Page 72 of Lustling

Her lashes dip once, mischievous as ever. “You sure about that?”

I growl and let her go. “Get dressed.”

She does, the movement slow and teasing, as she pulls her panties up. When she is done she meets my eyes and for a moment the room holds its breath.

“Trust me,” I say, calmer now, every syllable a tether. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

She hesitates, then nods, thumb brushing a nervous arc across her hip. I can feel the coil of apprehension in her even when she doesn’t say it. Good. She needs to feel the space between danger and safety.

“We’ll be far from Zepharion’s realm,” I tell her. “He won’t know we’re there.”

She settles the worry into her hands and the smallest smile ghosts her mouth. I need her to be safe in a place where I can measure how she moves, how she fights, how we all change when the world burns. Hell is the only place to test that without the rest of the world watching.

“This time,” I say, letting steel lace my words, “you won’t just be playing with Bastion. I need to see what you’re really made of.”

FORTY-ONE

Istep out of the bedroom and stop just before the living room, fingers tightening on the hem of my shirt. They haven't noticed me yet. The three of them stand close in low conversation, shoulders pulled tight like coiled springs.

Cassiel is the first to break the quiet. “Why don’t you just ask your father for help with Zepharion?”

His question throws me. His father? I blink, caught off guard.

Deimos snorts and rolls his eyes, crossing his arms. “Yeah, no. I’d rather let Zepharion rip my spine out through my cock than ask him for anything.”

Bastion chuckles. “Dramatic much?”

Deimos tilts his head, smirking. “It’s a gift.”

Before I can ask who in Hell they mean, Deimos’ eyes find me and the conversation dies. He straightens, his smirk sharpening. “Ah, finally gracing us with your presence, Lustling.”

I cross my arms and raise a brow. “Good things take time.”

Cassiel makes a small, strangled sound and looks away. Bastion snickers. Deimos’ expression flickers, impatient. “Patience is for mortals,” he says.

“Or for those who know their worth,” I shoot back.

His jaw tightens. I savor the tightening because it’s mine to provoke. Then, with a casual flick of his wrist, a black portal tears open in the middle of the living room. The air around it hums, heavy and hot; smoke and that old, unfamiliar tang curl through the gap.

“Ready to visit Hell?”

No. Every nerve in my body recoils at the thought. Still, I know I do not have a choice. I square my shoulders and breathe out. “Not even a little. But I know I have to.”

His smirk softens, just a fraction. Without a word he reaches for my hand and laces his fingers through mine. Warm and steady. A promise without sound.

Bastion and Cassiel fall into step behind us and together we step into the dark.

The shift is immediate. Sulfur and warm earth hit my lungs first, the air heavy as if it carries weather. The sky is a bruised purple, veined with black and crimson lightning that rakes the horizon in slow, terrible flashes. The ground is obsidian, smooth and cracked where veins of molten red pulse. Towers of black stone spear the sky, their spires jagged and crowned with banners stamped in sigils that make my skin prickle.

We are in a massive courtyard, the kind of place that announces itself before you see it. Dark banners flutter in the hot wind. The heat settles under my skin in a steady hum, like a second heartbeat that tells me this is where I belong and yet, be careful.

Bastion rolls his shoulders and grins. “Feels good to be back.”

I lift an eyebrow. “You like it here?”

“What’s not to like? Fire, chaos, power. Feels like home.”

Cassiel says nothing, but his jaw works like a man keeping a storm from breaking loose. Deimos is last through the portal; it seals behind him and he squeezes my hand once before letting go, cracking his neck as he takes in the scene.