Binding Fire: Paranormal Romance (Bad Boys of the Underworld Book 3) by Mallory Crowe Read Free Book Online Page A

his face. “Shhh now. It’s all over.”
    The man bent over his folded legs and continued to sob.
    Azazel curled his lip in disgust. Really, what male ever allowed himself to get in this state?
    “Why—why did you have to kill her?” he stuttered out between sobs.
    Trying to regain the man’s focus, Azazel moved so his body would block the sight of the dead woman lying in the corner of the room.
    “Jackson, focus. Your wife didn’t care about you. She sold you out, remember? She tried to get you locked away.” Not completely true, but she had called her psychiatrist to ask advice for a hallucination-suffering husband.
    It was just good luck that a demon had been sucking the soul out of the doctor’s next patient on the other side of the door. Well, good luck for Azazel. Not so much for the prophet and his dearly departed wife.
    “Samantha!” he cried with glazed-over eyes.
    Azazel gripped the bottom of Jackson’s jaw. Long and claw-tipped nails bit sharply into the skin, and he turned the prophet’s face to look him straight in the eyes. Jackson’s eyes widened in fear, truly seeing Azazel for the first time.
    From far away, his short stature kept him from appearing too intimidating, but up close there was no denying his power. His chest and shoulders rippled with muscles that rivaled Arnold’s during the height of his bodybuilding career.
    He had a broad forehead with a wide and flat nose, making him look closer to Neanderthal than homo sapiens. When he spoke again, he revealed long white fangs that caused Jackson to shudder in revulsion.
    “You are afraid. I understand. You should be afraid of me. All you have to do is tell me what you saw in your vision last week. It was me in the vision?”
    Jackson nodded a shuddering head. Azazel rolled his eyes. If he’d known that the woman’s death would put his prophet in such a state, he would have waited to kill her.
    She hadn’t given him much of a choice. Her incessant screaming and crying when Azazel and his two young demon guards transported into her living room had been enough to wake even the soundest sleepers within ten miles. He had even asked her to be quiet before he snapped her neck. He hadn’t asked nicely, but the king of Hell could only be expected to show so much patience.
    A sound drew Azazel’s attention. Someone else in the house was crying. An infant.
    Azazel smiled at his changing luck. Finally he had some leverage again.
    He dropped the nice guy act. His gentle smile slowly turned to one that dripped malice. “You see my guards over there? If you don’t start talking, they are going to make sure your brat never makes a noise ever again.”
    “Please let me go,” he begged.
    Azazel grabbed the prophet’s wrist and squeezed until the bones beneath his fingers turned to mush under the power of his grasp. Samantha’s screams paled in comparison to the cries of agony that emanated from her husband.
    “Did I give the impression that I’m patient? I assure you that this is the last time I’m asking. What did you see?”
    Azazel released his grip and Jackson cradled the now useless hand to his chest. Strangely enough, the intense pain seemed to finally get him to stop crying like a child. “I saw a woman. She walked through an alien-looking forest. The skies were dark purple and there was lots of wind and debris blowing around her. She was running. Trying to evade someone, but she doesn’t look scared. She looks pissed off. She finds a large and ornate building and walks in and sees you surrounded by people. The vision goes black for a second and then I see you dead at her feet.”
    Azazel analyzed the words, committing them to memory. “How dead am I?”
    “Your heart is in her hand.” Hatred shot from Jackson’s eyes.
    “That might be what you saw, but prophets get more than just visions. What did you feel?” There had to be some sort of useful information hidden in the prophecy.
    The child’s cries filled the room again. The