Page 14 of The Immortal’s Curse (Bound to the Immortals #2)

DES

The Underworld

I stand rigid in front of the Underworld’s gate, fists curled so tight my nails bite into my palms. The air is heavy, acrid with the stench of smoke and decay, and every breath rasps like ash down my throat.

Beyond the shifting wall of darkness, shadows writhe and howl. Somewhere inside that seething mass, Evetta fights. Her power slices through the tortured souls the Creator condemned to these hellish depths as she fights her way to freedom.

The gate quivers under the force of her assault, a violent shudder that rattles the iron rods anchoring it to the cavern floor. She’s close. Closer than she deserves.

I send another wave of darkness out into the depths of Hell. Evetta’s enraged snarl echoes through the cavern moments later. My lips curl into a grin.

“She shouldn’t be here,” Julisanna hisses, her voice cuts through the gloom like cold steel. “We’re supposed to be family. ”

Family . The word festers in my mouth like rot.

Evetta is treacherous, jealous, and ever-hungry for power. She has never been my family. Not in any way that matters.

Charmian steps forward, calm in a way that makes the cursed souls on the other side of the gate grow still. The violet glow blooming at her fingertips paints the cavern with eerie light, soft but unwavering.

“Desmond,” she says, her tone gentle yet unrelenting. “Our laws demand Evetta stand trial. You must release her.”

My jaw locks so tight it aches. The shadows press against the gate again, a shriek rising from the other side as another soul is torn apart by Evetta’s hand.

She hasn’t suffered nearly enough. If it were my choice, I would let her rot here. I’d let her drown in the torment she so readily deals to others.

Evetta should be used as an example so no one else dares to touch her ever again.

But Charmian is right. Without a trial, the fragile trust between us and the half-breeds and lesser Immortals will splinter. And once broken, it won't be easy to mend.

“Fine,” I snarl. The word tastes like ash.

I lay my hand on the enchanted iron clasp binding the gate. Its surface sears against my skin, resisting me even as the white light of death flares beneath my touch.

The lock opens with a resonant click that echoes through the cavern, bouncing off stone like a death toll. The gate swings open, and the shadows peel back. They know there is no life outside the gates for them. No matter how much they howl and thrash at them.

My fellow Originals and I wait until, from the dark depths of the Underworld, Evetta emerges at last. Her form coalesces from black smoke into charred flesh.

The Original runs forward, movements sharp, feral. Her eyes blaze with anger… until they meet mine .

In an instant, her fury gives way to terror.

My grin grows.

Good .

She should be afraid.

Because her trial begins now.

And with it, so does her reckoning.