Page 22 of Hell-Bound (Pacts of the Infernal #1)

Would you have been proud of me, Ahdan? Would you have given me your blessing to move on? Would you have forgiven me?

Ren feared her throat would close again. She wanted to believe this note was real, a warning. If it were real, that meant that maybe that vision was just an illusion—a way for Nainaur to force her into action. Every piece of Ren wanted the vision to be false. She would forgive the god for this cruelty if it meant that she wasn’t the cause of so much pain. Yet the images felt familiar despite the lock on her memory.

The note itself could be another devilish trick, a warning of a lie from a liar. She couldn’t ignore Azur knew that she was seeking the tome and that this might just be another way for him to manipulate her. But did she not owe him the benefit of the doubt when he had sacrificed his throne for her? Did she owe the being that owned her soul anything?

She sat up and put her head in her hands, letting her silver hair fall to shadow her like a blanket.

What do I do, Renata?

One god was offering her redemption. Find the tome and be free. The other god was gone, likely locked away, and, in no uncertain terms, stated that Nainaur should never gain possession of Vutar’ka Zhartun.

Azur’s abdication also meant the dissolution of his powers and potentially meant she and the other souls he possessed would turn into sleepers.

So pick a side, Renata whispered from her mind.

Nainaur, The Almighty, or, Azur, The Unholy.

Ren couldn’t help snorting at the irony.

“I’m not picking a side, Renata,”

she gritted out, digging her nails into her scalp.

“I want to pick me.”

Such a simple desire and yet unimaginably difficult.

Nainaur had offered to save her, dissolve her contract, and give her redemption, restoring her memories in the process. A terrifying prospect. In her mind, restored memories meant waking up an entirely different person once again. A person in love with a male and had a whole life of experiences. A life where she lived in a small house and was safe and settled.

Ren, the woman she was today, didn’t want that—couldn’t imagine ever wanting that. Would Reneta, with her memories back, even remember what it was like to be Ren? Would these several months be lost to the tragedy of another deal made with another god? Forgotten?

Then there was the trauma—the overwhelming guilt of her actions. Guilt so heavy that her desperation forced her to seek out the most powerful Devil alive.

If she went after Azur, she would be rescuing someone who effectively ruined her life. The being that placed all these impossible questions in her lap in the first place. Yet, selfishly, she knew it was the safer option in some ways. Going up against Devils of nobility felt much less daunting than recovering her memories. It was too much to consider—she was too weak.

Do something good for once!

“How,”

she muttered, squeezing her scalp more tightly, nails digging in.

She didn’t know anyone. What step could she possibly take towards good?

Zelaia.

Zelaia and the other soulless. If she couldn’t fix this problem, a problem that was her fault, they would all become sleepers. She didn’t know Zelaia very well, and she hadn’t met the others, but she knew, without any doubt, that if Jester were at risk, she wouldn’t even hesitate.

This was the answer.

She wanted to do good even if she was not, herself, good. She knew that without Nainaur’s blessing, she wouldn’t make up for her sins. But perhaps Renata’s sins and her shame had to be secondary to the lives of others.

She wasn’t naive that Nainaur would take it as a slight to his authority if she once again ignored his request. Additionally, once Azur knew the extent of his brother’s ambitions, he would never allow her to continue her search. But those consequences would have to wait.

She pushed herself up on shaky legs.

“Time to rescue a fucking god.”

She tied her hair back and made sure her piccolo was secured to her thigh before leaving her small bedroom.

One step at a time, Ren.

She rushed down the stairs and outside, ignoring Fred as he tried to speak to her. She was afraid that if she stopped, she would lose her nerve by allowing The Gilded Triangle another opportunity to convince her to look for the tome.

She had no real destination and didn’t know where to find Azur’s safe house. Her only plan was to find a Devil and get as much information as possible. Surely, word had spread about Azur’s capture, and everyone would be talking about the next steps.

As she marched past the fountain, the female sleeper caught her eye. Today, she wasn’t sitting but was standing straight up. Even more shocking was that she was looking directly at Ren with a quizzical expression.

“H—hello,”

Ren said with a small wave, allowing herself to be momentarily distracted.

The female Half-Orc did not return the gesture but rather reached into a deep pocket in her ripped dress and took out what appeared to be a brown rag. She did not break her eye contact with Ren.

“Is that for me?”

Ren asked.

The female did not respond, only held out her hand.

Ren drew near the female and, testing hesitantly, extended her hand. No reaction. She laid her hand gently on the rag and picked it up. As soon as she did, the rag fell away, revealing a long dagger—the same that Azur had given her before her first trip to Dementiz. It was black and wickedly sharp, emitting small pulses of power. She felt the textured hilt under her fingers and sensed a small buzz of reassurance from her piccolo.

Dementiz—Castle Valdrock.

Ren had already walked there twice—through the forest of Nahmir—it was her best lead.

“Thank you,”

she said to the female, offering a small smile.

Sadly, the Orc was no longer alert. She gradually began to move again, plopping herself down on the fountain’s pedestal.

This was the second time she wanted to thank her. Ren was at a loss. She couldn’t even play her a song without alerting any patrolling Devils and didn’t want the female to experience undue punishment. She raised her fingers to her chest and felt the large vurmite under her tunic.

“Azur,”

she whispered.

Predictably, nothing happened. She removed the chain and set the vurmite down next to the female. The only possession she had left to give.

Before she could change her mind, she turned and stalked away, trying not to think of how much the gem shone in the purple light.

As she marched towards the forest, she noticed how lightheaded she was, most likely from lack of food and sleep. She decided to relish it. The numbness was a welcome relief from her spinning thoughts and waves of guilt. It delayed her awareness that she didn’t know the way to Dementiz directly from Ogriazeth.

Jester, or Azur, had portaled them closer both times they had traveled. She also couldn’t recall if Azur had told her how long the trip would be without a portal.

Ren moaned in frustration and grabbed her head, shaking it from side to side.

“Just another fucking thing,”

she mumbled under her breath.

Ren started to search the ash for any signs of footprints or a path—some sign to give her any direction or clue of where to go. Then she saw it. The small ripple. The slight blurring of an opened portal.

Azur, as Jester had told her he could leave the portal open, like the one in her room, and come back to them later. This must be the portal they had taken to the forest on their first day together and the same portal that transported Gabriela back to the forest.

After Azur had opened the portal, it had led to the deeper forest and from the mines. She had no idea if this logic still stood, but her mind was foggy, and risk management non-existent.

She approached the airy fissure and apprehensively reached her hand out to brush the ripples. Flames immediately burst forth, circling in its now recognizable pattern. She wasn’t afraid; she felt that she couldn’t get lost more than she already was. She took in a gulp of air and held it before striding through the portal.

The air in her lungs was sucked out as she landed unsteadily on the ashy ground surrounded by more spiny trees but undoubtedly in the same part of the forest her Azur had taken her to. But she still couldn’t completely be sure of her next direction as dead trees tended to look less than distinguishable. Ren began shuffling around, searching desperately for cracked tree limbs or…

Footprints!

Truthfully, it was even better than footprints—it was Jester’s lively, shuffling gait as he kicked up the thick layers of ash. Her excitement at the clue quickly fizzled out at the memory. A memory that should have been pleasant.

Not Jester. Azur. She had to keep reminding herself.

Ren cleared her mind to keep any intrusive emotion at bay, barreling forward.

Making camp in the forest would be a necessity since it was already afternoon, and the walk took almost a day. She banished thoughts of the one-eyed creature from her mind and fondled the hilt of the dagger at her hip.

Her walk was only made bearable by her soft, mellow hums, being too afraid to play her piccolo again, and, probably for the first time, she wasn’t in the mood.

She decided to write several songs to pass the time. She first attempted to capture the tragic love story between Azur and Adhan. Or at least, the way Ren saw it. When finally played, the notes would be slow and shallow. Each note overlapped to sound like they’d barely changed at all. Ideally, it would be a duet with two piccolos—both echoing their love to each other before a solemn farewell.

She felt an uncomfortable sensation in her chest. She wondered what an in-love Azur was like. Ren had only known him to be fierce and possessive. Demanding in his needs and desires. Perhaps a younger Azur was tender—his caresses filled with care and sensitivity.

She couldn’t stop imagining how different their experiences would have been. Azur might have traced the seam of her lips with his hands, and his eyes would have looked almost tormented with longing before he lowered his head, lips barely brushing hers before he finally kissed her. How the kiss would start gradually, agonizing in its slow intensity, almost reverent. She imagined how his breath would catch as they deepened their kiss and how his hands would cradle her head, brushing his thumb across her cheek. Perhaps he would even tremble with anticipation as their bodies touched and hands began to explore. Had she ever been kissed like that?

Ren’s mind shifted unexpectedly to Nephele, as it so rarely did, and guilt squeezed in her gut. She was out on another plane chasing her identity. She was fantasizing about kissing Devils as Nephele waited, alone, in Vergessen. Nephele had joined a war for her, agreeing to risk his life. He stood by her, even when he knew her to be a monster. How much loyalty did she owe Nephele?

She had decided, alone on the floor of that tavern, to choose herself—to be Ren, but it was becoming increasingly clear that this choice had its own set of painful consequences. She had shut the door on people that loved her. Despite her best efforts, she would still be the villain in someone’s story.

Ren blinked several times, realizing that the purple lightning was decreasing with intensity, and she was having a hard time distinguishing which trees she had already passed. Following her instincts, she searched for a large tree to sleep in for the night. Balance had yet to be a problem for her, and she noticed that once she had scaled a gargantuan one, she felt quite comfortable being held by its branched arms.

Ren was already asleep by the time the final streaks of lightning vanished from the sky.

But her sleep—so desperately needed—did not give her the reprieve she sought.

Her mind saw layers of white clouds, each pulling away lazily like curtains to reveal an aerial view of Vergessen. It was night, and the small town was quiet, with twinkling lanterns in old lamp posts lining the main street. She watched as she floated through the air, making her way through town. Ren was surprised that she was glad to see the familiar streets. The potted plants on sills, so green and lush, and the twinkling of stars reminded her that life existed outside The Hells.

Her incorporeal body drifted until she approached her parent’s home. A male was standing outside wearing a white robe with touches of gold. Ren immediately recognized his white hair, which was tied in a low tail.

Leo.

She watched as her father, bleary-eyed, answered the door.

“Good evening. Is this the residence of Clara and Atlas Eldanuer?”

Leo asked.

“Yes, I’m Atlas. Is everything okay?”

he asked, panic evident in his voice.

Over Leo’s shoulder, she could see her mother turn the corner.

“Who’s at the door, my love?”

Leo raised his hands and motioned to someone standing a few feet away. He was dragging an Elf who was gagged and blindfolded. Ren watched in horror as the other two acolytes, who she recognized as Brennan and Claudia, shoved a thrashing Nephele through the door before they pushed their way inside.

Atlas hit the floor harshly, and Claudia slapped a hand roughly around Clara’s mouth to stifle her screams. Brennan shut the door behind him, Ren’s form following close behind. She had no body, no voice, and was once again powerless to help.

“Don’t fight,”

Claudia hissed, white puffs of air flowing from her fingers like steam.

Brennan and Leo clapped hands over their own mouths as the fluffy air floated down and entered their victims’ nostrils.

Atlas, Clara, and Nephele promptly stopped struggling and settled themselves passively on the floor as Brennan scrambled to tie them up.

“Is she here?”

Brennan asked Leo, eyes wide.

Leo turned and looked about the room.

“She is. Renata. I know you can hear me. Please do not make me hurt your family.”

His words were biting, but there was fear behind his eyes.

“Find the tome. I will not take responsibility for your inaction. Nainaur will forgive my sins,”

he said, voice cracking.

“He will absolve me as he will absolve you, but only if you find the tome.”

Ren woke with a start, lurching forward, almost pitching herself off the tree.

Her breath shook.

“What the fuck do you expect me to do?”

she screamed at the heavens.

It was already morning, and several startled bird-like creatures launched themselves into the sky.

“I don’t know where to look! You haven’t helped me!”

She was vibrating with anger and whirled on the tree, slamming her fist hard into its rough bark, splitting skin. She inhaled sharply as the pain surged through her fist. Angry tears welled in her eyes, and her whole body shook. She put both fists to her eyes and tried to steady her breathing. She knew enough to realize it wasn’t a mere dream. It was either real or a threat. Either way, she had to act.

Don’t lose control, Ren.

She couldn’t afford to panic.

Ren growled in outrage, producing a sound she didn’t even know she was capable of. She had no leads on the tome and nowhere to start looking even if she wanted to. She needed to get back. Return to Vergessen and help her family. But she was on her own with no magic to portal and barely understood her bearings as it was.

She looked at her bloodied hand, wishing she could smash it through Leo’s head.

Her only option was Azur. If nothing else, he could portal her to Vergessen, and she could carve the faces off of the three acolytes.

Ren slid down the tree and quickened her pace. Her wrath drew her forward, spurring her on with every movement. She did not allow herself to falter in momentum. It took her only three hours to approach a familiar hill overlooking Xarek’s castle.

“You’re first, Xarek,”

she seethed.

Unlike the previous time she had snuck in, it was daytime, and the grounds had twice as many guards patrolling the lawns.

A good sign.

Patrols meant Xarek was worried, which could mean that Azur was somewhere inside.

Ren hunkered down and waited. She watched as each patrol passed and timed how long each pass took before the next guard circled around. She then formulated her strategy. Lulling the Devils to sleep didn’t seem logical here. Her piccolo were not loud intruments, and if the notes reached the ears of one set, the others would immediately be alerted when their comrades were asleep on the lawn.

She watched as a large yellow Devil curved around the corner, showing Ren his back. She had less than a minute to slide down the hill without attracting attention. She’d coated the bottom of her leather pants in ash to aid her momentum and pushed herself down on her bottom. She kept her eyes locked on the Devil to make sure he wouldn’t glance back.

Once there, she dashed for cover behind a small pedestal. Her heart hammered, but she held her breath. The second guard passed.

Ren knew that the next part would be the hardest.

Once the second Devil had turned his back, she crept to another pedestal, which gave her the perfect view of a fountain the size of a small pond. This Devil, standing alert, would not be making the rounds. He would stay, eyeing the back entrance.

Patience.

A third Devil turned the corner. Once the third was out of sight, Ren pulled her dagger from its sheath and flipped the blade in her hand.

You’ve done this before.

She reared back and threw the dagger at the fountain guard’s neck. The dagger buried itself to the hilt, and the guard collapsed, unable to move from the paralyzing magic of the dagger. Ren charged at him and pushed his body into the deep water, removing her weapon as she did. She then ducked herself in the water, pulling her victim deeper. She hoped that the splashing from the fountain’s spouts would cover any noise they’d made.

She counted, watching as the bubbles stopped emanating from her victim’s lips. With little time to waste, she raised her head cautiously from the surface of the water right as another patrol passed. She lifted herself up from the fountain and sprinted towards the grate. She had to beat the next pass, and her timing had to be perfect. She could see the familiar wall she needed to scale before finally dropping into a hidden alcove.

When she finally reached the wall, she threw her body and scrambled to pull herself up. She laid flat just in time to hear the grumbling guard pass by. Ren allowed herself to lie there, letting her heart rate settle while listening for a few more guards before she dropped down in front of the grate. Ren held her breath as she tried the lock. She no longer had her lock kit, so her only hope was that they’d forgotten to secure it. The grate moved soundlessly.

Unlocked.

Ren almost smiled before she felt her body seize up. Her hand, clasped around a bar, felt like millions of needles were penetrating her skin as her body convulsed, collapsing to the ground. She could taste metal, and she wanted to vomit before the jolts finally halted.

In her haste, she had completely forgotten about the trap.

Jester would never let you live this down.

She examined the damage to her hands. They both were charred black, skin rough and peeling, small pustules beginning to form. On the bright side, the shock hadn’t produced much noise, and she could stumble in unnoticed.

The small tunnel was still abandoned, and she had to feel along the wall until she found the opening. From there, it was easy to follow the smell to the circular grates below the torture chamber. Today, the area was sticky with fresh blood. She could see the black matter dripping from the hole, slow and viscous.

Someone’s in there.

“I must admit that getting the chance to see you this way, unarmed and…well, dressed down, has given me quite the thrill,”

came Xarek’s voice from above.

“Your power is waning, Azur. You know that you are delaying the inevitable.

She could also hear him, Azur. But he wasn’t moaning in pain. She heard him laugh darkly and spit.

“Your torture tactics are almost as bad as your violin playing.”

Something made a loud crack! Followed by a muffled grunt of pain.

Xarek scoffed.

“Oh, you are funny. You really should just tell me, Azur.”

Another crack—then a stifled noise.

This time, Ren heard thick liquid hitting the floor and felt its warmth as blood trickled down the back of her neck before it continued its journey down the drain sending unexpected chills through her body. She screwed up her face in disgust.

“If you tell me,”

Xarek continued.

“then perhaps I’ll let some of those little souls of yours live.”

A pause.

“No? Very well. You know, I think your Renata quite likes me. If I’m as poor a violinist as you say, perhaps I should let Renata help me with my technique. I’d like to see what she thinks of my fingering.”

A jarring growl reverberated through the room.

“If you touch her, I will rip your wings off and make you eat them.”

Xarek sighed.

“I will get what I want. I always do,”

he said wearily.

“Next time I’m here, we will practice your bow. I’ve always wanted to see what it’s like, you on your knees before me. After all, you have to practice for my coronation.”

Ren listened to boots hit stone and the distinctive scraping of the metal door. After a few moments, she heard nothing but Azur’s strained breathing. He had been hiding behind a mask of audacity and pride, but the crackling in his lungs revealed the true extent of his injuries.

She wrapped her hands around the bars above her, biting her lips against the pain of her charred palms, and pushed, feeling several blisters burst from the force.

She heard Azur suck in air, having seen the movement. It took her several thrusts to dislodge the grate on her own, but she finally pulled herself into the chamber.

There he was—dripping black blood from hundreds of long, jagged cuts. His arms were chained to the ceiling, shoulders straining under the weight of his body, muscles bulging. His hair was stuck to his forehead, wet with sweat and blood. He looked at Ren, chest heaving, blood dripping from his mouth, fangs bared. He was completely nude. Even at this moment, at his most vulnerable, she could not imagine a more stunning and terrifying picture.

The Angel of Death.

Azur hitched his mouth into a crooked smile.

“Hello there, my Elfy girl.”