Free Dream Warrior by Sherrilyn Kenyon Page B

control. “You need to sober up. How can you fight the Oneroi like this?”
    â€œWe don’t need to fight them. We convert them.”
    Disgusted, Jericho let go of him and Zeth sank back to the couch. Without a word, Zeth rolled over on top of the other female while the first one draped herself across his back so that they could resume necking.
    Ridiculous.
    â€œAsmodeus!” Jericho called, summoning the demon again.
    He appeared instantly. “You rang, Minor Master?”
    â€œI’m looking for a god called Deimos. Is he here?”
    Asmodeus screwed his face up before he answered. “Define here. ”
    â€œAsmodeus!”
    â€œOkay, fine, don’t yell at me. I don’t like being yelled at. He’s not here in this room, obviously, but he is in the realm, if you know what I mean.”
    â€œTake me to him.”
    Asmodeus looked around sheepishly. “Am I supposed to do that?”
    â€œIf you don’t, you’re going to have something a lot more painful than your wings pulled off.”
    He gaped and then cupped himself. “You’re a mean, mean man.”
    Jericho had no intention of doing that to him, but he wasn’t about to let the demon know that. “And you’re about to be in pain.”
    â€œFine. I’ll take you. But if O Great Evil One comes around, I’m blaming you immediately. This is not my heat. Not my bad. I won’t own it, not even for a friend. You’re on your own, bud.”
    This time Asmodeus didn’t walk. He touched Jericho’s arm and transported them into a dark, iridescent pit. An unbearable stench permeated the place, as did moans and pleas for final death. Noir would definitely call it homey, but Jericho, in spite of his desire for vengeance, couldn’t call it anything other than hell.
    â€œWhere are we?”
    Asmodeus created a ball of light in his hand so that they could see the ravaged bodies that were chained and bleeding everywhere. “Noir’s happy place. It’s where he brings the beings he wants to play with.”
    â€œPunish.”
    â€œYou say to-may-to, I say to-mah-to. Would you like to see Deimos now?”
    Jericho tried not to commiserate with the poor souls trapped in this dismal place. “That’s why we’re here.”
    Asmodeus pointed behind him. “He’s the fifth victim on the wall. I think. Kind of hard to tell, really. Once they’ve been beaten enough their features start contorting and swelling, then figuring out who’s who is a bitch. But he had blond streaks in his hair when they brought him in. If the blood hasn’t matted it too badly, that might help you find him.”
    Jericho gave him a disgusted look before he started making his way over to the people who were hanging by chains along the wall. Asmodeus was right. He couldn’t tell who they were and that honestly sickened him.
    Enemies or not, these were people. And they had been tortured to the brink of death. Having suffered enough abuse to last out eternity, he hated to see them in the same shape he’d been reduced to on countless occasions.
    As he reached the fifth one, he saw the blond streaks through the dark hair. Deimos hung as if he were dead. His swollen eyes were closed, his head resting against his bruised arm. Black stylized tattoos zigzagged from his forehead down his face to his chin. His clothes were torn and bloody. In between the tears in the fabric, Jericho could see the deep gashes and wounds.
    Noir must have had an excellent time with the Dolophonos who currently bore little resemblance to his twin, Phobos.
    The moment Jericho stopped in front of him, Deimos opened his eyes and lunged at him, ready to fight in spite of his pathetic state.
    Jericho stepped back and almost hit him out of reflex.
    Their gazes met and locked. Deimos’s snarl faded as he recognized him. “Cratus?”
    He inclined his head.
    â€œWhat are you doing here?”