With his new drive and the image of Cyra’s petrified expression in his mind, he had to find and protect her. If I get out of this alive, I’m never wasting another minute hiding from life.
The edge of the portal was in sight, and his newfound energy had him reaching for it. But in a sudden downward jerk of the table, his grip loosened, and he slipped.
His heart hit his throat, but he grabbed on. Kicking his legs for leverage, he climbed up again.
Except the table shifted once more, this time giving way through the portal. It fell and shoved him into Hell.
He kicked, hands grasping for anything. But his vision darkened, and the world silenced.
Chapter 15
Cyra
Cyra screamed over and over, her throat raw. The horror in front of her rattled her to the core. Gunn had fallen into the portal to Hell and emptiness swallowed her. She recoiled, unable to stop shaking. Her grandpa used to say life was full of love and happiness, but that was all bullshit. Losing anyone close to her tore her apart, and she was sick of grieving for her parents, her grandpa, and now Gunn. She sucked in a hitched breath. Her stomach hurt so bad.
A snarl came from the kitchen’s entrance, and the charred demon blurred beyond her tears.
Bastard. “You took Gunn from me!”
Tentacles splayed outward from its human-like figure and it lifted a clawed hand, calling to her with a curled finger. Then it pointed to the open portal.
An icy dread pinched in her chest as she pictured the demon chewing on her soul. Followed by Henry’s and Nora’s. No one would find them or know what had happened. She’d never see Chase again. What about Gunn? He drove her insane, and despite him pushing her away, she understood his sacrifice. God, did she understand it. This industry was devastating and terrifying, but backing down wasn’t a possibility. Not when her grandpa’s words whirred in her skull about always fighting fiercely for anything she believed in.
Tapping her pockets, she touched her lighter. Goosebumps coated her flesh as the hideous fiend studied her, unmoving. Was it determining how to best torture her? Well, too late for that.
When that fuckhead had kidnapped her earlier, it hadn’t even tossed her into Hell, but had kept her in a dark room and attacked her like a gutless beast. She glanced at her shoulder, blood and flesh torn from a bite mark. The piercing sting brought with it a newfound adrenaline. No way would she allow it to take her life. She shifted toward the fridge, gaining a view of the counter behind the portal, scanning for a weapon.
“Mine,” the demon growled, sounding more like a dog attempting to talk.
She opened her mouth, but only a squeak came out. Shit! Maybe she ought to save her voice to do magic. With her spine straightened, she spotted the candlelight glinting off something in the sink. She squinted and made out the Morgana box, burned and smoking. She guessed Gunn would have blessed it, so why was the speck still alive?
Her fists curled. “You’re sending out mixed signals, creep. Do you want me to go to Hell or back into your depraved black room?” The Morgana box. What had they missed? But a flash drew her attention across the room.
She spun as a hand clutched her neck and slammed her back against the fridge.
Trembling, she jerked for escape, gulping for air, and scratched at her enemy’s iron grip.
She kicked and stared into yellow eyes with no pupils, loathing how she quivered in its presence. With one hand, she reached for the lighter in her pocket and, in her mind’s eye, imagined an invisible flamethrower, having seen someone do this before online. Her head buzzed from a lack of oxygen.
Stars danced in her vision, and she thrummed with every beat of her heart, part of her screaming to surrender, to stop fighting. But she kept picturing Gunn and how he never gave up, how even after losing his girlfriend, he’d kept going. And she would, too. With all her thoughts focused on the lighter, she repeated in her mind, Give me strength. Fire and wind, I call for your intervention.
When a tiny spark arced down her arm, she flicked the lighter on. At once, a blaze expelled outward in a long stream resembling a flamethrower. Flames licked the demon’s face and neck. The beast’s screams were rusty, screeching hinges.
Just when the anaconda fingers loosened from around her neck, fire stung the tips of her fingers. She flinched, dropping the lighter, and fell. But she caught sight of an amber glow of the demon’s necklace, decorated with leaves and tiny balls.
Berries!
She hit the floor with a thump, her legs twisting beneath her. She ignored the pain lancing up her back and scrambled to her feet, staring at the beast that grunted, glaring her way.
Shit! Mistletoe hung off its neck. Her spell must have tethered itself to the demon. That was what had kept it tied to the house after the Morgana box had been wrecked. And, until she finished her reversal hex, the demon would remain unbeatable, killing everyone in the house. That truth sat quietly in her mind, eroding her confidence. She fought the terror squeezing her lungs by telling herself she could fix it. Her mind refused to process the danger and kept tumbling over and over, unable to come up with an action plan.
She scooted past the demon, which batted at its flaming face, and raced to the counter. Her gaze jumped from the Morgana box in the sink to her bowl of contents from the hex. The universe was mocking her because there was no soil in the house for her to complete her incantation.
Think! How was she meant to help Gunn? Or Henry and Nora? They’d all
