Page 103 of Alastair

The realm of the lost was a wasteland of eternal darkness. The sun never rose. There was no wind, as if the air itself hung between the balance of life and death. In the distance, the veil separating the outer wasteland from that of the lost souls of the dead faintly glowed, the translucent barrier the palest shade of blue with white pulses.

“Shit, Michael,” Castor said. “Could you have teleported us any farther from his cabin?”

My friend was back to his good-natured self and grinned at Castor’s whining. “Walking will do you good.”

Truth was, it was impossible to teleport any closer to his home. It was why I had teleported us so far away when we’d come months ago. Mephistopheles, though stripped of his wings and exiled there, still had his powers. He’d placed warding around his property to prevent anyone from popping in. He knew everything that happened in the realm too. The moment we’d arrived, he’d sensed us.

“Gimme a cookie, Ray.” Gray reached for the container.

“Nope.” Raiden lifted it out of his reach. “These aren’t yours.”

“But it’s Christmas Eve. Giving is the reason for the season. Or whatever.” Gray jumped up to grab the container, then pouted when he came back empty-handed. “I need sugar, or I’m gonna curl up and take a nap.”

“Ah, Smalls.” Raiden grabbed the lid.

“Don’t give in to him,” Alastair said. “He’s spoiled rotten.”

Gray stuck out his tongue at his eldest brother.

“You okay, Kal?” Bellamy placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Yes, I am well,” Kallias answered in a shaky tone. His dark eyes focused on the veil ahead of us. “Returning to this place is just… daunting.”

“No worries, brother.” Castor’s hand landed on his other shoulder and squeezed. “You’ll never go back to the void. We won’t let it happen.”

The barren land altered slightly as we reached a small hill and descended the other side. Trees jutted from the ground, their branches thin and bare, and dark pools of water bubbled, reeking of rotten earth and mildew.

“Gross.” Gray shuddered. “Smells like moldy ass.”

A log cabin sat ahead. Smoke rose from the chimney, and warm light spilled out from the windows and into the dark, starless night. Small patches of dead grass surrounded it, as if it had tried to grow but was rejected by the soil. A larger pool of thick water sat off to one side.

“How quaint,” Michael said.

“Quaint? Looks more like a place a serial killer would live to me,” Castor muttered.

The front door opened, and Mephistopheles stepped out, crossing his arms as he leaned against the doorframe. The fire from inside the cabin highlighted the outer strands of his long red hair, and his orange-yellow eyes faintly glowed, like a nocturnal creature.

“You have balls showing your face here, archangel,” Mephistopheles said. “Or have you come to finish the job?”

“I know I’m the last face you wish to see,” Michael responded. “But we’ve come to ask for your help. I have no intention of harming you.”

“Harming me again, you mean. You took my wings.”

“And you betrayed us. A crime in which you were punished accordingly.”

Mephistopheles stared at him, expression indifferent, then nudged the door more open with the heel of his boot. “Might as well come in. I’ll put on a pot of tea.” He stepped back into the cabin, leaving the door open for us.

Gray leaned over to Bellamy. “You don’t think the tea comes from the ass water, do you?”

Alastair briefly closed his eyes. “Gray, for the love of the gods, be on your best behavior.” He looked at Castor. “You too.”

“Hey, what the hell did I do?”

“You opened your mouth.”

Kyo choked on a laugh. Castor gaped before throwing his arms around him and tickling his sides, causing his mate to laugh even harder.

Raiden stepped forward first, followed by Titan. Warrin placed a hand on Daman’s lower back and guided him up the three steps into the cabin. The rest of them went inside, leaving only me, Alastair, and Michael.