To Hell and Back (Dante Valentine, Book 5)
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
The pulse-pounding finale to Lilith Saintcrow's urban fantasy series featuring Dante Valentine.
Dante Valentine has been through Hell. Literally. Her body shattered and her mind not far behind, she's dumped back into her own world to survive--or not--as a pawn in one of Lucifer's endless games.
Unfortunately, he's just messed with the wrong Necromance. And this time she's mad enough to do something about it.
This time, the Devil will pay.
Working for the Devil
Dead Man Rising
Devil's Right Hand
Saint City Sinners
To Hell and Back
Dante Valentine (omnibus)
Trailer Park Fae
The Iron Wyrm Affair
The Red Plague Affair
The Ripper Affair
The Damnation Affair (e-only)
Jill Kismet (omnibus)
The Hedgewitch Queen
The Bandit King
Maybe. If Japh really was on my side. Oh, gods above, Danny, don’t start doubting him again. “We have an appointment to keep.” His shoulders straightened as he stepped away from me. “Come.” I shivered, a reflexive movement. Any other time, I would have flinched under the plasgun charge of Power and cold fury in Japhrimel’s voice. “Japhrimel.” He paused, his coat coming to rest with a slight betraying flutter. “Where are we going?” Don’t just order me around, dammit. I’ve had all I can take
of choking dust. His shape changed, like ink on wet paper, and horns lifted searing-black from his forehead, curling back around his ears. He was even more squat now, corded with muscle, his legs sprouting fur and ending in massive hooves that cracked the stone steps as he leapt back to avoid whatever Japh had thrown. It was a smear of hurtful golden brilliance, rolling like an apple, with odd bounces as it leapt up the stairs in merry defiance of physics. Only Velokel’s eyes were the same,
breath. He snapped a quick glance down into the hovertraffic. “Do you trust me?” What? “What?” I looked over my shoulder. The street seemed clear, but the shadows warped in a way I suddenly didn’t like. As I looked, one of the shadows developed legs and skittered out into the hot sun, sending up a high piercing cry. “Do you trust me?” McKinley repeated. He still held a knife, the blade reversed along his right forearm, his metallic left hand limned with pale violet. I had no time to lie. “No.”
and hard, breaking me open. I wept against his chest, his skin against mine again, as he kissed every part of me he could and cracked his voice saying, over and over again in a language that I for once needed no translation for, that I was safe. That he had plucked me from the sky, because not even Death would take me from him. 33 I lay on my side, in a bath of delicious heat and softness. It was like sleeping on clouds, and the heat burrowed into me, all the way out through my fingers and
his, and the same essentially human darkness lay under the green fire of his irises. “Let go.” I didn’t recognize my own voice, low and flat, with the terrible weight of fury behind it. “Let go now.” “No.” He didn’t even bother to dress up the refusal, his fingers clamping home. Leather creaked, the rig responding to pressure. I tried shifting and sliding away, struggled until sweat broke out along the curve of my lower back, pressed into the metal hull. My hair fell in my eyes. “You do not