“I thought you might enjoy bringing your sketches to life,” Az murmurs from my side.
I can’t speak. I’m too stunned by the possibilities and by whatthis means. It’s like my captor pays more attention to my needs than anyone in my life ever has.
Numbly, I let Az lead me through the rest of the house, showing me the gorgeous bathroom with a giant sunken tub, a room with workout equipment that should feel out of place in a manor, but somehow fits, and even a sauna.
There is also a walled garden in the back, enclosed in black iron and overflowing with white roses, lavender, herbs, citrus trees, and soft green grass that just shouldn’t exist in Hell.
And in the center sits a swinging bench built for two.
“I thought you might want to be outside for a while,” Az says with a shrug.
“You mean after you kept me locked in a cave for over a year. Good thing you can’t get a sunburn in Hell,” I huff. Still, I plant my behind on the seat, taking a deep inhale of the fragrant air.
When Az sits next to me, the bench creaks under the added weight. He swings us for a few minutes, the quiet between us not unpleasant for what feels like the first time.
“Can you ever forgive me?” he finally says after a while. I turn my head to face him. He looks as earnest as he sounds, his pale eyes serious as he peers down at me.
“For abducting me and keeping me locked in a cave like Gollum?” When he gives me a blank look, I roll my eyes. “So many books in the library and you never read Tolkien?”
“I prefer spending my time with pursuits other than reading.”
He bites his lower lip, giving me a lascivious look that would normally have me running away.
When did I start feeling safe around him? Was it when I let him bind me, and he didn’t expect sex as a payment for the orgasms he gave me?
“I bet you do,” is all I say, letting my gaze travel over the flowering garden rather than stay on him. I’m too worried about what my face might reveal, if it would show the revelations I’m quietly having by his side.
Putain. I’m starting to like the bastard.
What in the Stockholm Syndrome is this fuckery?
17
SIMONE
So what if my new mansion in Hell looks straight out of a gothic luxury fantasy? It’s still a prison. And I’ve been trapped on too many occasions—with cold parents, at soul-crushing jobs, and in abusive relationships—to not want to escape.
For weeks, I’ve been planning my prison break as meticulously as Michael Scofield, refusing to even enter the gorgeous sewing room Az had made for me. I think if I did, I wouldn’t want to leave.
Maybe if he had approached me like a normal person… Ah, I can’t lie to myself. I would have never let him get close enough to try.
In my fancy library, I found a map of Hell. Sure, it was from the time of the war between Heaven and Hell, which ended five thousand years ago, but I think I recognize the large waterfall I can just see to the left if I poke my head out of the bedroom window. If I’m not mistaken, Purgatory isn’t very far at all, and there’s even a solid crossing over the Phlegethon on the way.
With a path in mind, I stowed away knives from the kitchen and made myself sandwiches. It should hopefully only be a day of walking, so nothing will get spoiled. I worried about how to store drinking water, but then I actually found a wineskin in one of thekitchen cupboards. Why it’s there, I don’t know, but I’m grateful for it.
The next step was making sure Az’s stupid wards don’t stop me. Not that he mentioned them since he moved me here, but I figure they have to be there, right? He wouldn’t leave anything to chance.
I walked the entire perimeter of the estate, all along the fence, but I haven’t tried climbing it yet. That changes today. And if the wards will ever be down, it’ll be during the time groceries and food magically appear in the kitchen. At least that’s my prediction from watching one too many sci-fi movies. Since it seems to happen at the same time every day, like clockwork, I’m going to make sure that today, as the food arrives, I’m climbing over that fence.
Of course, Az was here, teaching me how to play some ancient Chinese board game, and I told him I’m feeling wiped and need a nap—nothing he isn’t used to, I do like my sleep. As soon as he left, I changed into clothes I could move in, grabbed my stash, and tied a rug from the downstairs bathroom to my front with tassels from the guest bedroom’s bed canopy. I’ll need it to cover the spikes at the top of the iron fence.
Which brings me to right now, staring up at them.
Merde, what am I doing? This could go terribly wrong. The last time I was in Hell all alone, I almost got killed by an imp, and then I got myself kidnapped by a Fallen too seductive for his own good. Or for my good. But I can’t get over the fact that my teammates probably think I’m long dead. It was bad enough that I disappeared from Henry’s life overnight.
“Bon… c’est parti.”
Here we go.
