Page 26 of The Damned (Coven of Bones #3)
I followed him, finding the sandy ground beneath us increasingly difficult to walk on.
I’d never been allowed to leave Crystal Hollow, only knowing the beach at the bottom of the cliff.
So few people bothered to make their way down there, outside of the White witches who favored the crystals that grew from the cliffside, that I could probably count on one hand the number of times I’d touched sand before.
But this sand was different from the sand of the beach I knew; it was deeper and softer, allowing my feet to sink in up to my ankles like it could swallow me whole. It made it even more exhausting to trudge through.
My boots could only do so much to stop me from feeling the scorching heat of the red earth, acting as a barrier to prevent me from being burned, but the suffocating warmth drenched my socks in sweat as we walked.
“Is every circle like this?” I asked, wiping the sweat from my forehead.
“Not at all,” Beelzebub said, placing a hand on his forehead to block out the setting light in the sky as he looked toward the horizon. I followed his gaze, feeling like I’d suffered through the sight of a mirage intended to torment thirsty souls.
There.
Barely visible in the distance, an oasis of a garden existed.
It was lush, with trees that hung over and shielded a pool of water tucked in between sand dunes.
Flowers bloomed all around it, making the land seem fertile and teeming with life, such a stark contrast to the otherwise completely devoid First Circle that would haunt my dreams.
I raised my canteen to my lips once again, my mouth dry in spite of Beelzebub’s constant reminders for me to drink. He didn’t seem to need as much water as I did, but he took great care to make sure I didn’t dehydrate in the unfamiliar heat.
His deep chuckle was his only response as he took the canteen from me, strapping it around my waist once again. “You aren’t seeing things, songbird. The garden is really there.”
“How?” I asked, allowing him to slide his hand into mine in my rapt fascination with the oasis.
The calluses of his fingers grated against my sensitive skin, touching every nerve ending and lighting me on fire where he touched me.
I resisted the temptation to pull away, not wanting to allow him to know I was so bothered by his proximity.
It didn’t make sense to be so affected by something so simple.
I was the Red witch, and yet sometimes it seemed like it was me who was trapped under his spell.
We approached the haven, trudging through the deep sand.
I stumbled to the side in my hurry to reach the place of sanctuary, drawn to the shaded seclusion like a moth to a flame.
Beelzebub seemed to decide he’d had enough of waiting for me to make my way through the deep sand, moving so quickly I didn’t even realize he’d swept me off my feet until I hung suspended.
His chest pressed against the side of my face, his Enochian runes glowing as I stared up at him with wide eyes.
He kept his hands placed respectfully, gripping my bicep as one arm supported my mid-back, and the other was tucked into the back of my knees.
“You really hate the heat,” he observed, barely glancing down at me as he navigated the sand without trouble.
“We don’t get many overwhelmingly hot days in Crystal Hollow,” I said, staring at the haven as he approached.
When it was only a few feet away, I patted at his chest without a word, pleased when he obeyed the silent command and placed me on my feet.
I took the few steps toward the haven, sighing in contentment when my booted feet touched the distinct sponginess of grass.
There was something beautiful in the softness beneath me, in the way the green blades didn’t shift to the side and knock me off-balance.
I took a few steps toward the pool, determined to bathe myself in the cool, relaxing waters until Beelzebub grabbed my forearm gently, shaking his head at me wordlessly as he guided me into the trees.
He looked around, as if searching the desert surrounding us before he approached one tree in particular.
“The water’s a trap meant to lure you here.
It’s no mirage, this one really exists, but there are creatures who call it home and are very, very hungry for flesh.
It isn’t often that a living being somehow wanders into Hell, so they have to survive off pure energy for survival.
Eating you would be decadent, like eating a chocolate cake after a lifetime of kale,” he explained, smirking when I grimaced up at him.
I wasn’t sure I liked that analogy, and I couldn’t even pinpoint why.
Perhaps it was just the disgusting nature of talking about eating me.
“Then why bring me here at all?” I asked, crossing my arms over my stomach.
“This is the entrance to the Second Circle,” he said, smirking as he studied me.
He pried one of my arms away from my belly, covering the back of my hand with his and threading his fingers through the gaps between mine.
The words had no sooner left his mouth than I felt the distinct proximity of lust, of the magic that called to what flowed through my veins.
“So soon?” I asked, my voice trembling. The statement was almost laughable, because a few moments prior, I would have given anything to escape the heat. But the nearness of the very circle that frightened me more than any other erased any relief I’d felt.
“Look at me,” Beelzebub said soothingly, reaching out with a hand to catch me under my chin. He shifted my stare up to his, and he seemed as shocked by the gentle touch as I did, as if the inclination to comfort me was as strange to him as it was to me.
He hated me, I reminded myself. Hated my kind, and the feeling was mutual.
So why did some of the tension leave my body, dropping my shoulders from where they’d risen into my neck as I looked at the red eyes that reminded me of home?
“I can’t do this,” I whispered, despising the vulnerability the words revealed. I felt close to tears as his face softened from surprise to empathy. I’d have thought him incapable of such a thing, with emotions that were so distant compared to the ones I wore openly on my sleeve.
“Yes, you can. You’re a survivor, and you’re stronger than you give yourself credit for,” he said, moving half a step closer to me. He leaned down over me, his chest only a breath away from mine. I lingered, staying trapped in that moment as his lips parted ever so slightly.
His head lowered as he curled his back further, pressing his forehead to mine. My intake of breath was sharp, his scent filling my lungs as I stumbled back and put distance between us again for both our sakes.
He cleared his throat, shaking his head as if he could shake off my spell. “When we arrive in Lust, I am going to do everything I can to convince Asmodeus to permit you to pass. I’ve got a plan. Just trust me, and follow my lead,” he said, brushing his hand against mine.
The slow glide of his pinky finger against my own raised carnal images that flashed through my head, the distinct feeling of bodies pressing against me flooding my system.
I knew it was the proximity to the entrance to the Second Circle playing games with my body, and the knowledge that we would soon pass through was daunting.
Self-control was already difficult. How would it be once we entered?
I glanced toward the pool once more, and I could have sworn I saw the distinct ghosts of bodies writhing together around the gardens surrounding us. I shook my head, forcing the imagery out of my mind. “How do we pass into Lust?” I asked, steadying my voice.
“Pick an apple, songbird,” he said, pointing upward. I allowed my gaze to follow and saw the apples hanging from the branches just above my head. I wouldn’t be able to reach them on my own, so I searched for any that hung just low enough.
There were none, but I paused in my perusal when a single yellow apple stared back at me. It almost shimmered like gold, the color so breathtaking and metallic as it glittered in the fading light that my words came without thought. “That one,” I said, studying it intently.
Beelzebub moved quickly, bending so he could grasp me around the backs of my thighs.
He lifted me up with the press of his arms wrapped around just above my knees, keeping my legs pinned together.
I had a moment of appreciation, knowing he’d acted in the way that would be more comfortable for me—less intimate.
I reached up to take the apple, pausing as he shifted his grip on me, supporting me with one arm so he could take my hand in his.
As one, we wrapped my fingers around the apple and pulled, tugging it free from the branch with a snap.
And we were plunged into a swirl of red and black, tossing and turning through it as if suspended in darkness.