I don’t want to see her damaged like I am, her light snuffed out by the hardships that plague the desolate realm beyond these gates.
Every bone in my body wants to protect her from what lies ahead, but she signed her fate the day she decided to follow us to Hell.
Not that I wouldn’t have dragged her there myself if she refused, but that was before I knew her. Before I witnessed her strength and magic and heart.
I shouldn’t care. I shouldn’t.
“Torben?” Slender fingers curl around my arm. Her skin is soft and creamy against my golden coloring, darkened from too many years of living in Hell.
“Hmm?” I hum distractedly, solely focused on where she’s touching me.
“Are you okay?” Rhys asks genuinely. I almost forgot what it was like to have someone worry about me. It’s been so damn long.
It’s strange.
“I—” I’m speechless is what I am, but I’m not going to tell her that. Firelight flickers in her blue eyes, warming them until they glow like the golden gates of Asgard.
“I’m fine,” I finally manage.
“I’ve been hearing that word a lot today,” Rhys mutters, clearly not believing a word of it. “Aren’t you happy to be going home?” She eyes the towering castle in the distance. It juts against the crimson sky like it’s giving it a giant middle finger. The impressive stone structure is our last stop before it’s too late to turn back.
And it’s definitely not a place I’ve ever attributed to the word home.
I want to tell her to run in the other fucking direction, but my tongue glues itself to the roof of my mouth, refusing to work properly.
“I don’t think any of us are all that excited to be back,” Aric answers darkly, saving me from my brief mutism.
Rhys skips ahead of us and turns sharply, her pale blonde hair whipping over her shoulder as she stares us down.
“I don’t understand.” She shakes her head as she says it. “Why not?”
My jaw jumps, and I don’t dare look to Aric and Latham.
We have our orders, and they know the punishment for spilling Hela’s secrets. None of us fully know the extent of Hela’s plans for Rhys, but she wanted her removed from Midgard for a reason. Her mother was no more than a lure.
“It’s Hell, Love.” Latham scratches at the back of his neck. “It’s pretty different from what you’re used to in the Realm of the Living.”
She turns in a circle, motioning around her like that part was obvious, and I carefully move her away from the edge of the river gurgling and spitting fire just behind her.
Gods, this girl is never going to survive here without our help.
“We all serve our purpose here,” Aric states cryptically in a voice that’s dark and dry, lacking his earlier warmth.
Rhys nods, understanding softening her expression, though I know she doesn’t truly comprehend. Not yet, anyway, but if she follows us into Hell, she will. That’s not a promise, it’s a fact.
“The pack was the same. Everyone has a role, some much more glamorous than others.” A shiver works down her spine, and I can tell she’s thinking about the role she almost had at the hands of the sadistic mate she rejected. “Anything is better than what I walked away from.” Resolve straightens her spine, and I want to growl at what we saved her from.
Dead fucker got what was coming to him, if you ask me.
And that’s just further proof that my soul is as black as Aric’s or Latham’s now. There’s not one ounce of sympathy in me for the way that asshole died. Anyone who mistreats Rhys will get the same. And thatisa promise.
“Come on,” Latham urges, trying to cover the awkward tension that just infiltrated our group. “We’re almost there.” Their fingers lock together like an intricate knot and he tugs her after him, heading straight for Hell.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Like a Dog
Rhys
