Nero lifted me onto her back, then swung up behind me, his arms caging me in. Orren landed beside us, jagged wings snapping from his back.
“Aren’t you full of surprises?” I said fondly, though I couldn’t reveal I knew him as my loyal Cerberus.
The hellhound’s middle head turned. All three mouths split into a grin. He purred—a sound like rolling thunder—clearly pleased.
Dante climbed onto Orren’s back, settling between the three necks.
Sebastian stood apart, watching us prepare to leave.
“We’re not leaving him,” I said immediately.
Nero’s arms tightened. “Like hell we’re not.”
“He saved my life. I won’t abandon him here.”
“He can find his own way out,” Nero decided.
“Nero.” I twisted to look at him. “Please.”
His jaw worked. I saw the war in his eyes—hatred warring with the inability to deny me.
“The nice hellhound can carry him,” I pressed.
Orren’s response was immediate. All three heads turned toward Sebastian and snarled—a sound that needed no translation:Absolutely not.The hellhound would sooner eat the Sun God than carry him.
Sebastion, bleeding and spent, just stared at us with an unreadable expression.
“Please,” I said. “Don’t leave him to die.”
“Fine,” Nero finally bit out. “But I am not happy about this.”
He called to Orren. The hellhound let out a low and resentful rumble, but obeyed. He stalked closer to Sebastian, his massive tail lashing unhappily.
“Grab the tail,” Nero ordered the Sun God.
Sebastian narrowed his eyes. “You’re joking.”
“Do I look like I’m joking?” Nero’s voice was glacial. “Grab it, or we leave you.”
With a grimace, Sebastian seized the hellhound’s tail with both hands.
Belladonna launched into the air, her wings beating hard. Orren followed, his own jagged wings pumping. Sebastian dangled from his grip, swinging wildly as the hellhound gained altitude.
“Hold tight,” I shouted out.
Below us, the abominations shrieked, their rage fading into the distance.
We flew hard and fast, leaving the bad land behind.
Behind us, Sebastian’s curses tore through the air—a blistering stream fit to shame sailors.
Then the smell hit.
The hellhound had farted. A sulfurous, eye-watering cloud trailed in our wake.
“Serves the pretty boy right,” Dante laughed over the wind.
Despite everything—the exhaustion, the pain, the terror—a giggle escaped me.
