Demon's Daughter (Demon Outlaws) by Paula Altenburg Page B

was power. To claim one meant to risk losing the other, because when an immortal was killed by another immortal, the victor owned the death. The dead became slaves.
    Victory, however, came with its own heavy price. The dead did not give up freedom willingly. For Be’el to challenge him, he had to believe the Demon Lord weak enough to enslave. That belief could not be allowed to spread.
    “We are bound by the laws of the universe,” the Demon Lord said. “While we’re confined to this world, we are as subject to time as any mortal. Too many of us have been lost here already.”
    Be’el grinned. “Then until we die, we should be able to enjoy all time’s pleasures.”
    Again, there was a rumble of agreement. Louder, this time. Soon the crowd would grow completely out of control.
    “Clear the floor,” the Demon Lord commanded, and the rumble became a roar of eager excitement.
    Demons emptied the area in front of the platform, pushing back to the far walls of the cavern. The Demon Lord leaped to the smooth rock ground. Many of the spectators scrambled to the platform for a better view of the fight to come.
    The Demon Lord beckoned with cupped fingers for Be’el to approach him, and Be’el stepped into the clearing. He did not waste time, instead shooting out one massive, fisted hand in a roundhouse blow aimed at the Demon Lord’s temple.
    The Demon Lord’s mortal form was lighter and more agile, and used the thin desert air with greater efficiency. He easily dodged the first blow, and the next, dancing around the floor on the balls of his feet and making Be’el chase him. Be’el roared with rage and frustration.
    The onlookers, too, did not care for the Demon Lord’s tactics. Their discontent forced him to present one shoulder and absorb the next ham-fisted blow. He swallowed the pain, remaining upright with difficulty. A mortal form was not built for this type of abuse, but he needed to remind the others why he was Lord.
    He commanded demon fire, but he did not do so on his strength alone. When he’d burned the goddesses’ mountain, he had summoned it through the others.
    This time, he wanted only enough fire to remind the others of who he was, and why. So he drew it through Be’el, not the others, forming a ball of red flame between his fingers that licked up his arms and shot from his eyes. A spray of sparks danced from the ground to the cavern ceiling. He threw the ball of fire at Be’el. It caught him in the chest, ignited, and sent him staggering. Then, he aimed a kick at the demon’s knee.
    It was Be’el’s own bulk that toppled him. Once he was down, he rolled in an attempt to extinguish the flames, but the Demon Lord did not allow them to go out until the smell of roasting meat filled the cavern.
    The Demon Lord let the fire die away as he shifted into demon form. He planted a clawed foot on Be’el’s smoldering chest, and bending, slammed both fists into Be’el’s ears hard enough to draw blood.
    Blood was what the Demon Lord wanted, and now that he had drawn a little, he wanted more.
    Be’el, however, was far from defeated, and age had slowed the Demon Lord more than he wanted the others to see. Be’el’s feet caught him from below, lifting and tossing him to the side. The Demon Lord rolled as he landed, waited for Be’el to follow through with the attack, then grappled him into a headlock.
    One of Be’el’s claws scored a tear down his arm, and the combination of fiery pain and the smell of his own blood made the Demon Lord lose the last of his control. He bit into Be’el’s shoulder, cracking through protective plating and tearing the flesh from the bone.
    The other demon howled in pain and anger. Demons, however, did not show fear.
    Blood dripped from the Demon Lord’s chin as he swallowed the mouthful of hot flesh. He crammed the claws of one hand into the wound and wrenched until the exposed bone popped free from Be’el’s shoulder.
    Be’el panted, his agony evident, but he