They’d be alive, and I’d be with them.
Unwanted tears try to pool on my bottom lids, but I quickly wipe them away. I can’t break down again and again. My life is in danger here. I don’t know what these Abdicated are going to do to me, so I need to save all my energy on staying alive and getting the hell away. If I can go back, maybe I can find the demons from the other Hellgate, Flint and Alder. Maybe they can help me, or at least tell me who the hell the Ophidian is.
I can’t keep thinking like I’m Delta Gates, boring human woman. If I’m going to make it out of this, then I need to start thinking like a demon. The wings at my back and the fact that I’m walking through Hell right now proves that. No more fighting what I am.
It’s time I embrace it.
4
The room I get dumped into is very different from the dungeon cell.
Lanky leaves me alone as soon as he drops me off at a large white door that stands out against the polished black walls. There are already two demons standing on either side of the door, obviously here fulfilling Tazreel’s decree that I be watched at all times.
The two of them are huge, probably hired for their sheer size alone. I thought Iceman and Jerif were big, but these two have to be almost eight feet tall. Instead of wings at their backs, they have crisscrossed swords, and the blades are made of that same gleaming black stone as the daggers that the Outer Ringers were using to stab Jerif. I can’t stand to look at them.
With a quick “stay here” from Lanky, I’m left alone, shut into a room.
I take a small, relieved breath as I look around. The room has a small entryway, holding a head bust of Tazreel on top of a short red column. Rolling my eyes, I walk past the white marble likeness of his arrogant face and pass through the archway that leads to a large bedroom. My eyes widen as I take everything in. The floor has that same black fur acting as carpet, and there are two other doors on the left, probably leading to a bathroom and closet. But straight ahead, past the black and silver canopy bed, there’s a balcony.
With a surge of excitement, I rush over to it, flinging open the double French doors. A breeze instantly hits my face as soon as I step out. I gape as I walk up to the railing and look over. It’s night. At least, I think it is, but I really don’t know how these things work in the Center Ring of Hell. Maybe it always looks like this. The sky is black with red pinpricks of light bleeding into the darkness like magma stars. Down below, I can see a huge, winding river that casts off an eerie blue glow.
As far as I can see, there’s nothing other than the river and a smattering of houses far in the distance, but I can only make out their shadows since there’s no moon in sight. The landscape looks fairly normal, other than the stars that flicker like flames, but there’s a taste to the air...it doesn’t smell or feel the way a breeze does on earth. There’s a sweet taste to it, and it’s...invigorating. Like every breath I inhale is making me stronger, like it’s restoring something in me that I didn’t realize was lacking.
I stand there still, absorbing the quiet of the moment and hoping it will silence all the uncertainty and worry I feel inside. I don’t know how to start trying to process everything; it all just feels so overwhelming. I sigh and turn around, forcing myself to leave the refreshing air as I walk back into my room.
Washing all the ash and filth off of me is probably a good place to begin to unravel the knot that is my life right now. I make my way to the black and gray wall at the far end of the room, blinking slightly at the sight of a fern plant potted right beside the first door. I gape at it but then shake my head and toss that into the not gonna talk about it pile. So what if the only plant in this room just so happens to be a fern that’s identical to the only plant at my house?
I shake off the sense of déjà vu and walk through the doorway, finding a very masculine looking bathroom. There’s no shower or even a conventional tub, but there is an onyx toilet built to accommodate wings, and a large sunken pool filled with steaming water.
The hot water is calling to me, and my clothes and skin are still covered in dead demons and wrinkled from my time in the dungeon. I waste no time stripping down and stepping into it. I hiss at the boiling temperature, forced to lower myself inch by overheated inch until my body acclimates enough to be submerged. I let the hot water cocoon me for a minute, trying to get my tense and knotted muscles to relax.
There’s a platter of soaps within reach, so I grab the first bar I see and start going to town, scrubbing myself down. My wings are incredibly heavy now that they’re wet, but they seem to like the hot water, because they flutter out, the ends moving to pop the bubbles that form on the top layer of the water. I jump at the intrusion on my peaceful moment, grimacing at the sight of them.
Ugh.
I don’t want wings. I don’t care if people think they’re cool or pretty or badass. They one hundred percent freak me out, and they don’t
