Darci forced a smile. “Yes, an entire year longer than me—”
“—is a looong time,” Nora said, laughing. “So. Did you get your dress for Irina’s engagement?”
A change of conversation and two more Screaming Orgasms later, the afternoon passed in a pleasant haze. Yet nothing dulled the worry growing inside of her as she discreetly glanced at her cell again.
* * *
Immense heat surrounded Blaéz as he was whisked through a space of churning darkness, the smell of sulfur burning his nose.
Low moans of frustrated need, of sex, drifted to him from the gloomy flame-lit dungeon. Couples fornicated on every surface in twosomes, threesomes…orgies. Sex through pain, being tied and whipped, bled, burned—all for the ultimate search of gratification—indeed, another level of hell.
Since his dick was on hiatus, those didn’t appeal to him. Besides, he only wanted one person—even his cold heart knew that. He flashed past the hedonistic chambers and ignored the brief scene of immense demonic armies training in parched lands. His blurring journey through the portal always struck him like he was on a fast-moving tour bus, stopping at all the fun places before reaching his allotted destination.
As he stepped out of the portal, the thick sulfuric miasma made him want to hurl even after centuries of being hauled to this place. And breathing through his mouth didn’t make it any better as heat blasted his face. Sweat rolled down his skin, drenching his t-shirt within seconds. Yet, inside him, nothing warmed the icy emptiness.
The tattoo on his biceps went unnaturally quiet; it always did when he came here. That had to be why Gaia had warned her Guardians against coming here and seeking retribution. They’d be useless without her enchanted weapons. But his choices weren’t many when drawn against his will by his soul trapped in this place.
Drip, drip, drip.The sound resonated in the cavern, along with low, reedy moans drifting to him. Not Tartarus, but The Seventh Circle of Hell.
Maloch’s domain reeked of horror. Pain from the dammed overflowed, seeping into him and feeding his own demons.
Cooooome…The darkness stirred in that deep vacuum within. With no anchor to ground him, here in this place, the temptation to give in, to remain, took hold—
“Finally,” Maloch said, emerging from the shadows. His dark eyes flashed red in annoyance as he circled Blaéz. “It has taken some time to get you here.”
“Traffic.”
Not amused, Maloch scowled and stopped in front of Blaéz. An inch taller, the demon’s narrow face appeared anemic in the gloom. He probably hadn’t quenched his plasma thirst or whatever got his rocks off.
“Tell me,” Maloch said slyly. “Did you like your journey through Hell, decide which option you want? Only two choices, my lover or my Hand.”
“I’d rather torture the damned.”
Maloch’s eyes glowed fully red in displeasure. Then he laughed. “It’s what I enjoy about you. Your resistance—” his lustful gaze drifted down Blaéz. “Okay, since you want me to beg, how about a little trade? A year. You don’t fight me, do whateverIwant, and I’ll give you back your soul.”
He’d never agreed this easily before…what was he up to?
Besides, one year in Hell was a hundred long human ones.
Not interested in his game, Blaéz stepped into the wet, copper-reeking rocky cavern, thick with suffering, gore, and blood. The acrid odor of burned flesh made even his iron-cast stomach revolt. On the far end, several damned hung chained by their hands from the dripping ceiling, strung up like carcasses of meat as fire flared from the fiery veins below them and melted off their skin.
The dense air rippled around him. Black soot-like rain fell in a deluge. Damned human souls unfurled and transformed into bodies. Maloch always brought out the new souls to get a reaction from him. Did he not realize by now how little Blaéz cared, that he felt nothing?
Their shrieks of horror remained suspended in the heavy sulfuric smog when the truth of where they were hit them. Without possession of free will, they were stripped and bound to the blood-soaked walls. The newbies’ gazes latched onto Blaéz, hope in their eyes.
Because he was the only one who remained in the acceptable human form? Foolish sods.
With a smirk, Maloch snapped his fingers and the whip with the fiery tails appeared in his hand. He tossed Blaéz the weapon. The thing crackled and hissed. “You know what to do.”
Blaéz didn’t respond. Or glance at the bodies suddenly strung up. His gaze fixed on the crackling whip, he idly wondered how long he’d be trapped here if he sliced off Maloch’s limbs instead. The first time he’d done so, he’d ended up wounded and trapped here for several weeks.
“Something’s different.” Maloch strolled around Blaéz, studying him. He sniffed. “Your scent, it’s changed…”
“It’s called a shower.”
“Snark won’t help you, warrior, if I decide to let your brethren know what you truly are.”
Blaéz ignored him. Flicked the whip. It hissed in the air, releasing fiery sparks. Why couldn’t he find a loophole to get out of this hellhole? It wasn’t like he hadn’t tried. Maloch yanked his string by using his soul, and he came—
