In a hidden world where angels and demons clash, Cecelia White's life takes a thrilling turn when she discovers her connection to a powerful relic, the Angel Key. With her best friend Evie by her side, Cecelia is thrust into a supernatural conflict...
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"There once was an angel who came from heaven and fell in love with a girl.
He gave her a key and called it his soul and then he disappeared."
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She awoke in pain. Her body was bound, her eyes blindfolded. She struggled against the restraints, the metal around her wrists and ankles biting viciously into her skin.
"I see you're awake now, little Nephilim," a deep, familiar voice said.
"What do you want with me, demon scum?" she spat. "Let me go, and I'll ask Maximus to kill you quickly when he comes for me."
"We want your Angel Key. Gift it to us, or we'll make your torture long and sweet."
"Take off my blindfold so I can see the coward you are," she demanded.
"Fine," the voice replied, untying the blindfold from behind her head. "As you wish, child."
Her vision cleared, revealing the sinister face of Azazel, his flaming irises burning with malevolence.
"Now gift me your key or die," he said, flashing his wicked smile.
"Maximus will have your head for this," she said and spat at him.
His eyes narrowed into thin, angry slits, and he slowly wiped the spit from his face.
"Maximus won't be coming for you. No one's that stupid. Now gift me the key!" He reared back and struck her across the face with his open hand.
Her vision blurred again, and she saw stars. Dammit. The bastard.
"I'll never give you my key, and you know as well as I do that you can't torture someone into gifting it," she chided. "First rule of Angel Keys: the owner of the key may only gift it with an open heart, and I would never open my heart to a bottom-feeding lowlife like you," she growled.
"Have it your way then," he reared his hand back and struck her again, and again.
She spat blood onto the floor.
"You'll have it this way until you're good and humble, you abomination," and he struck her again so hard that her eyes rolled back in her head.
"Just wait until Abaddon has his turn with you. He has a special way with torture, you'll see. He'll make you regret the day you laid eyes on that coward, Ceruleus Maximus."
She was drowsy, and things were going black, but she managed to get it out.
"He's no coward. He'll come for me," she breathed. "And when he does, you'll be the one with regret," she said, staring into his eyes with a challenge. "You'll regret the day you sold your soul," she said, smiling weakly. "And his name is Christoph, now."
"Abaddon, it appears she has some fight left in her," Azazel called behind him. A burly demon approached, his form hulking and menacing. He was huge, maybe even larger than Darius, whose grizzly form had become a comfort to have around.
"It appears she does," Abaddon smiled, revealing a mouth of sharp, metal fangs.
He was nothing like Darius. His pale, bald head and thick, caterpillar-like eyebrows were the opposite of Darius's beautiful dark mocha skin and smooth, endearing features. This creature was made this way. She refused to believe he was ever an angel.
"Break her," Azazel ordered as he turned to leave.
Abaddon stalked toward Cecelia's limp form, cracking his knuckles as he went.
"It'll be my pleasure."
The next few hours were full of agonizing pain. Abaddon disassembled her. He tore bone from socket and wrenched nail from skin. He burned her, whipped her, and tried to drown her, bringing her within an inch of her life. This was pain she never dared imagine she'd ever feel, pain that left her insides feeling numb and empty.
He took satisfaction in it all. He didn't even question her. It was all just a game for him.
The memory was haunting, still fresh in her mind, and she fought hard to block it out. The worst was, when it was over—when the demon decided he was done—he left her hanging, broken and shackled, held up by her wrists, discarded like useless trash.
What little hope she had left, she fought to hold onto.
With her throat wrecked from screaming, she struggled to shout for help, but there was nothing. Just silence. The demons had left her, and she was alone.
For the first time in a long time, she wept. Cecelia cried helplessly, wondering how things went so wrong. How she got here. Not to this particular place or time but how she could have been so foolish to think that things wouldn't turn out this way. How she had let her guard down. How she could have been so stupid. She led them right to her, all because she had to fall in love with a fallen angel. What would her father think if he could see her now?
But still, she held onto hope, waiting, wondering. Where was her angel now? Where was Maximus, and would he come for her?
