Page 30 of A Match Made in Hell

Flames ripple down his arms and shoot out, black strands like whips of fire that curl around the two demons’ torsos. They howl, writhing as their skin hisses with steam. Yellow pus-filled boils erupt on the flesh closest to the ropes. They don’t die though. Sath is toying with them.

Good.

The remaining demons take a step back, Aric included. I don’t look away. I watch as those boils bubble and pop, the same way the demons watched when Sath burned that man on my second night here. This is for him. For every other innocent they’ve forced Sath to punish.

And these demons are getting a far worse punishment. Because it’s clear from their screams how much Sath held back before, how he really was telling the truth when he told me he made it quick and painless for the humans.

All too soon, though, the flames disappear. Sath cocks his head to one side. ‘Who told you to open the gates?’

They don’t reply. Sath grabs Kora and tugs her to her feet. ‘Do you expect me to believe,’ he says, voice like a caress, ‘you came up with this plan all on your own?’

I glance at Aric, but his face gives nothing away. Kora lets out a small sob. The sound doesn’t do anything to thaw the ice in my chest. I don’t care how much they squeal or plead, they brought this on themselves.

Sath relinquishes his grip, allowing the demon to tumble to a heap on the floor. I grind my teeth. He’d better not be going soft on them now, not this quickly. They won’t have learned their lesson yet.

Thankfully, Sath hasn’t finished. He grabs Ash by his throat, crushing his windpipe with enough force it visibly indents.

The demon gasps, kicking his feet, scrabbling for air, but Sath squeezes and squeezes until his eyes nearly pop out of their sockets.

My own breath halts. Ash’s claws scratch Sath’s arms, trying to push him off, but he’s not strong enough; he may as well be a doll in Sath’s clutches for all the power he has to escape.

‘You don’t want to tell me?’ Sath croons. ‘What a pity.’

He releases him, and, in a blur of movement, punches through his chest. Black sprays over the floor.

I recoil on instinct, although it’s not me in the line of splatter: it’s Aric, along with a few others, who have that pleasure.

Blood coats the bottom of his legs and the metal spike on his tail. He tries to shake it off, lips curling.

Ash’s body flops forward, a river of blood streaming from the hole left in his chest. Sath merely flexes his hand.

‘What shall I do with him next?’ he asks the watching congregation. ‘Send him to Tartarus? Or wait for him to heal, and kill him all over again?’ He prowls in a circle around Kora, who’s trembling, head bowed. ‘What about you? What would you like me to do to you? Should I make it quick, or . . .’

A sudden burst of flames has her howling.

Sath smirks as she writhes on the floor.

The congregation finally have the sense to look unnerved; even Aric backs away as Sath steps towards them.

Yes . Power rolls off him now, a trail of shadowy fire following in his wake, a reminder they shouldn’t dare get too close to him.

It’s enough to make me reconsider whether Sath could stop a revolt, if he put his mind to it.

I can almost picture it: Sath, a blur of black clothes and black smoke, moving like lightning between them.

A slice here, a cut there, puncturing flesh, bone, muscle, the occasional tail or two.

A litter of bodies at his feet in a flaming heap.

The thought has me swallowing a sudden onslaught of saliva and curling my fists so tightly my nails pierce the skin.

Out of the corner of my eye, a figure leaving the chamber catches my attention.

The Sorter, the white of her hair stark against the dark walls, leaving like she’s seen enough.

Aric, meanwhile, is enjoying his front-row seat.

Sath gives him a pleasant smile as he strolls past, moving through the crowd, stopping every now and then to brush his fingers over certain demons’ necks, to send strands of fire curling through the air and trailing over their bodies, making them wince and twitch and cry out.

The cavern stinks of fried skin and scales.

‘I want to make it clear,’ Sath says, ‘if any of you disobey me again, I’ll make it hurt in ways you couldn’t fathom.’

Then he’s standing in front of Kora. He’s facing my direction now, allowing me to witness the way his face is set in stone, no remorse or mercy on his features, his eyes golden and brimming with lethal power.

This time, he doesn’t go for the chest, for that empty space where her heart should be, but takes her chin between his hands.

He twists her head to the left, more, more, until there’s a sickening crack.

The room falls silent as the body drops to the floor.

I expect him to turn, to show the spectators what he’s done, the power and strength he has, but instead he staggers back, shoulders heaving.

Strands of hair fall over his forehead. He reaches up to smooth them away, before closing his eyes and rubbing his face, smearing the blood on his hands over his cheeks, his lips.

My chest rises and falls in time with his, a little too quick, breaths a little too shallow.

The demons shuffle on their feet, wondering, I think, if the show is over. Sath’s eyes snap open, but he doesn’t turn to face them.

Instead, he looks at me.

Is this what you wanted? he seems to ask.

I stare at him. Stare at the blood glistening on his hands, the streaks of it he’s left all over his face, black droplets staining his lips like a deathly kiss.

The smell of copper taints the air, and with it comes the faint tang of fear from everyone else in the room.

Not me.

These demons have been causing trouble for too long, and I want them brought in line here. Now. I want them to know they can’t get away with this any longer, and if suffering is the only thing they understand, then suffering’s what they’ll get.

Is this what I wanted?

Yes . I lift my chin in answer to his silent question. Yes .