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Both of my hands, including the one with the dagger, were busy trying to push into the creature’s matted fur to keep it from ripping my neck out so I couldn’t fight further.

The demon was just watching the show.

But then I thought about what it had said. It needed me for something. Believed me to be a key—whatever that meant. Yes, I was confident he’d gotten the wrong girl, but if I were wrong, I doubted he’d let his hounds actually kill me. He wanted to injure me so I would be pliable but not kill me, if I were to guess.

A risky guess, but I didn’t have many options. My leg felt as if it were on fire, my body was indefinably heavy, tongue sticky. I knew I was not far from having no fight left in me.

So I went against all my instincts and stopped pressing on the snapping, growling beast’s fur.

Its teeth came close to my neck, the weight of its body fragmented my vision so all I saw was a cluster of black spots, the stench of its breath causing bile to creep up my throat. But it didn’t kill me. It stayed there, a menacing growl in its throat, more drool dripping all over my face. It sizzled faintly, signifying it was scorching my skin, but I didn’t feel it.

That couldn’t be good.

My hands fell flat to my sides, feigning defeat as I laid prone, pretending to be weak, succumbing. The beast stayed where it was. I gave my body a moment to gather strength, sucking up every little piece of fight I had left in me, then I lifted my hand with the blade up, embedding it directly into the temple of the hound.

It was harder than it looked to cut through the flesh, sinew, and whatever else made up the body of a hellhound. And it was messy work. Black, sludgy blood poured onto my chest and face, singeing me as I worked my knife into its brain.

I felt the creature die under my blade, rolling out of the way before the hound collapsed into the dirt. If I had been under it, it would’ve crushed me, and no way would I have had the strength to get out.

Panting and retching, I struggled onto all fours, spitting large clots of blood into the dirt—another fucking bad sign—before forcing myself upright with everything I had left.

I still had a demon prince to deal with. The hellhounds were the easy part. Though I could still hear the thumping of fists against the invisible wall and muted shouts, I didn’t look in the direction where Dante and Colton had front row seats to my gladiator match.

The demon was standing, surveying the scene with a tilted head.

“What can I say? I’m not a dog person.” I wiped sweat, blood, or whatever the hell from my forehead, blinking rapidly. There couldn’t be two of him, could there? If there was, it was bad; if I were seeing two, it was even worse.

“You are not as weak as an average human,” it commented begrudgingly. “Though you have not come into your powers.” I blinked again, and the demon was right in front of me, its rank, fiery breath heating my mutilated face.

The breath rushed from my shredded lungs as my body rebelled at the immeasurable pain as well as at the … wrongness of being so close to such a creature. A strange sensation flooded my bloodstream, and it took all my effort not to hurl on his shoes.

“You deny your angelic side.” The demon pinned me with its crazy eyes, nodding slowly. “Curious.” It lifted a hand to my cheek, trailing a long, blackened claw down the side of my face. The skin steamed, eliciting a pain that made me black out for a moment. My skull felt as if it were about to explode, tears bursting from my eyes of their own accord. I’d never, in all my years, felt pain so encompassing that it truly made me want to die, just for the reprieve. It seemed to go on forever. Eons, unyielding, unending.

It took great effort, but I wrenched my eyes open, trying to move my body backward, but I was frozen to the spot. I couldn’t move my limbs.

“There is nothing angelic about me, buddy.” The words scratched at the insides of my voice box as if they were blades.

Its eyes flared. “We’ll see,” it cooed. Suddenly, the claw was no longer at my cheek. It was ripping into my midsection.

Though I considered myself a tough bitch, I couldn’t control the scream that I let out. I had to give myself a pass since having my stomach torn open by a demon prince was kind of a scream-worthy injury. I could feel his claws on my organs, tearing through them, staining my very soul with its wrongness beyond the actual mortal wound.

The violation in itself was sacrilege, a defilement of the greatest order. And its eyes—so close, so dead and empty and truly evil—had me captured in an unblinking stare.

My body started to tremble, ice running through my veins as hot blood rushed from my stomach, dripping onto the forest floor.

I heard muffled yelling, pounding coming from Colton and Dante’s direction. But I couldn’t move my head, and my lungs weren’t working. Nothing was. I was dying.

“You are mine,” the demon hissed, leaning forward so our faces were almost touching, swiping its claws deeper into my insides. “Just say it. And this will all stop.”

The pain was unlike anything I could ever describe. I wanted to beg. For death. For anything that would stop it, give me a respite. I was ready to give myself to him.

A demon.

Who—if I understood correctly—had somehow, for some reason, orchestrated the events that led to my parents’ murders and Colton’s curse.

I almost did it. Almost surrendered. I needed it. Anything that would stop the torture. I felt the promise of it. I could rest. I could let go of the overwhelming desire to keep going, to keep killing. Hadn’t it been so hard to keep myself alive over the years? What was the point? Why was I trying so hard?

How bad would it be to just … let go?