The Serpent Prince's Healer E-Book

Amber Jenkins

• Herausgeber: Publishdrive
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

Ripped from the sterile fluorescent hum of a supernatural ER, Dr. Evelyn Reed finds herself in the sulfurous depths of Hell, summoned to treat Prince Damien, heir to the infernal throne.  His affliction? A mysterious decay of the soul, defying Hell's arcane healers.  Damien, a smoldering enigma of dark energy and sharp sarcasm, expects ancient rituals, not blood tests and sterile instruments.  Their clash of science and sorcery ignites an unexpected spark, a grudging respect evolving into a dangerous attraction as potent as the hellfire surrounding them.
Navigating a court of whispers and shadows, Evelyn uncovers a conspiracy far deeper than a simple power grab.  Damien's cousin, Jessica, vying for the throne, watches with venomous suspicion, while the court’s enigmatic apothecary, Timothy Woods, offers cryptic guidance.  But hidden agendas simmer beneath the surface, turning whispers into sabotage and Evelyn into a pawn in a deadly game.  As her remedies are tainted and her equipment malfunctions, Evelyn must not only unravel the source of Damien's illness but also fight for her own survival.
Amidst the political machinations and escalating threats, Evelyn and Damien's forced alliance transforms.  Late-night conversations evolve into vulnerable confessions, their shared passion for knowledge blossoming into a forbidden love as intoxicating as it is perilous.  But Jessica's schemes grow bolder, framing Evelyn and turning the court against her.  With time running out, Evelyn and Damien must expose the true mastermind behind the curse before it claims them both.
Deep within the infernal palace, a hidden chamber reveals ancient texts and a shocking truth, entwining Timothy, a forgotten deity, and a ritualistic curse designed to shatter the royal lineage.  The climax erupts in a chaotic confrontation, dark magic unleashed, threatening to consume Hell itself.  Armed with her medical knowledge and fueled by a desperate love, Evelyn realizes the curse feeds on negativity.  Her radical plan—a fusion of science and demonic lore—requires Damien to embrace his vulnerability, not as weakness, but as a source of power.
Damien, empowered by Evelyn’s unwavering belief, channels his dark energy, not to attack, but to heal.  The curse reverses, Timothy’s ambitions consumed by the very power he sought to control.  But victory comes at a cost.  The portal to Earth seals, a sacrifice for Hell’s fragile peace.  Evelyn chooses to remain in the darkness, her forbidden love a beacon of hope in the infernal court.  Their future uncertain, their love story, born amidst chaos and betrayal, becomes a testament to the healing power of love, the complexities of good and evil, and the enduring strength of the human spirit in the face of eternal night.

Leseprobe

The Serpent Prince's Healer: A Hellfire Romance

Prologue

Chapter 1: The Obsidian Court

Chapter 2: The Anima Gardens The Price of Power

Chapter 3: Evelyn's Resolve

Chapter 4: Damien's Shadow

Chapter 5: The Saboteur

Chapter 6: The Price of Trust

Chapter 7: Jessica's Gambit

Chapter 8: Midnight Confessions

Chapter 9: The Obsidian Heart

Chapter 10: Whispers of Treachery

Chapter 11: The Healer's Gambit

Chapter 12: A Moment of Peace

Chapter 13: The Serpent's Shadow

Chapter 14: The Price of Knowledge

Chapter 15: The Heart of the Matter

Chapter 16: The Reckoning

Chapter 17: The Siege of Dis

Chapter 18: Into the Heart of Darkness

Chapter 19: The Sorcerer's Reckoning

Chapter 20: A New Dawn

Chapter 21: Coronation and Choices

Chapter 22: The Portals Promise

Chapter 23: A Sacrifice for Love

Epilogue

Disclaimer and Acknowledgment

Prologue

The rhythmic beep of the heart monitor pulsed in the controlled chaos, a steady counterpoint to the frantic energy of the ER. The air, pungent with antiseptic and the metallic tang of blood, vibrated with the hushed urgency of Friday night. Dr. Evelyn Reed, hazel eyes focused, moved with the practiced fluidity of a conductor orchestrating a symphony of life and death. Before her lay a trauma case, a gunshot wound to the abdomen painting the sterile sheet crimson. Another Friday night. Just another shift.

Then, the world twisted.

Not with a roar or a cataclysmic crash, but with a silent, unsettling rip in the fabric of reality. A fissure of polished obsidian, edged with pulsating violet light, split the sterile white wall of Trauma One. The air, moments before thick with the familiar scent of disinfectant, now carried a chilling whisper of sulfur, a phantom breath of something ancient and profoundly wrong.

Before Evelyn could process the impossible, before a scream could claw its way from her throat, figures emerged from the obsidian void. Tall and imposing, their armor seemed to swallow the fluorescent light, their movements unnervingly fluid, their eyes burning with an alien intensity that defied human comprehension. Demonic.

One moment, Evelyn’s gloved hands hovered over the trauma patient, adrenaline sharpening her focus; the next, she was yanked backward, the sterile scent of the ER clinging to her scrubs as the reek of brimstone seared her lungs. A guttural growl, a sound that resonated deep within her bones, echoed from the fissure, swallowing her strangled cry as the world she knew vanished behind a closing curtain of impenetrable black.

Disorientation slammed into Evelyn, a physical blow that stole her breath. The sterile hum of the ER was gone, replaced by a low, resonant thrumming that vibrated through the very floor beneath her. The pulsating violet light, once a thin border around the obsidian tear, now dominated her vision, casting long, distorted shadows across a vast, cavernous space. The air, thick with the cloying sweetness of decay and a metallic tang that reminded her of old blood, pressed against her lungs, making each breath a struggle.

She was in a hall of immense proportions, the walls carved from obsidian that shimmered with an internal light, like captured starlight within the heart of a dying sun. Intricate bas-reliefs adorned the surfaces, depicting scenes of creation and destruction, their details unsettlingly vivid. Twisted figures, half-human, half-beast, writhed in what seemed to be both agony and ecstasy, their frozen expressions capturing an eternity of suffering and perverse delight.

The demonic guards, their armor now reflecting the violet light in fractured patterns, held her in a grip that was firm but not overtly brutal. Their faces, once obscured by the shadows, were now visible – sharp, angular features, skin the color of polished night, eyes burning with an unnerving intensity. They were not mindless brutes, Evelyn realized with a jolt, but intelligent beings, their gazes sharp and assessing.

A figure detached itself from the shadows at the far end of the hall, moving with an unsettling grace that belied the oppressive atmosphere. He was tall, his obsidian skin gleaming in the pulsating light, his dark eyes fixed on Evelyn with an expression of amused disdain. He wore flowing robes of midnight blue, embroidered with silver thread that shimmered like liquid moonlight. An aura of power, tinged with a palpable weariness, radiated from him, making the air around him crackle with an unseen energy.

“Welcome to Infernus, Doctor,” he purred, his voice a silken rasp that sent a shiver down Evelyn’s spine. “I trust the journey wasn’t too… disruptive?”

Evelyn, her mind still reeling from the abrupt transition, struggled to find her voice. Her medical training, years of dealing with trauma and crisis, kicked in, forcing her to compartmentalize the impossible and focus on the immediate threat. She straightened, her gaze meeting his, her voice, though shaky, surprisingly firm.

“Where am I? And who are you?”

He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that echoed through the hall. “Direct, I see. A refreshing change from the usual groveling. I am Damien, heir to the Infernal Throne. As for your location, Doctor… you are in Hell.” He gestured towards the obsidian walls, a sardonic smile playing on his lips. “Disappointed? No fire and brimstone? I assure you, we have our own unique charms.”

Evelyn, resisting the urge to point out the obvious sulfurous aroma, took a deep breath, forcing herself to remain calm. “And why, exactly, am I here? I was in the middle of treating a patient.”

Damien’s smile widened, revealing teeth that were just a little too sharp, a little too long. “Your patient, Doctor, will unfortunately have to wait. My father, the King, requires your… expertise.”

“Expertise?” Evelyn’s voice dripped with incredulity. “I’m a trauma surgeon. I deal with gunshot wounds and car accidents, not… whatever this is.” She gestured vaguely at the unsettling surroundings.

“Precisely,” Damien replied, his amusement intensifying. “Our own healers, skilled as they are in the arts of Arcana, have proven… ineffective. We are hoping your… human methods might offer a different perspective.”

“On what? Soul rot?” Evelyn’s medical mind struggled to reconcile the fantastical with the physiological. She wanted to laugh, to dismiss this as some elaborate hallucination brought on by stress and exhaustion. But the chilling air, the oppressive atmosphere, the unnervingly intelligent gazes of the demonic guards – none of it felt like a dream.

“An apt description, Doctor,” Damien said, his amusement fading slightly. “My anima, the very essence of my being, is… decaying. And your reputation, it seems, has reached even the deepest corners of Hell. They say you can mend anything. We shall see.”

He turned, gesturing for her to follow. The demonic guards, their grip loosening slightly, propelled her forward, their silent presence a constant reminder of her captivity. As Evelyn walked, the obsidian floor cold beneath her worn sneakers, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d stepped not just into another world, but into a nightmare from which there might be no waking. The rhythmic beep of the heart monitor, the sterile scent of the ER, seemed a lifetime away, replaced by the pulsating violet light and the cloying stench of decay. Her medical kit, clutched tightly in her hand, felt strangely out of place, a symbol of a world she might never see again. She was in Hell, tasked with healing a demon prince. And as she followed Damien into the heart of darkness, a chilling certainty settled upon her: her life, as she knew it, was over.

Chapter 1: The Obsidian Court

The guards' grip on Evelyn’s arms was unyielding, their unnatural stillness contrasting with the faint, rhythmic cadence of her breath. She stumbled once, her sneakers sliding awkwardly on the floor beneath her—a surface that gleamed like liquid night, reflecting the distorted figures of her captors and the towering architecture around them. The air was dense with a cloying sweetness that clawed at her throat, underscored by a faint acridness that brought to mind the sterile tang of ozone after an electrical storm. Every step forward felt like a step deeper into some incomprehensible abyss. The hallway stretched endlessly, its proportions defying logic, the walls lined with panels of dark, glassy stone etched with intricate reliefs that seemed to shift and writhe when viewed from the corner of her eye.

She clenched her medical kit tighter, its familiar weight grounding her against the surreal. Her fingers, trembling but steadying with each passing moment, brushed over its surface, the cool metal a small tether to reason. The guards flanking her betrayed no emotion, their faces sharp and impassive, their angular silhouettes moving with an eerie synchronicity. She forced her gaze ahead, refusing to let herself be consumed by the oppressive enormity of the space. This was no time for panic. She had been brought here for a reason, and if the last few minutes—or hours, she couldn’t be certain—had taught her anything, it was that fear would only make her weaker.

Ahead, the corridor opened into a cavernous chamber, the transition marked by a sudden, almost imperceptible change in the atmosphere. It was as though the very air thickened, pressing against her skin and lungs, a suffocating reminder that she did not belong here. The room before her was vast, the ceiling soaring into an unseen void, its height obscured by an ambient glow that seemed to emanate from nowhere and everywhere at once. This light was unlike the clinical fluorescents of her hospital or the sunlight she was accustomed to; it shimmered and shifted, casting hues of deep amethyst and indigo across the polished floor.

Evelyn’s steps faltered as her gaze was drawn to the far end of the chamber. There, upon a raised dais of jagged volcanic glass, sat a throne carved with an almost grotesque elegance. Crimson veins pulsed faintly across its surface, their glow rhythmic, like the faint beat of an ancient, dying heart. Seated on the throne was a figure whose presence dominated the room, not through physical size but through a palpable weight that seemed to radiate from his very being. King Azazel.

His appearance struck Evelyn with an unsettling mix of reverence and dread. His form, though humanoid, was shrouded in an aura of decay and power. Skin like charred stone was etched with fissures that glowed faintly, as if embers still smoldered beneath. His eyes, sunken and shadowed, held a light that flickered weakly but refused to extinguish entirely. The way he sat—rigid, his hands gripping the armrests as though they were the only things anchoring him—spoke of both immense strength and an equally immense fragility.

Around him, the court had gathered. Demonic figures of varying shapes and sizes formed a semi-circle, their attire as elaborate as the room itself, woven from materials that shimmered with iridescent hues or absorbed light entirely. The sheer variety of their forms—some humanoid, others distinctly not—made Evelyn feel like an intruder in a tableau of nightmares. Every pair of eyes—or equivalent sensory organs—was fixed on her.

The guards released her without warning, and she stumbled forward, catching herself just before falling to her knees. The sound of her sneakers squeaking against the polished floor echoed sharply, drawing a ripple of murmurs from the assembled court. She straightened, adjusting her grip on the medical kit, and forced herself to meet the gaze of the figure on the throne.

“You bring before us... this?” Azazel’s voice was a rasp, dry and brittle, yet it carried effortlessly through the chamber, each word reverberating as if the air itself bent to his will. His tone was one of disdain, though it was laced with something else—curiosity, perhaps, or desperation.

Damien stepped forward from the shadows, his presence as striking and deliberate as ever. The faint shimmer of his obsidian-like skin caught the ambient light, refracting it into fleeting patterns that danced across his features. He moved with an easy grace, his dark robes trailing behind him like liquid smoke.

“She is more than she appears,” Damien said, his voice smooth, measured. He gestured toward Evelyn with a languid motion, his eyes never leaving his father. “A healer. A doctor. One whose methods are... unconventional.”

Jessica’s voice cut through the air like a blade, sharp and dripping with contempt. “Unconventional?” She stepped forward, her crimson hair catching the light in a way that seemed almost deliberate. “You mean primitive. Look at her—this is the savior you’ve chosen? A mortal dragging her toys through our court like a child playing at alchemy?”

Evelyn bristled at the insult but bit her tongue, taking a steadying breath. She couldn’t afford to lose control, not here. Instead, she let her gaze sweep across the room, meeting Jessica’s with a calm defiance. “If you have questions about my qualifications, I’d be happy to explain. Though I doubt you’d understand half of what I’d say.”

Jessica’s eyes narrowed, her lips curling into a sneer. “Arrogant, too. How charming.”

“Enough,” Azazel rasped, raising a skeletal hand. The court fell silent instantly, the weight of his authority palpable. His gaze shifted back to Evelyn, scrutinizing her with an intensity that made her skin crawl. “You claim to be a healer. Yet you stand here, in my court, unbidden and unproven. Why should I not cast you into the abyss for your trespass?”

Evelyn swallowed hard, her mind racing for the right words. “I didn’t ask to come here,” she said, her voice steady despite the tremor in her chest. “Your son—your guards—dragged me through that... portal. I was in the middle of saving a life when I was taken. If you want to accuse someone of trespass, perhaps start with them.”

The court erupted in murmurs, a cacophony of whispers and growls that filled the chamber. Azazel’s expression darkened, but before he could speak, Damien interjected.

“She’s right,” he said, his tone betraying a hint of amusement. “I brought her here, Father. Because our own healers have failed. I thought it prudent to seek... outside expertise.”

Jessica scoffed. “Expertise? This human knows nothing of our ways, our physiology. She is a liability, not a solution.”

“And yet,” Damien countered, his gaze snapping to her, “our ways have done nothing to halt my decline. Or would you prefer I waste away entirely, cousin?”

Jessica’s jaw tightened, but she said nothing, her silence speaking volumes.

Azazel leaned forward slightly, his glowing eyes narrowing. “If what my son says is true, then you will have the chance to prove yourself, human. But know this: failure will not be tolerated.”

Evelyn met his gaze, refusing to look away despite the chill that ran down her spine. “Understood,” she said simply.

Azazel gestured toward Damien. “Then begin.”

Damien turned, his gaze meeting hers with an intensity that was both challenging and expectant. “Shall we, Doctor?” he said, gesturing toward a side chamber.

Evelyn nodded, her grip tightening on her medical kit. She followed him, her footsteps echoing in the sudden hush of the court. As they entered the smaller chamber, the oppressive atmosphere seemed to shift slightly, the ambient light softening to a dull, pulsating glow.

The room was stark but functional, its surfaces smooth and unadorned, save for faint, glowing veins that ran through the walls like capillaries. A single table stood in the center, its surface cold and gleaming. Damien leaned against it casually, his arms crossed, watching her with a mixture of curiosity and amusement.

“Well, Doctor,” he said, his voice low and sardonic. “What now?”

Evelyn exhaled slowly, setting her kit on the table and opening it with practiced precision. “Now,” she said, pulling out a stethoscope and a small flashlight, “you tell me everything. Symptoms, duration, anything you’ve noticed. And then I figure out what I’m working with.”

Damien’s lips quirked into a faint smirk, but he complied. “It started years ago,” he said. “A sense of... depletion. As though something vital was being siphoned away. It’s accelerated recently. There’s a coldness, a hollowness, that grows stronger with each passing day.”

Evelyn frowned, her mind already racing through possibilities, none of which made sense given the context. “And physically? Any changes? Pain? Weakness?”

“Both,” Damien admitted, his tone quieter now. “Though the pain is... different. Less physical, more... existential.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Existential pain isn’t exactly something I can treat. But I’ll do what I can.”

As she began her examination, her hands steady despite the surreal nature of the situation, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was missing something crucial. This wasn’t just a medical issue. It was something deeper, something tied to the very essence of this place and its people.

Behind her, in the shadows of the hallway, Katherine watched silently, her expression thoughtful. Nearby, Timothy lingered, his movements deliberate as he examined the contents of Evelyn’s kit with an air of detachment that belied his true intentions.

Chapter 2: The Anima Gardens The Price of Power

Evelyn’s fingers moved with mechanical precision, each tool returning to its designated slot in the metal confines of her medical kit. She worked as though the act of organizing could impose some semblance of order on the chaos swirling around her, the rhythmic clicks of clasps and the soft scrape of steel against steel grounding her in the surreal confines of the examination chamber. The air pressed down on her, thick with a cocktail of unplaceable scents she couldn’t quite name—damp stone layered with something sharp and tangy, faintly metallic, like the aftermath of a lightning strike. The walls around her pulsed faintly, veins of molten color flickering like distant, dying stars.

She exhaled, long and slow, her breath curling in the unearthly chill of the room. Her thoughts churned, roiling with questions she couldn’t yet articulate. Damien’s condition wasn’t just a puzzle; it was a labyrinth, an intricate web of symptoms, decay, and something deeper—something ancient and unquantifiable. The methods she knew, the tools she had spent years mastering, felt inadequate in the face of it. Her hand hovered over the stethoscope coiled neatly at the edge of the kit, and she allowed herself a bitter smile. What use was a stethoscope in a place where the very air seemed alive, where light had texture, and where decay wasn’t just a process but a force?

A flicker of movement at the edge of her vision drew her attention. Evelyn froze, her senses sharpening as she turned toward the doorway. Katherine stood framed there, her violet eyes catching the dim, shifting light in a way that made them seem almost luminescent. She hesitated, one hand resting lightly against the doorframe, her posture tentative but not timid. There was a quietness to her presence, a way she seemed to absorb the room’s oppressive energy rather than disturb it.

“Dr. Reed,” Katherine said softly, her voice a thread of sound that seemed to weave itself into the fabric of the chamber. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

Evelyn straightened, her fingers closing the kit’s lid with a deliberate snap. “That depends,” she replied, her tone carefully neutral. “Are you here to check on me or to spy?”

Katherine’s lips curved into a faint smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “A fair question,” she admitted. “Let’s call it… a bit of both. Though if you’d prefer, I can leave you to your thoughts.”

Evelyn studied her for a moment, her hazel eyes narrowing slightly. There was something disarming about Katherine, something that didn’t quite fit with the cold calculation she had come to expect from everyone else in this place. Still, she wasn’t ready to let her guard down. “What do you want?” she asked, folding her arms across her chest.

“I thought you might like some fresh air,” Katherine said, stepping into the room with a grace that seemed almost unnatural. “Or as close to it as one can find in Infernus. The gardens are… unique. And perhaps they might offer you some insight into our world.”

“The gardens?” Evelyn echoed, skepticism curling around the edges of her words. “I wasn’t aware Hell had a horticultural side.”

Katherine’s smile widened, a flicker of amusement breaking through her composed exterior. “There’s more to Infernus than fire and brimstone, Doctor. Though I’ll admit, our gardens are not quite like those of your world.”

Evelyn hesitated, weighing the offer. She wasn’t sure she trusted Katherine’s motives, but the idea of stepping out of this claustrophobic chamber—and perhaps gaining a better understanding of the world she had been thrust into—was too tempting to ignore. “Fine,” she said finally, reaching for her kit and slinging it over her shoulder. “Lead the way.”

The corridors of the palace stretched out before them, a network of twisting paths that seemed to defy logic and geometry. The light shifted as they walked, hues of deep amber and muted sapphire bleeding into one another, casting fragmented shadows that danced along the walls. Evelyn kept her gaze moving, cataloging details—the carvings etched into the stone, the faint hum of energy that seemed to emanate from the very ground beneath her feet, the way the air grew warmer and heavier the deeper they went.

Katherine walked a step ahead, her movements fluid and unhurried. It was she who broke the silence first. “You’re adjusting remarkably well,” she said, glancing over her shoulder. “Most… visitors find our realm overwhelming.”

Evelyn raised an eyebrow. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

“An observation,” Katherine replied with a slight shrug. “Though I do mean it. You carry yourself with more composure than most demons I know.”

Evelyn snorted softly. “I’m not sure if that says more about me or your demons.”

Katherine’s laughter was quiet, almost musical. “Perhaps both.”

Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of footsteps echoing from a side passage. Evelyn tensed instinctively, her hand tightening on the strap of her kit, but Katherine’s expression remained calm—if a touch exasperated. A moment later, a towering figure emerged from the shadows, their obsidian armor catching the shifting light and refracting it in fractured patterns. Morgan’s presence was as commanding as ever, their sharp features set in a mask of sardonic amusement.

“Taking the scenic route, are we?” Morgan drawled, falling into step beside them with a casualness that belied the weight of their armored boots. “I trust you’re not planning to let our guest wander off into the abyss, Katherine?”

Katherine sighed, her tone carrying the weary patience of someone accustomed to Morgan’s barbs. “The Doctor is under my care, Captain. Your vigilance, while appreciated, is unnecessary.”

Morgan’s gaze flicked to Evelyn, their expression somewhere between curiosity and skepticism. “And how are you finding our little corner of Hell, Doctor? Charming, isn’t it?”

Evelyn met their gaze evenly, refusing to be intimidated. “Charming isn’t the word I’d use. But it’s… educational.”

Morgan’s grin widened, revealing teeth that were just a touch too sharp. “Educational. That’s one way to put it.”

Katherine shot Morgan a warning look before turning back to Evelyn. “Pay no mind to the Captain. Their sense of humor is… an acquired taste.”

“I’m noticing that,” Evelyn said dryly.

As they continued on, the air began to change, growing warmer and carrying with it a faint, sweet fragrance that Evelyn couldn’t quite place. The corridor widened, the walls giving way to a series of archways that opened onto an expanse of otherworldly beauty. Evelyn stopped in her tracks, her breath catching in her throat.

The Anima Gardens stretched out before her, a sprawling landscape of bioluminescent flora that seemed to pulse with an inner light. Trees with twisted, gnarled trunks reached skyward, their branches heavy with leaves that shimmered like molten gold. Flowers of every shape and size bloomed in vivid, impossible colors, their petals unfurling in slow, deliberate motions that seemed almost sentient. The ground was carpeted with luminous moss and fungi, their soft glow casting an otherworldly radiance that bathed everything in a surreal, dreamlike hue.

“This…” Evelyn began, her voice trailing off as she struggled to find the words. “This is…”