Chapter Eighteen
The Realm of Hell
Rhys
Magic tears at my skin, threatening to rip away at the flesh. Then it stops. Only dry wind slides over every inch of my body, and then a hard impact slams through me. My head jars against Torben’s hard chest as he takes the brunt of the impact. My body whips back as the force knocks me off of his protecting body and into the dirt, hard enough to rattle my teeth. My fingers dig into dry, coarse strands as I come to a careening stop.
Grass.
White, dead grass sprouts around me, but a strange rush of water still roars in my ears.
I peer up to the intensity of the sound, only to find it isn’t water at all. It’s fire. A wide stream of lapping flames rushes only inches away from where my arm lies on a riverbank.
Two inches to be exact. I landed two inches away from a fiery death.
The heat of it sears over me, stealing away my breath and drying away the icy water that clings to my clothing and hair.
I roll away from the bizarre river and stare up at the crimson colored sky above.
“These realms are going to kill me.” I exhale defeatedly as my wolf surges to heal my numerous cuts and bruises.
“Well, they are meant for the dead,” Latham says logically from where he casually reclines against a boulder.
“Not far now.” Torben stands steadily, as if he didn’t just leap from a mountaintop, save my sorry ass, kiss me for totally logical reasons, then hit the ground like some kind of Great-Value brand god of thunder. He brushes off his drying jeans, and I realize he doesn’t have a single rugged hair out of place. His beard is immaculate, and I’m starting to question if beard magic is his real hidden talent.
“What are you looking at?” he asks gruffly when he catches me staring at how the firelight glints off of his perfectly coiffed strands of facial hair. It’s like the gods themselves blessed his face.
Don’t say his beard. Don’t say his beard. Don’t say—
“Your beard is so pretty,” I say before I can think better of it.
A line creases his brow, and a snicker of laughter shakes through Aric. Latham’s quiet smile shines in his eyes. Torben gives me nothing more than a grunt.
“I think the lack of oxygen has fucked with your head,” Torben grumbles like he didn’t just try to save me with his kiss of life. “If there are no more compliments you have to get off your chest, we’ll keep moving,” Torben finally tells me, barely giving me time to breathe before forcing us onward.
I swallow hard and try not to roll my eyes at him as well as my own stupidity.
Latham offers me his hand, and I slide my fingers against his palm as he lifts me to my feet. Aric peers around at the open expanse of dry grassy plains.
“Home sweet home,” the dragon shifter says quietly.
At the sound of Aric's deep timbre, a meow rumbles out of the bag in his hand and pure fire leaps right out. In a blaze, my small house cat shifts into enormous translucent flames that sketch his delicate features against the landscape.
I blink at Loki. He purrs happily as he soaks in the heat of this hellish realm.
“This is Hell?” I look up at Aric as we trail after Torben’s enormous steps.
“This is the entrance to Helheim, technically. It’ll lead us to what’s more commonly thought of as Hell.” Latham picks something from my hair before flicking a soggy strand of seaweed to the ground.
I try to find some normalcy in what we’re doing. I’m on a journey into Hell. That should be unsettling.
“Think of it like the suburbs.” Aric smirks, clearly having picked up on my aversion to the ‘burbs.
It settles in a scurry of nerves under my skin that I’m now officially in Hell. Okay… Hell adjacent.
Worst of all, my mother has been here for years.
“My mother, is she dead?” I ask quietly, my stomach dipping at the thought of it.
