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Chapter 1
Chapter 1: The Summons
The Hall of Judgment smelled of ozone and cold marble.
Seraphiel stood at parade rest, wings folded so tight the primaries ached, while the Seraphic Council argued over her like she was a weapon to be loaned out.
“She is the Sixth Choir’s finest blade,” High Chancellor Uriel declared, voice ringing off crystal pillars. “If anyone can leash this abomination before it devours another city, it is Seraphiel.”
Leash. The word scalded her more than any hellfire ever had.
Across the dais, a ripple of brimstone announced the arrival of Hell’s envoy. Black smoke coalesced into a figure lounging against a column that definitely hadn’t been there a heartbeat earlier. Prince Asmodeus, firstborn of Lust, Lord of the Ninth Circle, wearing mortal flesh like a tailored vice—charcoal suit, blood-red tie, and a smile sharp enough to draw ichor.
“Leash?” he echoed, tasting the word. “How quaint. Tell me, little bird, do you come with a collar too?”
Sera didn’t give him the satisfaction of turning. “I come with a sword, demon. Try not to drool on it.”
A soft, dark laugh curled through the hall. The archangels bristled; the fallen prince only looked amused.
The Council’s decree was simple and impossible: a rogue soul-eater—neither angel nor demon, but something older and hungry—had begun punching holes between realms. Mortals were vanishing. Souls were being unmade. Heaven and Hell had agreed to a joint task force.
One enforcer from each side.
Her. Him.
For the length of one hunt, Seraphiel and Asmodeus were bound by a blood-and-light covenant older than the stars. Break it, and both realms would burn the offenders out of existence.
Uriel placed the seal in her palm: a coin of living flame and obsidian. “Seven days,” he intoned. “Find the eater. End it. Do not kill each other.”
Asmodeus flicked the matching coin between his knuckles. “No promises, Chancellor.”
Then he was simply gone, leaving only the scent of smoke and sin.
Sera crushed the seal until it branded her skin. Seven days. She could survive seven days without murdering Lucifer’s favorite son.
Probably.
