To Hell and Back by Juliana Stone Page A

razor-sharp teeth glistened. At his side stood a shrouded figure, a small man they all knew—Merlin. In the human realm he’d been a sorcerer with unparalleled magick at his fingertips, but down here? He’d tapped into the darkness that clung to everything and he survived by doling out favors to those in power. Men like Santos.
    “You’re going to need more than just a good man in your corner, brother,” Zane murmured. He reached into his pocket and grabbed a cell phone. He spoke quickly and then pocketed it, turning to Logan, his gaze fierce. “Let’s go.”
    Logan turned without another word and followed his brother up into the darkness that led to their private room. He had maybe ten minutes to prepare before he met his father in battle. Ten minutes in which to figure out how he was going to defeat Santos and get a safe pass out of District Three.
    This time, forever.
    A T THE EDGE of the arena, there where the darkness met the heat of the fire from below, a man stood, his body shielded from most of the crowd. He was tall, well built—his muscular arms covered in leather, his jean-clad legs encased in heavy boots. His blue-black hair was closely cropped, leaving his handsome face accessible to all. A strong chin, chiseled cheekbones, and wide forehead suggested noble lineage, but the eyes were what gave him away. That and the dragon tattoo that adorned his neck.
    Eerie and incandescent, his eyes were pale and swirled with a strange silver color when he was angry. Or amused. Most of the time—like now—they were hidden behind a pair of silver aviators.
    Samael’s gaze wandered the chamber, his body thrumming with energy. As the demon Lord of Chaos, this was the kind of food he craved. The kind of food he thrived on. As it was, there was lots to eat down here. He took a long drink from the flask he’d brought along, his gaze taking everything in as he leaned his shoulder against the hard stone wall.
    Bob, his head bartender for Club Doom—a club located in District One and owned by Samael—stood several feet away with no idea that his boss was nearby. Samael’s gaze narrowed. Bob was supposed to be on duty, but no doubt his well-known gambling addiction held more sway than did the fear of reprisal.
    Samael’s even white teeth flashed in the gloom. He’d deal with Bob later. At the moment his concern was the hellhound. Winters had gotten his ass into one hell of a mess. What the hell had he been thinking, challenging his father to the cage? Santos was one of the fiercest overlords in the underworld. His bloodthirsty persona was legendary.
    It would take a fucking miracle for someone as young as Logan to defeat him.
    Samael moved through the crowd of various otherworld creatures, inhaling the decadence—sex and drugs most prevalent. To his left a large snakelike demon screwed a human female. Propped on a table, legs spread with the demon thrusting between her thighs, she was a pathetic creature. Long, stringy, blonde hair fell about her face and she whimpered as Samael passed by, her dark eyes beseeching.
    “Help me,” she whispered.
    The scent of heroin and cocaine still clung to her, and Samael stopped for a second. His gaze penetrated her eyes, digging deeper until he saw her soul. Until he saw her sins. She’d offered up her own sister to a deranged boyfriend who’d raped and killed the young girl. The first of several young victims.
    Samael ignored her cries as he disappeared into the dark. The bitch deserved whatever the hell she got.
    Demons parted as he strode toward the upper chamber. It wasn’t every day that Samael graced them with his presence. The demon was notoriously reclusive. Several cried after him as he passed, the tone reverent and filled with respect. He ignored them all.
    Samael climbed higher until he reached a large opulent chamber. He entered, grabbed himself another drink, and slid into the empty seat beside Lilith. He wasn’t surprised to see Seth the Golden on her other side.