“You’re more beautiful every time I see you,” he said.
She couldn’t think or speak. Hell, she almost forgot to breathe.
“You flatter me…acting like we’ve never met before.” He smiled with his eyes, and Rhea went weak.
“You mean we have?”
“Bless your tongue, child. Your words give me chills.”
He circled her, his stare running up and down her body as if he were dissecting her. Rhea felt him on her, in her, and she shook when he took her hand in his.
“Who are you?”
“I have many names,” he said.
“One will do.”
The man laughed. “Names mean nothing. They are a shield for one to hide behind. It is what a man does that defines him. And I happen to do great things.”
Rhea started to sweat even though she’d never been so cold in her life. She saw her own breath in short puffs of white as it escaped her mouth, yet inside, she burned with the heat of summer.
“You too, my dear, are destined for great things,” he said, moving to place a hand on her stomach. The thing inside Rhea kicked and scratched at her flesh. A thin red line appeared on the skin near her navel and lengthened down to her pelvis. Rhea pushed on her stomach and a light stream of red bled through her hospital gown.
Panicked, Rhea moved her hand to the wound to try and stop the bleeding, but the man grabbed her hand, stopping her before she could wipe it away.
“Allow me,” he said as he got down on his knees.
Rhea remained frozen as the man licked and sucked at the cut. When his tongue touched her skin, she felt the slick, wetness of it everywhere. He was in her mouth, between her legs. His hands—could there really only be two?—were everywhere: caressing her back, fingering her sex, pulling at her hair. Rhea arched and moaned as the man drank from her, taking his fill. When he pulled himself away, she grew angry and it made him smile.
“Easy, my child,” he said. “In due time.”
Rhea moaned and closed her eyes. Her sex throbbed, swollen and ready. She’d never felt such pleasure before. Such hot enticement. She wanted more.
“Please,” she said.
The man stood and leaned into the crook of her neck, his breath warm on her skin. “Never beg for what you want. Learn to just take it.”
Rhea’s heartbeat quickened as the man’s eyes grew wide with want. He kissed her shoulder and then her neck, moving near her lips, tempting her to press against him. I can’t. I shouldn’t. Her willpower started strong, but the more his lips stayed on hers, the more she wanted to stay, too.
Something inside her snapped. Her body, inflamed with hunger, an insatiable lust, drove her to the man. He laughed as she rubbed her body against his, and Rhea could only laugh back, hysterically. She’d never felt so alive before, and she wanted to feel like this every day, from that moment on.
The man wove his fingers through hers and lifted her hands above her head. “This feeling, this euphoria you feel right now, can be yours forever.”
“How?”
The man reached in his back pocket and took out a scroll. He fashioned a quill with the wave of his hand and held it and the scroll in front of her.
The heat that had been consuming her cooled. The hair on the nape of her neck stood erect as she suddenly became aware of alarming doubt rising in her mind. Rhea shook her head in an attempt to rid herself of confusion. A migraine bred behind her eyes.
“What’s that in your hands?”
“An agreement.”
“To what?”
The air grew thin and Rhea struggled to breathe. A sense of claustrophobia took over and everything felt tight: the room, her clothes, her throat.
“Reality is pain. The world is a dark, terrible place plagued by sin. You know that better than anyone. After all, you watched your father kill himself and didn’t do anything about it.”
Rhea shook her head. That’s not true.
“Oh sure, we can quibble about the details, but you knew what he was going to do. And you didn’t stop him.”
Rhea stared at the ground, unable to meet his eyes. Her feet were covered in ash, in her father’s remains.
“Is that why you couldn’t let Caden go? Because you couldn’t face losing another man to an insufferable, cheating whore?”
“My mother was not a whore,” she said.
“And I’m the Prince of Peace.”
The dark chestnut of the man’s eyes was now a deep and vacant black. His shoes were scuffed and the tips of his pants were singed at his ankles. The smile was gone from his face and in its place was an insidious grin, shaped with crooked, decayed teeth that sat like black cubes against his chapped lips.
“Look, we both have what the other wants. All I’m proposing is a trade,” he said. “Something where we can both walk away happy.”
Her father’s words ran through her head: “Don’t be a coward like I was.”
“I’m dying and in need of an heir. Someone I can trust to carry on my legacy and ensure it doesn’t fall into the hands of lesser company.”
“But I can’t—”
“I’m not talking about you,” he said. “I’m talking about the child that grows inside you.”
The color drained from Rhea’s face. The hot sting of bile rose in her throat. She threw up on herself, the front of her hospital gown yellow.
“I know your pain, Rhea. I can smell it on you. You’re all but dead,” he said. “But if you sign, I’ll take that all away. It will be like you never felt it at all.”
“Don’t be a coward like I was.”
“No.”
“Excuse me?”
“I won’t do it.”
She regretted the words the second they passed her lips. All this time she’d been waiting for something, anything to take away the hurt, and here this man stood, a dark savior, and she couldn’t accept his offer.
I’m the coward, Dad. Not you. I can never go through with it.
Rage infused the man’s face.
Rhea’s body was slammed against the wall. Pain exploded down her spine and her mouth filled with blood. Her hands were pinned above her head. The man was somehow only a few inches from her face.
He pushed a lock of hair behind her ear and smiled. “When they come for you—and they will come for you—you’ll burn for that rejection,” he said. “No one denies me.”
Chapter 29
Paimon turned away from the bodies and ran scenarios through his head. Fire? Could we burn them from this distance? Would a flame even stay lit on the drop down? He paced the room, taking the problem apart systematically. There were at least three bodies down the chute and they needed significant pressure to push them down. He imagined that their bones were mostly broken, but there was no counting on that; if they weren’t broken, he would need something to break them with. But what?
He turned around, ready to seek Arazel’s advice, but she was already halfway down the chute, a silver meat mallet in her hand.
“What in sin’s name…”
But down she went, a flash of red in the dark. She moved slowly, almost at a crawl, and remained in control the entire way down, moving at no one’s pace but her own. Arazel screamed as her skin caught on the grit of the stone wall, tearing as she moved. Paimon saw blood smear the walls and it made him wince. He didn’t want her in pain.
Not for him.
Not anymore.
It didn’t take long until she met resistance and then a loud thwump of body-on-body contact echoed back up the chute. Paimon stuck his head inside it and tried to find her in the dark.
“Arazel?” Silence. “Arazel, can you hear me? Are you okay?”
He couldn’t see much, but he was able to make out her outline from the light that crept in through the cracks and bled through the awkward angles of the bodies. She was hunched down, her body a tight ball of muscle and bone.
“I’m fine. Just trying to get situa—ow!”
“What happened? Are you hurt?”<
br />
Arazel half-shrieked, half-gasped. Paimon heard something snap, followed by a loud succession of poundings. What in sin was happening down there? The chute vibrated with moans and screams. A pit formed in Paimon’s stomach. There were no way those sounds were all coming from Arazel.
“Something…I think something bit me.” She began screaming. “Fuck! Get me out of here.”
Arazel moved as quickly as the cramped space would allow, grabbing at whatever she could find to help herself back up. She pushed against the wall, dug her fingers into the crevices of the shattered rocks, but whatever movement she made was moot. Hands were on her chest and in her hair, while teeth clamped into her legs, pulling her back down the shaft as they clawed at her skin and ripped the clothes from her body. She wouldn’t make it out. Not by herself.
Paimon panicked. What can I do? He couldn’t go in after her. There wasn’t enough space, and he’d just be pushing her closer to the mouths that grabbed at her. They were stuck. Both of them.
Paimon started to sweat. Now that someone’s down there, fire could possibly work. We could burn them out. He moved away from the chute and searched the kitchen, looking for something long enough he could set fire to and ease down to her.
“Get off of me, you fucking piece of shit!”
Always with the mouth. Get that girl angry and she’s worse than Charon after he’s been on a soul-bender.
Paimon tore the kitchen apart but found nothing except knives, cleavers, and drawers full of spices: basil, rosemary, sage.
The ovens.
Paimon tore over to a lit oven and took a deep breath. The heat ate at his skin when he opened the door but the burn fueled him. He reached inside and couldn’t remember the last time he’d set himself on fire, but as the flames licked his arms and kissed his face, he smiled.
“What are you fucking waiting for,” said Arazel. “Do something and help me!”
A pile of bodies was roasting in the oven. Their skin smelled sweet and the taste of flesh began to consume Paimon’s mind. He wanted to tear them apart, devour them as the flames devoured him. Paimon yanked on the leg of one of the bodies, and it separated with ease. The meat was still attached to the bone, sweet, succulent and burned with age, with hunger, and with sin.
But mostly with fire.
Paimon pushed himself out of the oven, a new plan forming in his head. If he threw down severed body parts that were still on fire he could light up the shaft and make it easier for Arazel to see. If she could see her enemies, she could fight them better.
Paimon took off his shirt and ripped off pieces fabric in long strips. He undid the ties Arazel had strapped around his ribs so he could wrap them around the stray bone he'd collected from the donor, careful to catch the cloth on fire. He made it to the chute, a burning meat torch in his hand, and looked down. The shine from Arazel’s mallet reflected off the fire. He watched the light flicker against the chute walls as she shoved the tool down on the skulls of the creatures again and again. Arazel kicked at their throats, their jaws. The wet squish of blood spatter made him smile. If there could ever be anyone else. Arazel was nothing short of a fighter, and Paimon watched, captivated, as she stomped and fought her way out.
Then everything went quiet and the fire in the chute went out. Paimon couldn’t hear or see any shuffling. There were no voices and no moans. Everything simply stopped.
“Arazel?”
Nothing.
A loud gush of wind met his face. He took a step back, afraid of what he might see if he looked down the chute. Where was the wind coming from? Had she gotten out? Paimon took a deep breath and forced himself to look. Well, I’ll be damned. Arazel stood below in a swatch of moonlight as she met his stare, her red hair soaked and clinging to her back and shoulders. The smell of the river rode up with the wind.
“You coming or what?” said Arazel. “We don’t have a lot of time.”
He couldn’t believe it. Not only was she standing there and talking to him like nothing had happened, but she’d managed to clear the chute and push the bodies down into the stream.
“Right,” he said.
Paimon braced himself and worked his way down the chute. He clutched the walls and put his feet to the sides so he could climb down slowly rather than taking the fast, steady shot that would land him in the water.
He hit the water in a splash and pushed himself to his feet.
“About damn time,” said Arazel through ragged breaths. “I was starting…starting to think you were going to….”
She hit the water hard.
“Damn it,” said Paimon. He bent down and scooped her up in his arms. Pushing through the water, he hurried to its edge and laid her down on bank. There was blood on his hands; it dripped to the ground in splotches of black-crimson. A deep gash dressed her leg—was that bone? —and her arms were riddled with teeth marks, cuts and lacerations. Paimon sat down, cradling Arazel in his arms.
This is my fault. I caused this.
“Drink from me,” he said. “You need blood. You’ve lost too much.”
She sighed, but words took too much effort and her head fell deeper into his arms, a heavy weight whose struggle would have broken his heart—if he had it.
Paimon bit into his wrist and held it above Arazel’s mouth. Blood dripped onto her lips and chin, staining her porcelain skin red. Arazel, please. Please drink. She didn’t move or respond otherwise. She lay in his arms like a doll, limp and worn out from too much use.
“No. Arazel, come on.” Paimon shook her. “You have to wake up.”
He opened her mouth and tore another chunk of flesh from his wrist. Paimon put his arm directly to her mouth.
He waited.
Seconds passed. Then minutes.
Nothing.
This isn’t happening. It’s not even possible.
He put his hand to her mouth, but felt nothing. There was no stream of air, not even a light breath caught in the middle between life and death.
“Please, Arazel,” he said. “Don’t leave me.”
Chapter 30
The morning arrived with silence. Paimon sat at the river with Arazel still limp in his arms and cried. I shouldn’t have let her go through with this. I should have faced death like a man. He should have known better. Every woman who spends time with him dies before her time; death always takes her unjustly and with force. And death never goes back on his word.
“I’m so sorry, Arazel,” he said. “Please forgive me.”
Paimon reached in his pocket and took out the note she had given him while he’d still been locked away in that cell. Even the parchment smelled like cinnamon. He fingered the edge of it, afraid to open it again. He recalled her words, honest and true, an apology for her betrayal: “Paimon, I’m sorry. You know I love you, that I’ve always loved you. Just trust me. Everything that I do is for your happiness even when it doesn’t immediately seem clear.”
There she was apologizing to me, and how did I repay her? I got her killed.
He buried his hands in her hair, touched his cheek to hers. Her body was already cold, locked in death’s grip.
“It’s not fair. It should have been me, not you,” he said.
“Agreed.”
Paimon flinched. “Arazel?”
“I’m getting sick of being attacked every time I’m around you,” she said. “It’s annoying.”
He pulled her tighter against his chest. Her body remained limp. “How? How is this even possible? I don’t understand.”
Paimon watched her try to smile, but her muscles were still stiff. All she managed was a sly half-grin. “We’re linked,” she said, her words swaddled in rasp, her lips barely able to move.
“But we’ve never—”
“Not us,” she said. “The Devil and I. My life is in his hands.” She coughed up blood and Paimon wiped it from her chin with his hand. Her wounds, still open, ran wet with blood.
“And your heartbeat?”
“Well, you know how that goe
s,” she said. “I never cared for it much anyways.”
“Arazel, tell me you didn’t.”
“Guilty.” She tried to laugh but it only resulted in more coughing, her body racked with convulsions from the fit.
Paimon hated seeing her like this: weak, vulnerable. It pained him to think that it was the Devil’s blood keeping her alive. Their bond was dangerous, and it meant she was disposable to him at any time. Like the moment he finds out she helped me escape. “Shit.”
“Hmmm.”
“We have to get out of here,” he said. “When he finds out you helped me—”
“He already knows,” she said.
“How? We haven’t been gone for that long. The bells only just stopped ringing.”
“His memories are mine,” she said. “He’s already left to take her.”
Sadness and panic sloshed in his stomach, one layering the other like oil and water. He tried to concentrate but too many thoughts filled his mind. He couldn’t focus. All he could do now was act.
With Arazel still in his arms, he stood up and began to walk. “Then we have to go, now.”
The forest stood before them, dark and still. The smell of cedar and pain filled the air and Paimon could almost taste the victims' screams. The fifth circle was not kind to its prisoners, and Paimon expected it to be even less inviting to those who walked through it freely
The trees stretched like sentinels a mile away.
The air was salty with the tears of crying souls.
“Paimon,” said Arazel. “There’s something you have to know before we enter the forest.”
Dried mud and flecks of feces stuck to Paimon’s calves, his legs heavy with fatigue. He tightened his hold on Arazel to keep her warm; her entire body shook, half from trauma, half from fear. The tips of her hair were damp, wet. They looked like red daggers, sharp and glazed with blood. “It’s fine,” he said. “We’re fine. There’s nothing to talk about.”
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