The other souls stood by, watching their master bleed out on the ground. Not a single one seemed to be broken up over the fact that he was gone.
I was completely in awe of my queen.
“Weeping Hells, you're perfection.”
“And I'm ready to get back in my body,” she said, her eyes falling to her corpse before me. “This is some freaky twilight zone fuckery.”
If I could have smirked in this form, I would have. Even in death, Rayven had a delicious, bratty mouth.
“As my queen commands.”
I finished the spell as quickly as I could, eager to hear the steady thrum of my grave treasurer's heartbeat. I sighed with relief when the delicate muscle started throbbing again, the air catching in my lungs when she opened her eyes and looked up at me.
“As long as I'm the Lord of Death, your heart will never cease to beat again.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Rayven
Nothing will give youa bone-deep appreciation for life quite like dying.
Even after being surrounded by so much death in the cemeteries I robbed and admiring the beautiful souls and bones in Limbo, I’d never been more grateful to be alive.
Relief hit me in waves of exhaustion and tears, images of my ordeal haunting my thoughts as I faded in and out of sleep. Sailing the Styx in Belial’s gondola was peaceful, a glaring difference from my first trip down the river. He even let Cecil take up rowing so he could hold me while I slept, whispering delicious little promises in my ear of what he planned to do to me once back in Limbo while I danced with unconsciousness.
This time, Belial didn’t use the plum magic to enter my sleep, but I dreamt of him anyway.
All my enemies had been destroyed, their heads skewered onto Belial’s oar as a reminder of their betrayal. None of them could ever hurt me again. There was nothing left for me to fear in the entirety of Hell, save for the demon lord who owned my soul.
And as terrifying as he was, I wasn’t afraid, not when I knew the lengths he was willing to go to in order to keep me safe. He’d do anything I asked, including destroying the nine layers and adding his head to my collection if it pleased me. That kind of utter devotion was intoxicating, and it did deliciously dark things to me, knowing I belonged to such a beast.
Something told me his obsession with me would be kicked into hyperdrive when we returned to his realm. I’d be lucky if I ever escaped his watchful eye again.
A week ago, the threat of never escaping the monstrous Lord of Bones had been the biggest problem in my life. Now, it was my biggest comfort.
When I stepped off the ferry in Limbo, I wanted to fall to my knees and kiss the ground, but Belial dragged me into him and kept me upright.
“Welcome home,” he muttered into my hair.
Home.
I would have killed—again—to sleep for a week straight and binge-eat whatever snacks could be found in Hell, but Belial had other plans. He wanted to crown me immediately as a way of showing his kingdom exactly who I was. He wanted to condemn the actions of his brothers in front of all his subjects, to warn them what painful suffering awaited anyone who crossed his queen.
And who said romance was dead?
The thought of wearing a crown made of bones weighed on me, sparking a wave of unsettling feelings, but beneath them all was fear.
Not because the crown was made of my ex’s spine—Mark was hardly more than an insignificant memory in the back of my mind now—but because how in the hell was I supposed to be the queen of…well, Hell?
There was also the matter of dealing with Catherine’s soul. After Belial saved me from Belphegor’s realm, I refused to leave her behind. Her soul very well could have wandered off and hid in another object, and we could have left her there to rot for all eternity, but the thought didn’t sit right with me.
The poor woman didn’t deserve to suffer any longer. As long as I was queen, she—along with every other deserving soul in Hell—would never have to suffer again.
It had been easier than I thought to convince Belial to give Catherine a place in the Library of Souls, and as soon as I'd bathed and eaten, he started teaching me the magic of sorting souls into blank soul books.
“You’ll get it, my treasure,” he said every time I got frustrated. Demon magic wasn’t easily wielded by humans, but he promised me that if Cecil could do it, I could.
The day of my coronation, Holga dressed me in a stunning crimson ball gown dripping with blood-red jewels. She did my hair and makeup the way she had for the masquerade ball, and I swallowed down any hint of PTSD.
