Where the Devil Don't Go

Sam is known by many names: Samiel, Samyaza...Lucifer. But Sam isn’t the devil. He’s simply a demon, attempting to earn peace by slaughtering the demonic offspring he created.

It’s in slaying one of those offspring that Sam finds Christopher, who’s been enslaved for so long he’s forgotten how to be human. He doesn’t look human, not anymore, not after the barbaric things he’s endured at the hands of his captor. But even then, Christopher never suspected his master was anything but a normal mortal man.

When Sam’s mission puts him in Christopher’s path, Christopher isn’t horrified by the literal demon before him—not even when Sam tells him he has to die. Instead, intrigued by Sam, Christopher offers his body in exchange for his life. An offer Sam finds himself accepting.

Their joining is an abomination. Humans and monsters aren’t meant to mate. But together, they work. Sam feeds on others’ pain, and Christopher needs to hurt to get off. They’re a perfect match made in hell…until Sam is left with only one name between him and the death he’s craved for millennia. Now, he has a decision to make. Stay and start a war…

Or finish what he started and leave Christopher alone in a world that’s forgotten him.

Warning: This book contains reference of past physical and sexual trauma and prolonged past psychological trauma of a main character. The main character also grapples with crippling anxiety and suicidal ideations.

Christopher hated his cage the most. It was big enough for him to stand, but not wide enough for him to raise his arms or turn around. He wasn’t meant to be comfortable. Master said he didn’t deserve comfort. Master said he didn’t deserve anything but misery and suffering. He should be grateful Master kept him at all. 

Christopher endured the punishments. Once upon a time, he’d even enjoyed them, craved them. But that was back when he’d believed in fairy tale love, the kind of dark tales where chaining a person to a wall didn’t necessarily mean they were enemies. 

That was long ago—back when Master was still convincing him that not only did love exist but that Christopher had somehow lucked into finding his dark prince at barely sixteen, far too young to see every red flag waving in his face. 

He sighed, shifting uncomfortably behind the bars before resting his head against the wall, attempting to ignore the seething jealousy coursing through him. 

Master lay on the enormous family-size bed in his penthouse apartment in the city. He wasn’t alone. Outside, beyond the floor to ceiling windows, the lights of the skyline twinkled, looking brighter than any stars overhead, but Christopher could only watch his Master. He hated him—he could say that without any hesitation—but there was this cord, this bond that tied Christopher to him, and it went far beyond anything as frivolous as love. Obsession. Compulsion. Insanity, maybe? But definitely not love. 

Christopher needed Master. Not just for food and shelter, but to breathe. He didn’t know how or why, could never explain it to anybody without sounding as pathetic as he felt, but he was…beholden to him. No matter the level of abuse or degradation. No matter how many years Master spent carving away at who Christopher was. 

Disgust and loathing slithered inside him as he tried not to look at the bed. At Master. Some barely legal twink rode him enthusiastically, seemingly finding Christopher’s presence a turn-on more than a deterrent. Christopher had once found it exciting, too. Being watched. Being shared. Back when he thought it was his choice. Now, he knew better. There was no choice. There was only Master. 

He wanted to sleep. His eyes burned and his brain felt like it was stuffed with cotton. Sleep wasn’t an option. If Master had put him in the box under the bed, he could have possibly drifted away, drowning out the sound of the boy’s moaning. It was dark and though there was no cushion, he didn’t feel the pressure to keep himself awake like he did in the cage. 

There was no protection in the cage. Plenty of room between the iron bars for knives or nails or fists. It wasn’t smart to let his guard down with Master so close. Hypervigilance sort of came with the territory after eight years of captivity. 

Christopher let his head loll toward the window, frowning as a blur of movement caught his attention on the balcony, almost as if something had fallen. Had he reached a level of exhaustion where he was now hallucinating? It wouldn’t have been the first time. 

Christopher’s eyes went wide, his breath leaving him in a forced exhale as the glass doors leading outside exploded inward, the walls surrounding it spider-webbing with a sound that made Christopher’s whole body numb and his tongue stick to the roof of his mouth. 

Then a man was standing there, inside Master’s bedroom, looking incongruously normal as the tempered glass wall behind him began to drop dramatically to the marble floor like tiny diamonds. 

Christopher wasn’t the only one startled. Master threw the boy off him, bolting to his feet, seemingly unbothered by his nudity. “Who the fuck are you?” he snarled. 

That was a great question. Christopher leaned forward against his will. The man was striking, though not in the flashy heroin chic rockstar way Master was. He preferred leather pants and expensive designer labels. The intruder’s clothing, however, looked expensive, but understated, like any other wall street trader or overpriced attorney one might see on the street. 

Christopher couldn’t stop looking at the man. He wore a perfectly tailored gray suit that hugged his broad shoulders and trim waist. He had perfectly quaffed chestnut hair that pushed off his face, exposing strong brows, full lips, and a square jaw with a dimple in his chin. He looked like he’d left a board meeting to make this grand sweeping entrance into the bedroom. Except, that bedroom was on the fifteenth floor. 

So, where the fuck had he come from? 

The man sneered at Master, who looked at the boy who’d shared his bed moments ago. The boy darted forward as if to defend Master, but the moment he touched the man in the fancy suit, he dropped like a stone at his feet, smoke erupting from his ears and nostrils as if he’d burned from the inside out. Christopher gasped, drawing the stranger’s attention. 

He tilted his head, frowning as he looked at Christopher naked and caged, and he felt it in his core like a caress. They stared at each other for a long moment, as if sizing each other up, before the man seemed to dismiss him. He imagined he didn’t look very threatening. 

“You’ll pay for that,” Master swore, glaring at the boy on the ground like an expensive broken vase, which had disappointed him by not protecting itself better. The stranger’s outward appearance morphed, leaving what could only be described as a demon in its place. A demon. A fucking demon. The kind Christopher had only read about in books. But there was no other word for what was standing there before him in that upscale Manhattan apartment. 

While the stranger who’d arrived was six foot two at best in his human suit, this demonic entity was easily seven feet tall, with red leathery skin, huge black wings, a long tail, and eyes that burned orange like fire in the dim light. He was also very naked and very well endowed…by human standards anyway. 

Christopher swallowed the sudden lump in his throat, unsure what to make of this overwhelming creature who’d sprung from the body of a mortal man. Maybe he was high. Or sleeping. Maybe he’d died and this was Hell. But if it was Hell, shouldn’t he be more afraid? The current emotion coursing through him certainly wasn’t fear. 

This stranger wasn’t the only one who seemed to suddenly transform. Master dropped to his knees, his tone sniveling. “Forgive me, my liege. I didn’t recognize you.” 

“Forgive you?” the demon asked, his voice dry and rough as sandpaper. “I’ve searched for you for over a decade while you’ve squatted here, enslaving humans, living amongst them like you have the right? Forgive you? You’re lucky I didn’t liquify your insides on the spot.” 

Master’s gaze dared to dart upward, the sound leaving his lips barely more than a whimper as the creature gave a low rumbling growl that went straight to Christopher’s cock. Maybe it was seeing Master brought to his knees after years of abuse or maybe Christopher had a weird monster fetish he’d never realized until just that moment, but either way, he pressed himself closer to the bars, the cold metal a balm to his suddenly overheated skin. 

“My lord, surely you understand… You were trying to kill me. It was self-preservation.” 

The monster gave a hissing laugh. “You’re an abomination. You were never meant to exist. Now, all you’ve done is piss me off and prolonged the inevitable. You’re lucky I don’t find torture and suffering as addictive as my brother. I’ll make it a quick death.” 

Master’s head snapped up, for once looking truly terrified. “Surely, I can offer you something? There must be others you can take first? The list of your…abominations is long, no? Surely, it would take you another decade at least to collect them all. My boy… Take him? He looks a bit…ugly, but I assure you, he’s an impeccable slave. Docile, subservient. I’ve made him the perfect whore. Take him. You can have him. Just let me be the last on your list.” 

They both turned to look at Christopher, who refused to cower under their gaze. He was the perfect whore, but he didn’t think Master deserved the credit for that. Christopher had dreamed of serving since he was old enough to know sexual submission was a thing that existed outside of erotica novels. 

“You think to offer me a human? What did you do to it?” the monster rumbled. 

“What? The scarring? He likes it. You can even make him beg for it. He needs it. I’ve seen to that. I assure you, he’s well trained. You can do anything to him and he’ll still moan like a little slut. I promise. Sometimes, he cries, but more often than not, he begs for more.” This wasn’t the first time Christopher had been forced to listen to Master list off his qualifications like he was nothing more than livestock, but, somehow, it was more shameful in front of this…whatever he was. 

Christopher used to love being Master’s submissive, or at least the idea of it. But Master had made him almost unrecognizable through years of torture and abuse, both physically and spiritually. Still, when the demon looked at Christopher, he turned his good side towards him, still wanting this monster to think him beautiful. 

The creature moved faster than Christopher’s eyes could even register. Master was kneeling at his feet and then dangling from his clawed fist, feet jerking as he fought for purchase, his skin turning red, then purple, as spit flew from his lips. Christopher found he could no longer breathe either. He clawed at his own throat, falling back against the wall. What the fuck?

The creature growled. “You’re an incubus. He’s tied to you. Look at him! Even now, he fights to take in a breath simply by the strength of your hold over him. I don’t get what Father sees in these creatures, but you knew the rules, even here on Earth, and you chose to spend your time enslaving humans, mating with them, bending them to your will.” 

Master scrabbled at the creature’s wrist ineffectually. “I only did what you created me to do. I only exist because of you. Please—” 

Whatever he was about to say died as the creature punched through Master’s chest and ripped his heart from his body. Christopher screamed at the burning pain that shot through his own chest, unable to stop from glancing down, expecting to see a fist-sized hole there as well. 

But the pain was fleeting. The moment Master—Vincent’s—heart stopped, it was as if a veil had fallen from Christopher’s eyes. The constant desperation to be near him, to please him, was just…gone, like a cord had been severed. Had all of this truly been against his will? Had he enslaved himself to a monster in a human suit? He blinked, feeling like he was waking up from an eight year nightmare.

Before he could fall too deeply into his existential crisis, the creature turned his attention to Christopher. He could only watch as he prowled closer, stopping when there was nothing between them but the bars of the cage. He peered downward, inhaling deeply like he could smell him. “You weren’t meant to see any of that,” he rumbled. 

Christopher swallowed hard, giving a stilted nod. “But I did.” 

The creature gave a world-weary sigh. “Yes, you did.” 

“Are you going to kill me?” Christopher heard himself ask, his heartbeat only now starting to gallop in his chest once more. 

“I’m afraid I must.” Christopher could feel tears filling his eyes. “Human tears don’t move me,” the monster assured him.

“That makes sense, I guess,” Christopher said, resignation heavy in his words. “Can I, at least, ask a question first?” 

The monster’s response was a hissing chuckle, like steam escaping a pipe. “Are you going to ask me what I am? Because there’s truly no simple answer to that. Fallen angel, demon, killer of monsters.” 

“I was just going to ask your name,” Christopher said with a watery laugh. “But that is a cool bio. Like a video game character.” 

The creature grinned, revealing rows of sharp teeth. “I have many names. You might know me as Lucifer, Satan, the Morningstar, the light-bearer, God’s chosen one…but most people call me Samyaza.”

The snort of laughter that escaped from Christopher was beyond his control. He pressed his fist to his mouth until his teeth left indentations, but still he couldn’t stop the laughter spilling from his lips. After spending years as an apparently unwilling sex slave to a monster who’d carved him up like a Thanksgiving turkey, he was about to be slaughtered by a demon named…Sam. Fucking Sam. 

Sam tilted his head, once more looking at Christopher like one might examine a newly discovered species. “Are you having a psychotic break, human?”

Christopher could only laugh harder, the bars of his cage digging into his back. Was he? He was laughing in a demon’s face but he was crying, too, scalding tears trailing over his cheeks as he pondered his life ending just as he got it back. “Possibly. Before you kill me can you at least let me out of this cage?”

Once more, Sam frowned. “I would think you’d prefer the barrier. I am a monster.”

“Will this cage save me from my fate?” Christopher asked. 

Sam scoffed. “Of course not.”

Christopher wiped at his face. “Then I’d prefer not to die in here.”

Sam the demon gripped the cage’s door, ripping it from its hinges and tossing it to the floor with no effort before turning and retreating a few paces to let Christopher exit. Once he was free, Christopher swept past Sam and walked to the hook where a black silk robe hung, slipping it on and tying it. 

“I don’t really want to die naked,” he explained without being asked. “Being found with these two will be embarrassing enough. I wish I smoked,” he added, almost as an afterthought. “This seems like a cigarette kind of moment.”

Sam frowned, stalking closer. “I can’t figure out if you’re brave or traumatized. I’ve never seen anybody meet their death with such a level of calm.”

“Haven’t you heard? My generation can’t wait to die. Blame it on our nihilistic Gen-X parents.” 

It was meant to be a joke, but the moment the words left his lips, he longed to take them back. He really didn’t want to fucking die in this penthouse with that fucking piece of shit Vincent or the poor dummy who’d died trying to save him. He wanted his eight years back. 

“What if I told you I’m willing to honor Vincent’s trade?” he asked. 

“Pardon?’ 

“I know I’m not much to look at anymore thanks to him”—he paused to glare at Vincent and the gaping hole in his chest—“but he wasn’t wrong. I’m well trained. An excellent submissive. I do…like pain. Not so much with the disfigurement though if you could do without it. But I could handle it too…if that was your thing. I’ve never been with a demon before”—he once more glanced down at his former master— “or I guess I have, but he didn’t look like you.” He licked his lips, looking at Sam’s thick, uncut cock. “With enough prep, I’m sure we could make it work.” I hope.

Sam gaped at him. “You—are you saying you’d let me breed you in this form?” 

Christopher bit his lower lip, letting it drag between his teeth before he shrugged, gazing up at Sam from beneath thick, black lashes. “I mean, I kinda preferred you in the suit and tie, but I’m not going to lie, I think I kind of dig the horns and the wings. The claws are a little terrifying when I think of all my soft bits, but you can’t make me any uglier than Vincent already has.” 

“No amount of scarring could make you ugly, pet.” 

The softness in the demon’s words made Christopher feel like he had fishhooks in his lungs, and the odd term of endearment—pet—made the blood rush to his dick. “I could be your pet, your boy. I hated calling him master. He didn’t deserve it. But maybe something else for you… Sir? Daddy?”

A soft snarl escaped from Sam’s lips and Christopher couldn’t help but take advantage, stepping closer to run his hands along Sam’s chest. It didn’t feel like human skin, but it was smooth over the bulk of his muscles, velvet over steel. “Daddy?” he tried again. “Do you like it when I call you that?”

This time, it wasn’t a growl but more a frustrated rumble. “This is madness. I have no use for a human. You are strange, silly, frivolous creatures. I have a job to do. But… But I won’t kill you.”

Christopher should have felt relief at his words, but disappointment flooded his system, soaking his words as he scoffed. “Look at me. Look what he’s done to me. What kind of life can I have with half of my face mutilated? If you don’t want me, you might as well kill me.” 

In the time it took Christopher to blink, Sam was in his human form once more, back in his gray suit. Fuck, that was cool. When Sam stepped forward, butterflies took flight in Christopher’s stomach. When he cupped his face, his cock throbbed. How long had it been since somebody had touched him in kindness? Had they ever?

A strange warmth seemed to pulse from Sam’s hands, and when he dropped them to Christopher’s shoulders and turned him toward the full length mirror leaned against the wall, his mouth fell open. His pale skin was no longer marred by raised red lines. There was no thick scar running from the corner of his mouth to his brow. His eyelid no longer drooped from where Vincent had severed the nerve. 

Christopher stumbled closer to the mirror. It was him but…not. His long dark hair still curled down to his shoulders, but his pale skin looked pink and healthy, the dark circles under his eyes had disappeared, his lips were cherry red, and his pale blue eyes seemed lit from within. He turned back to Sam. “What did you do to me?” 

“I healed you. Nothing more. You have the face of an angel. Believe me, I’d know. There’s nothing you couldn’t have looking the way you do. Humans are such simple creatures. Especially human men. You can have anything you want from them, if you only ask.”

Christopher met Sam’s gaze, noting his eyes were a rich jade green with threads of gold. “What if I don’t want that?” 

“Want what? To live?” 

“What if I don’t want some simple human man?” Christopher asked. 

Sam shook his head. “What are you asking?”

Christopher smiled. “I guess you could say I’m a human standing in front of a demon, begging him to let me call him Daddy.” 

The movie reference was clearly lost on Sam, but he studied him with such intensity it felt like he was examining his insides. Finally, he shook his head, seeming both confused and exasperated. “Put some clothes on. You can’t go anywhere dressed like that.” 

Christopher’s heart soared in his chest as he rushed to comply. He pulled on the first pair of jeans he found and a soft oversized silver sweater. “You realize they’re probably going to think I murdered them, right?” he said, tone conversational.

Sam snapped his fingers. “You can’t murder anybody if you’re dead.”

Christopher froze. Was that a threat? Was Sam just toying with him? Had he intended to kill him this whole time? Sam smirked, pointing to the bodies on the floor. Christopher sucked in a breath at the sight of his face on the dead twink’s body. He jerked his head back before the mirror, lip curling as he realized he wore the dead boy’s face. 

Sam chuckled. “Relax, pet. It’s simply a glamor. It will be gone as soon as we are. Let’s go.”