Demon of Vengeance: Chronicles of the Fallen, Book 4 Read Online Free PDF

searching for her for this long. Not when she’d been so close.
    Not again.
    The moment her emerald green eyes had connected with his across the airport terminal had sealed her fate, sword aside. He couldn’t shake that electrical zing that had arced between them.
    She wasn’t getting away from him.
    Scowling, Sebastian searched for that fragile, already fading luminescent trail all demons left behind when they shimmered.
    And he smiled with grim purpose.

Chapter Two
    When the world stopped spinning, Phoebe was able to draw a breath at last. A sharp gust of air hit her hard, slightly cooler than before, but so foul and dank she doubled over and gagged. She squinted through watery eyes, scouring the gloom for some clue as to where she was. Dim light filtered in from a small opening a short distance away. All around her, dark, water splotched, rough stone walls absorbed the rest of the light.
    A cave?
    And they weren’t alone.
    Hideous creatures writhed in the shadows, shifting in and out of the twilight making odd hissing and clacking sounds. They bowed to the demon still in possession of her arm. Glancing over, she swallowed in dismay and tried to pull away as his form began to mutate.
    And then she gaped in shock. One moment the swarthy, slick-backed, portly Hispanic man stood beside her. And in the next minute, a tall, lean humanlike creature took his place. Humanlike…but not . His skin was blood red. His shoulder length hair was jet black. As black as his eyes. He smiled at her, flashing a set of fangs a la Dracula.
    She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. It was like history repeating itself. The resemblance, the sense of familiarity were uncanny. He looked so much like the one who’d—
    “This female belongs to Dimiezlo,” the creature— Sïnsobar , she corrected herself again—said, his voice layered and deep. His pronouncement was met with livid snarls and disappointed growls from the surging mass of creatures moving around the cave. He snarled right back. The angry noises died away and, although the mass still shifted and hissed, Phoebe sensed a sudden wariness filling the room.
    “She is a gift for Stolas.” Hisses erupted once more. Fear, unmistakable and ripe, filled the air.
    She tugged at Sin’s grasp to no avail, terrified of the demon, and yet afraid to move any closer to those seething, slathering shadows.
    “But, Master,” a whiny, thin voice begged from somewhere too close for her comfort. “We’ve been so long without a female. And she smells so… delicious .” The last word was said on a shivery, lustful shudder.
    Phoebe cringed at the implied intent.
    And then she froze, breath arrested, as realization dawned. These demons weren’t speaking English, or Spanish. Nor were they speaking French, Italian, or Russian. She would know, as she spoke each of those languages—along with several dialects of native cultures—fluently. And yet she’d understood every guttural word they’d spoken.
    Every. Single. Word.
    How? What is this language?
    “Stolas will be displeased if she is in poor condition when he receives her.”
    Again, the crowd of monsters recoiled at the mere mention of the name.
    Whoever this Stolas was, he seemed to be her best chance of walking out of this cave alive and in one piece.
    “But, Master, she is not a Halfling.”
    Phoebe cringed. Why wouldn’t that…that thing give up?
    “It doesn’t matter. She is a Guardian. He wants her kind too. And you know he likes them with enough spirit to last at least a few hours in his little dungeon of horrors.”
    Okay. So maybe this Stolas guy wasn’t looking like such a stellar option after all. Especially not the way this horde of ghoulish nightmares cowered every time Sïnsobar said his name.
    “Please, Master,” whiny-voice wheedled. “We’ll be exssstra careful with her.”
    Sïnsobar studied the mass, seemed to be gauging the temperament of the room.
    Oh, God, he’s wavering!
    “No!” she cried, fighting