between the evil and the good within him. He had embraced the darkness and bore the evidence of it on his body in the form of permanent claws and black skin up to his elbows and his knees, a sliver of his other side shining through.

Oh how the mighty had fallen.

He hadn’t quite hit rock bottom at that point though. No. He had stepped a little closer to rock bottom when Veiron, a Hell’s angel now married to Nevar’s former ward, Erin, had found him in a grotty bathroom banging a demon in exchange for a fix, and had taken it upon himself to save him. When Nevar had found himself pinned to the floor of that bathroom, in a pool of the demon bitch’s blood, he hadn’t been able to stop himself from licking it off the grimy tiles.

He had finally hit rock bottom when he had decided to discover Asmodeus’s weakness and exploit it, and had abducted the woman his master had been falling in love with, Liora, and handed the witch over to the Devil. No questions asked.

And then when Asmodeus had been about to save her from the very chamber at Nevar’s back, he had snuck in like a shadow and tried to kill the bastard.

Liora had attempted to shield Asmodeus. Nevar had skewered both of them on the sword.

Their combined blood spilling in the chamber and soaking into the crystal had been the key to unlocking the prison of the Great Destroyer, and because his hand had spilled it, Nevar was now the creature’s master.

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Liora would be proud of him.

Seven months of rehab and he had finally admitted that Asmodeus had started the ball rolling when he had forced a contract between them, but Nevar had kept on pushing the damn thing until it had picked up enough speed to do some real damage.

Damage being a nice way of saying that he had probably brought about the end of the world.

Nevar tipped his head back and stared into the darkness. Golden light from the two torches on the wall behind him, one either side of the broad door, held by gilded dragon bones, flickered across the ceiling. How many times had he lost himself in following the shifting ribbons of light? It was up there with his other favourite form of entertainment.

He turned around to face the huge black stone door.

His jade gaze slowly took in every inch of the carved surface that was now imprinted on his memory. It depicted dragons roaming the landscape of Hell in the upper portion of the door and a monster far larger than they were ravaging lands in the central section. That gigantic beast devoured mortal, demon and angel alike.

He ran his fingers over the beast to the figure of an angel being crushed under its front left foot and then drifted them back up to the other figure it clutched in the claws of its right.

The Great Destroyer.

He wasn’t sure what would happen when it finally rose from its slumber, or what his role was when it emerged, but he was sure it would be a hell of a lot more interesting than his current situation.

Would it be such a bad thing if it awakened?

The thought of standing guard in the cramped black antechamber for decades, centuries or more was an unwelcome one. He would rather the world went to Hell now than he be put through another month of loitering outside the chamber, alone and bored.

And tired.

Unlike his master, Hell wasn’t his home, and when an angel wasn’t in their natural environment, they had to eat and sleep.

Asmodeus never seemed to take that into account, or perhaps he did. Perhaps his wretched master was in his fortress halfway across Hell laughing about the fact that he was here starving to death and about ready to gnaw his arm off. Nevar resisted the urge to sink his fangs into his lower lip. It wouldn’t appease his hunger or do him any good. He couldn’t survive on his own blood. He had been living for the past seven months on regular doses of Asmodeus’s blood.

Saliva pooled in his mouth at just the thought of sinking his fangs into his master’s arm and sucking down his rich, thick blood.

Wonderful. Asmodeus and Liora’s fantastic rehab plan had now turned him into some sort of Pavlov’s dog, salivating at only the idea of being allowed to drink from his master.

He sighed again and traced his fingers down the ridged back of the beast carved on the door.

Maybe there was a reason Asmodeus had left him here alone for almost a full month.

Liora had told Nevar that now he had been weaned off demon blood, the next step was to wean him off blood entirely.

It would be typical of the bastard angel to decide the best way to do that was to ditch him here at the chamber and leave him for a month, knowing he was under orders not to leave it unguarded.

Did Liora know what her male was doing? He doubted the pretty little witch would approve of such a move.

Whenever Nevar had been at their fortress, watching her and Asmodeus attempting to rebuild it, she had stuffed him full of mortal food, telling him that he needed to keep his strength up. Of course, Asmodeus glared at him whenever the witch fussed over him, and Nevar had repaid him by drinking up her attention and coaxing her into giving him more of it, stealing it away from Asmodeus.

The mark on his chest pulsed, fire flashing over it, and his fingers tensed against the hindquarters of the beast on the door.

He growled and mentally commanded the breastplate and back plate of his violet-edged black armour to disappear, revealing his bare chest. Purple light traced over the circular mark directly over his heart. The size of his palm, it depicted a serpentine beast with a reptilian head armed with sharp fangs and six curved horns. Wings followed the sweeping arc of its scaly body and its barbed tail. In the centre of the mark, clutched in the dragon’s claws, was a perfect replica of Liora’s pentagram—the one he had destroyed.

The dragon’s wings shifted and he ground his teeth against the fiery pain that blazed like lightning across his pectorals in response. He pressed his hand to the mark, breathing through the agony, using the same technique he employed when trying to retain control.

The beast settled and his heart settled with it, slowing back to a normal rhythm.

It wasn’t the first time the mark had shifted. It moved from time to time, as if it was as restless as he was.

Nevar kept his hand over the mark and placed his other one on the carving on the door that was a perfect match. The Great Destroyer.

Would it be such a bad thing if it awakened?

He could fight it or control it or something as its master.

It would beat the hell out of guard duty.