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I quit listening after that because it made me think of what happened the last time I was in Hell, and all the things I did while I was here.

I knew Davina was doing something to the blood I was drinking.

She always made a show of bringing in the live donors, dressing them up, presenting them like some sort of gourmet dish, but the closer we got to war, the fancier things became. Before I knew it, every meal was a huge production, one I began looking forward to in a way that, looking back, could be comparable to a drug addict waiting for their next fix but I didn’t question it. I didn’t question her. I watched through a haze as the barely clothed, hardly coherent men and women were paraded in front of us, played various games with them until their blood was rushing so loudly in my ears I could practically feel their pulse, eventually drank my fill, and went on my merry way.

I knew something was different but I didn’t care enough to ask because I had no reason to, not when I trusted our Queen the way I did.

“You know, you don’t look like most of the vampires I’ve seen.”

Meeting Azrael’s eyes over his shoulder, I arch a brow. “Have you met a lot of us, or is this based on the stark contrast between Silas and me?”

“Killed a lot of you,” he grunts as he faces forward again. “None of them looked like you.”

He should have seen me back then. “Well, I am one of a kind.” I smirk as Silas snorts. We’re both very aware of our differences, and the long list of things that make me different from the others. I wonder what the demon would think of me at my full size with the extra features I end up with when I’m healthy. “Just ask your sister.”

Rae shakes his head. “I plan to. I don’t know what the fuck she sees in you, but that’s not what I mean.”

“I know.”

“So, why do you look like that?”

“Just blessed, I guess.” Which is the only explanation I plan on giving him at this point. The longer I’m down here, the more that’s going to change anyway, so getting into all of that right now is pointless. We can have a nice long chat about it if Azrael is around when my biggest secret comes out.

Despite the fact he’s Zia’s brother, and the weird way Silas seems to be at ease around him, I don’t trust Rae.

Not yet.

I can’t help it. My entire life in Purgatory was spent listening to how everyone from the other realms were terrible, how they were the enemy, and by the time I was old enough to form an opinion of my own, I was so securely under Davina’s thumb—and her skirt—I didn’t bother.

Putting all my confidence in a demon who, by all appearances, is more dangerous than I can probably comprehend and has lived similarly to the way Silas and I did once upon a time isn’t exactly something I’m comfortable with. My guard is up, I’m paying attention, and I’m following what little clues that psychotic little vixen unknowingly left me. But since this route through Hell isn’t one I’m familiar with, I don’t have much of a choice.

Plus, I want Zia back.

Badly.

Because I do trust her, kidnapping aside.

I think Azizia is the only other genuine being to ever enter my life, one who doesn’t give a shit about what I have to offer, what I can do for her, or anything else I’ve been used for in the past. She heard my voice and that was enough to decide I was worth something. That alone makes her mine, but you throw in the way Zia made me feel when we were together, and I need to get that unhinged female back worse than I need my next feeding.

It makes zero fucking sense, but I do, and every time I allow my mind to wander to what she could be going through right now, what she must be feeling… I just need to get her back.

My problems don’t matter, not really. Zia is my biggest concern.

We can deal with my trust issues, Stockholm syndrome, and odd appearance then.

Preferably after I’ve disemboweled her husband, left Hell, and we’ve had a happy little reunion that consists of Azizia bouncing on my cock while I vow to never let anything bad happen to her again.

Chapter Seventeen

Azizia

I’m losing myself.

With each moment that passes, more and more of me disappears. Slipping away like sand through my fingers. I felt like I was only just learning who I was—the real me. The me I get to be when I don’t have people to tell me who I have to be. What to say, what to wear, how to talk.

That hope I thought was okay to hold onto? Such a bad idea. It was a terrible idea. Do I ever have good ideas? I mean, thinking back, befriending a servant and escaping this place was stupid. And everything I did topside was even more stupid. Why wasn’t I more careful? Why did I put myself out there?

And why the hell did I obsess over a man I heard on a podcast, kidnap him and his stupid fat cat, have sex with him, then decide to run away with him?