Curse of the Fallen by Eve Archer
Epilogue
Mastema stalked along the stone balcony of his chateau, scowling at the Paris skyline that twinkled with a thousand lights, not least of all the towering structure that drew tourists by the flock. He rested a hand on one of the gargoyles that perched along the mansion’s ramparts, welcoming the cool stone against his burning flesh. The carved creatures might have been added to the architectural design to ward off evil with their fierce visages, but the creatures inside his lair were more demonic than any gargoyle imagined by humans.
The prince of demons walked to the edge of the top floor balcony that skirted the massive mansion, curling his fingers around the stone pediment and emitting a rumble that vibrated in his chest. He was glad to be back in Paris, where his demon minions dwelled in the shadows of bridges and in the catacombs beneath the city streets. Paris might be the city of light, but where there was light there was also dark—and Mastema ruled the dark.
He breathed in the slight scent of sulphur as if it were the heady perfume of a rose. Each demon’s trace of the aroma was negligible, but when you gathered so many together like he had in his lair, the smell was unmistakable—and intoxicating. Mastema tipped back his head and fixed his gaze on the heavens, even as his thoughts remained firmly below.
He never should have agreed to work with the archangels. They ruled the heavenly realms and left the Earthly ones to him and the Fallen. It had always been that way. Until something had changed.
He scoffed at the idea that a human female—even a pretty one with an angelic trace—could warrant such a shift. The archangels had marked humans with their grace before, and never bothered with them again. The celestial beings were known for their general disinterest in human affairs, hence why the Earth was such a fertile hunting ground for the human emotions that demons fed off—lust, fear, and envy.
No, there was a reason the archangels had sent him to retrieve the woman, and he suspected it was about even more than the prophecy.
A throat was cleared behind him. “Your grace?”
Mastema twisted his neck until it cracked, releasing some of the rage he’d suppressed since his return from the island fortress of the Fallen. “Yes?”
“Saleos has returned from Rio.”
The demon prince nodded without turning. His demons flooded the Brazilian capital during Carnivale—which had been months ago—but the warm weather, beautiful beaches, and skimpy clothes kept it on his radar. Usually only the succubi and incubi frequented Rio de Janiero year-round, but Mastema had sent one of his most trusted demons to appraise the unrest in the country. Dissent was fodder for conflict, and conflict was catnip for the darker demons.
“I’ll join him shortly.”
His business could not be put off any longer. It was time to dispatch more of his demons around the globe to do his bidding. But Mastema had no intention of forgetting about the mission the archangels had sent him on. Lilith might have moved on and rejoined her legions of succubi, but he was not so easily distracted by the lure of seduction. Not when the fate of the Fallen hung in the balance.
He gave the glittering city a final look, before turning and striding back inside his chateau. He didn’t need the archangels in order to plot the corruption of the Fallen. He was the prince of demons, after all.
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Thank you for reading Curse of the Fallen!
Ready to read the conclusion to the trilogy and discover what happens to Ella and Dominick (and how Mastema is involved)? One-click Book 3, Wrath of the Fallen.
With a host of celestials chasing us, Dominick makes a pact with the Prince of Demons. A pact that leads us straight into the demon prince's Parisian lair--a place so decadent and demonic that we may never escape. Or want to.
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This book has been edited and proofed, but typos are like little demons that like to sneak in when we’re not looking. If you spot a typo, please report it to: [email protected]
