Page 122 of Dark Lover

He’d been dodging CDA for decades. He was sick of it. On the other hand, the agency was a mere fly buzzing about his empire, incapable of doing any real harm. As for Forrester, he’d destroyed his precious artwork all because of his agent, Sam Rose. Hemmer had seen no reason not to tell him the truth—that he’d taken her to Carlisle Cathedral in 1527 and that she had escaped.

As angry as he was, Hemmer always triumphed. He was a man of great, burning ambition.

And that was what separated him from everyone else, demon or not. Carlisle lusted as much for pain and pleasure as he did for power, and that was such a mistake. Power always came first.

Maybe it was because he was human, but pain really didn’t interest him, except as a tool or a weapon. Pain could and usually did provide leverage. He certainly enjoyed pleasure, but that was mundane and fleeting. What did interest him—what obsessed him—was power.

He would do anything for it.

He’d already done everything for it.

His billions simply weren’t enough to buy the power he craved.

Hemmer walked over to the magnificent Courbet landscape. He was the fifteenth wealthiest individual in the world. The sheiks and princes who were wealthier than he were all mixed bloods and demonic. In fact, he was the wealthiest human on the planet—wealthier even than Bill Gates. But it wasn’t enough.

Carlisle was an idiot. Right now he was probably getting off on all the pain he was inflicting on Maclean. He was probably so engrossed that he’d lost sight of the real prize.

Hemmer never lost sight of what he wanted, not even during sex. It was always riding there with him: the need, the ambition.

He removed the painting carefully from the wall and smiled at the inscription glowing on his wall behind it. He’d sold his soul for that stamp of evil. The hieroglyphics, which dated back to the beginning of the world, signified that he no longer owned his soul, and that he was among The Cherished Few. Being Cherished meant that he could hide his evil at will. It meant that he could walk the world in absolute safety, protected from the godly and the gods. It meant that he was Adored by the Great Father. And it also meant that no god could ever enter this domain.

Hemmer ran his hands reverently over the glowing words. He had his billions, and he had all the basic powers certain old gods had meant for the various brotherhoods, which they’d created to fight evil. But he wanted the highest powers now. He carefully hid the fact that he had so many powers, and had achieved even more power and wealth by doing so. He certainly wanted the power of virtual control. He’d lusted for the power for decades and he’d never let Carlisle have it for his own use. Of course, the monk intended to take it for himself and would try to destroy Hemmer to do so. He was not going to succeed.

“Tell me what I must do,” Hemmer said softly. “You know what I intend. I need the power. Give me the means, Greatest Father of the Dark.”

It wasn’t easy summoning Satan. They’d met only once, the day he’d given him his soul in return for earthly power. Hemmer wasn’t even sure he would respond to him again, but he’d meant his every word. He was determined. Besides, he was a deal-maker.

And the Great Father knew that.

Hemmer stroked the inscription again, which was burning hot under his hand. He thought about how he would use the power he intended to get, one way or another. He fantasized about the control he would have over hundreds of millions of people, entrancing himself with the dream of such absolute power. He was vaguely aware of the vault becoming cold and then freezing inside. The wall was now like black ice beneath his hand.

He turned.

A black shadow filled the threshold of the vault. It was twice Hemmer’s size and had neither eyes nor a mouth nor any other feature, but parts of it glowed, like burning embers. His voice was rich and deep.

“I have a soul for you.”

Hemmer started. This wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted the means to get the page of virtual control.

And then he felt Satan smile.

“If you take this soul into your body, you will have so much power, you might not even want the page, Rupert…and you might not even need it.”

Hemmer’s mind raced. Whose black soul was being offered? Hitler’s? Stalin’s?

“It doesn’t matter.” The shadow shifted. It seemed more human in shape and form now. A mouth had emerged in the swirling black-and-red currents of power. “But there are those who will stop at nothing to vanquish you if you take what I am offering.”

Hemmer trembled. If he accepted, there’d be so much power, he might not even want the power of virtual control. He could barely imagine it. His lust for power made him weak in the knees.

“You will have the power of possession,” Satan added, and he laughed.

Only a handful of full demons had ever had that power, and never a human. Hemmer stiffened, barely able to breathe now. “Yes,” he said hoarsely. “Yes.”

Black energy zoomed at him and he tensed. For one moment, it felt as if a sword had cleaved his physical body in two. He gasped.

When he straightened, the shadow that had been on his threshold was gone. The room was warmer now. The inscription on the wall no longer glowed.

Hemmer could feel the incredible powers inside him. Now, he knew he could look at anyone who dared to pass him by and enter that being, possessing it to do as he willed. He slowly smiled and flexed his fingers. He could feel the physical power of death in his body now, too. If he pointed, he could kill.