Hell Hath No Fury (Razing Hell Book 3) by Cate Corvin

Author:Cate Corvin [Corvin, Cate]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Vivia Press
Published: 2020-07-09T16:00:00+00:00

17

Azazel

Shadows swirled around me. The stars that lived in the mist of my ethereal magic grew and died, eaten away by the darkness.

I rose through the sky over Dis, invisible to all as I choked back the stars and forced them into hiding. No one would see or feel me pass; there was nothing to give away my presence.

Sometimes I wondered if I stayed incorporeal for too long, if my physical body would just melt away into nothing and I’d be nothing but a disembodied consciousness roaming around.

It was something I hadn’t been foolhardy enough to experiment with in recent years, but now that I felt the gaping darkness in my soul closing, there was a tinge of excitement every time I used the old magics I’d been cut off from for so long.

The dark magics, the kind that required a sacrifice to achieve. My wings weren’t the only thing I’d traded.

After all, nothing worthwhile ever came for free.

Halfway across Dis, I shifted forms: from glittering wind to a more tangible form, dark wings spreading wide and blotting out the sun for all below me.

It’d been a long time since I’d had the boldness to shift into this body. The last time I’d tried, only days after Satan had reached into my chest and ripped out the tithe of my soul, I’d nearly been trapped in it, the gaping void of my heart combining with the more savage and primal pull of this body to create a trap.

It’d taken many tears from Vyra and months in a cage to find my real body and mind again.

That was the danger of using the ancient magic. It came with its own pitfalls, shifting from one body to an unnatural one, and my mind wasn’t always the same when I crossed the divide. Having a void in my soul had made it that much harder to return to myself.

Banking into a crosswind, I relished the wingbeats, the curl of savage talons. Without the void inside me, it was so much easier to hold onto my own self while in this form.

If I’d had lips instead of an enormous razor-sharp beak, I might have smiled. Too many years had passed without a raven demon to terrorize Dis.

God of nightmares, god of ravens and sickles and stars. None of it was true, of course. Leave it to a tiny cult in the cradle of civilization to build me a temple when they witnessed the raven ripping souls from bodies, taking mortal form to teach them witchcraft by night.

Ghostly birds formed from the shadows spilling off my wings and followed me, a loyal conspiracy of ravens. Each one of their souls had been sacrificed on the cult’s altars, gifted to me by worshipful humans.

It felt damn good to be back and whole again.

I angled for Blackchapel, taking in everything through a bloodred gaze: my Watchers were home, but they’d scattered across Dis. Many of them had been independent for so long they’d forgotten what it meant to be called back.

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