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Hell is a fucking wasteland; ungodly heat, a heat that fluctuates between dry and suffocating then humid and weighted. The climate and weather changes constantly just to fuck with everyone down here. It leaves you feeling everything in intense and unpleasant ways.
There’s only the illusion of vegetation.
Nothing can actually grow here. There’s no water, no sunlight or soil. The ground is hard and dusty so anything like the make believe trees shielding me from prying eyes is fabricated. Usually from some sort of material strong enough to withstand the elements, or the bones of once living things, and both are meant to ward off any unwanted visitors.
I’ve been through this before, though.
I knew what to expect.
It still didn’t prepare me for everything I’m feeling, not completely, and if what Rae said earlier is true, it’s because I don’t have enough demon blood in my gut to give me the deadly focus I had the last time I was here.
The deeper we go into Hell, the worse it gets because everything right down to the way the unrelenting amber glow makes it feel like I’m physically scratching my eyes every time I blink is pissing me off.
And I’m fucking starving.
My hunger pangs are hollow and painful, they hurt right down to my core. My frustration is bordering on explosive, and my overall disposition is currently one of please let a stray demon cross our path so I can tear it apart and feed from its severed head then drink the rest from its neck hole.
But that’s Hell.
It was designed to torture everyone who sets foot here and the longer you’re exposed, you either adapt the way Azrael and Azizia have, or you start to lose your ever-loving mind the way I am.
It plays on the thoughts running through your head, feeding off things like hunger or, in my case, extreme worry.
When I’m not fantasizing about draining every ounce of life from Azrael’s veins, especially when he snipes some snide remark, I’m flirting with terrified over what could be happening to Zia.
Especially now that it seems like the trail has finally run cold.
A sound resembling that of a twig snapping draws my attention, my head swinging in its direction as my fangs start to extend and I growl.
“Just me, killer.”
I scowl as Silas comes through the dust storm that’s kicked up out of nowhere.
“I’m seconds from pouncing on the next body with a pulse and you want to sneak up on me? That doesn’t seem like a good plan.”
He shrugs as he pulls a cigarette from his pocket and lights it. “We’ve been through worse, and you haven’t eaten me yet.”
He’s not wrong.
“Did you see anything?”
“Not really.” He shakes his head and takes a long drag. “The storm kicked up too much for me to get an idea of where we are. Not to mention, it’s been a long ass time since I’ve been this deep.”
I frown at that but before I can ask if he’s been visiting Hell on a regular basis or if I’m starting to read too much into everything he’s saying courtesy of some paranoia on top of everything else, his communicator goes off and we both freeze.
I don’t miss that.
Those stupid little bug-shaped, Hell-proof electronics, always buzzing and ringing because the commander or the queen had some new fucking order to issue. The day I didn’t need one anymore, I was grateful. Even if it did happen long before I was exiled.
“Why is that ringing?” I whisper. “It shouldn’t be ringing down here, right?”
“Not unless something is going down.” Silas slips it from the front of his jeans then blows out a breath as he looks at the screen. “It’s not her.”
Thank fuck for that.
But it’s still not good.
Silas has been part of the queen’s—Davina’s—guard since as far back as I can remember, so getting a call by itself isn’t weird. It’s the fact that we’re down here, together, and it has to mean that something is brewing that has me watching him answer on bated breath.
