Page 8
Fountains carved into weeping angels spilled crystal water into black marble pools, every path swept clean, every flower blooming as though the Hells beyond its gates were not slowly burning to cinders.
Hell had a remarkable talent for hiding its rot beneath beautiful things.
The prettiest flowers often carried the deadliest poison.
My eyes shot down to Lyra unconscious in my arms.
Exhibit fucking A.
Power rolled towards me in invisible waves, pressing against my skin until gooseflesh exploded over my body. I sighed, recognising Astaroth’s power before I saw him.
Wonderful…
“Edgar, hold Lyra,” I murmured into the oppressive silence.
He nodded, taking her into his arms. His throat bobbed and he looked anywhere but at my beautiful goddess, shoulders tense as if her nearness made him uncomfortable.
He’d done what was necessary, keeping her weak so the Commander wouldn’t sense her and supplying me with blood so I could slowly recover my powers. But somewhere along the way, I wondered if duty had become his own form of torture.
Pain gripped me, seizing every muscle until my body turned rigid and useless beneath its command. My knees struck the ground with a violent crack, ash erupting around me and mercifully concealing the grimace I couldn't quite swallow before I collapsed onto my side.
“You are late, Helion.” The cold voice echoed eerily through the air, crawling over my skin like a thousand insects before burrowing under my skin.
Agony detonated beneath my skin, racing along every nerve in a vicious current that bowed my spine from the ground. My teeth slammed together around the scream clawing up my throat, jaw aching with the effort of keeping it trapped behind them.
Polished white shoes grew closer until they were an inch from my nose, my pathetic reflection staring back at me in their shine. I fixed my gaze on the soot-choked ground beneath my cheek.
“I didn’t realise you’d miss me,” I managed between ragged breaths. “I appreciate the... enthusiastic welcome.”
He gripped me harder, and a strangled wheeze escaped me as that pristine shoe nudged me onto my back.
Astaroth loomed above me, milky eyes drinking in every twitch of agony he dragged from my body. His tailored white suit blended almost seamlessly into alabaster skin, his equally colourless hair swept back with irritating precision.
Not a speck of ash touched him.
Of course it fucking didn't.
Even Hell's filth apparently knew better than to cling to the God of the Seven Hells.
His head snapped up, milky eyes narrowing with predatory interest.
“At least you brought me Maraveth’s soul.”
Lyra.
He stepped over my body, leaving me pinned beneath his power like an insect beneath a boot, and something far worse than pain hollowed out my chest.
Don’t you fucking touch her.
Every instinct screamed at me to get up, to put myself between her and the creature approaching her, but my muscles remained useless against the earth.
Her blood had returned only a sliver of my power, which meant the clever little goddess had hidden the rest somewhere inside her she thought I’d never reach again.
“Wait—”
“Who is this?”
To my surprise, he passed Lyra without so much as a glance, his corpse-white eyes fixing on Cerilla instead.
