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Chapter Three

RATHIEL

Shopping wasn’t the worst torture I’d endured—that honour belonged to the decade I’d spent in Lucifer’s tender mercies—but it had certainly earned a spot in my top ten.

Lily had dragged me to countless “department stores,” as she called the brightly-lit labyrinths. To her, they were efficient troves of essential supplies. To me, they were loud, overcrowded, and a brutal assault on my senses. Each store was its own war zone—children shrieking as they ran around like chaotic hellspawn, and their parents too exhausted to care.

But Lily had navigated each aisle with the precision of a seasoned commander, making snap decisions and tossing items into her cart with a confidence I couldn’t argue with. I hadn’t questioned her choices, not because I trusted these items’ utility, but because I lacked all context to judge. What exactly was a “water filtration straw” anyway? And why did we need something called a “multi-tool”?

Now, we stood in her apartment, and I stared at the gear Lily had spread across the floor, the afternoon sunlight streaming over the supplies. The pile was painfully minimalistic, stripped to the essentials after hours of internal debate on Lily’s part. She’d cut everything she’d deemed unnecessary, such as these so-called tents, a stove, and even rope. She claimed they’d only bog us down. What remained were compact bedrolls, these strange collapsible water canteens, a basic first aid kit, something Lily called IMPs—Individual Meal Packs, not to be confused with Vol the imp—and enough ration bars to feed a small army.

Then, of course, came the two non-negotiables: clothes and weapons.

Inferno’s Kiss and Shadow’s Embrace—her two swords—rested in their scabbards nearby, their presence a stark reminder of what lay ahead. Her daggers, Whisper, Hell’s Fang, and Oblivion’s Edge, sat beside them, gleaming with readiness. Once she armed herself, the weapons wouldn’t leave her person until— if —we came back.

My own weapon, nameless but polished, sat next to hers, ready to go. Whereas she preferred dual swords, I preferred the one. But my blade weighed twice as much as hers.

I stood back and watched as she packed and repacked our two separate bags. Next to them sat a third, smaller satchel, one she’d stuffed full of dried fruit, something called trail mix, and a type of jerked meat that resembled aged flesh. None of it looked particularly appetizing and had me grateful I could subsist purely off blood.

Her movements were meticulous, but there was an uncharacteristic tension to her. She kept running her fingers through her dark, silky hair, tugging at the strands like she was trying to smooth out invisible knots. Her teeth kept catching her bottom lip, a nervous habit I’d never seen before. Her other hand absently picked at the hem of her shirt, twisting the fabric until it was a wrinkled mess. Lily never fidgeted—never faltered. She was usually so composed, so commanding—an unshakable force of nature that could silence a room with a single look. Seeing her like this was strange.

I stepped closer, the floor creaking under my weight, and crouched beside her. “Lily.”

She didn’t respond, just adjusted a strap on one of the packs for the fifth time.

“Hey,” I said, my voice low and steady. “Look at me.”

After a moment, she did, and in those crystalline eyes, I caught it—the doubt she was trying so hard to hide.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“I—” She hesitated, then shook her head. “You don’t think we should go. Mason didn’t either. What if this is a mistake? What if I drag us down there and it all goes to hell?” A humourless laugh escaped her. “What if I get one of us killed? Or worse—all of us?”

Lily rarely doubted herself. It was what had drawn me to her from the start. She could be outnumbered, outmatched, thrown into a fight with impossible odds, and she’d still meet it head-on, refusing to flinch. Fear never dictated her choices—only sheer will and that unshakable fire burning inside her.

I didn’t agree with her plan. Walking into Hell was akin to walking into the viper’s nest. Lucifer would come after her. He didn’t see Lily as his daughter—not anymore. He saw her as competition. A usurper. And me? I was the traitor, which was ironic considering Lucifer’s past. But I knew better than to think she’d abandon her plan. She’d never backed down—not when it mattered. And if she was questioning herself now, it was my job to steady her, to remind her of all that she was capable of. She’d defied the impossible before. I had to believe she could do it again. Even if she didn’t believe it herself right now.

I reached out and took her hands in mine, running my thumb over her knuckles. “You’ve got this,” I assured her. “Hell isn’t some unknown realm. It’s our home turf. You grew up there. We’ve survived it before, we’ll do it again.”

A weak laugh slipped past her lips. “We survived because we lived in my father’s palace. That’s not exactly roughing it. This is different. I might not have all my memories, but I certainly remember Hell. The heat, the wasteland, the fire, the smoke and ash, the lava, the hellspawn, the creatures, all of it. Eliza doesn’t know what she’s getting into. But I do. And I’m the one who begged her to come. It’s my responsibility to protect her.”

“We’ll protect her together,” I said. “But you need to remember that she made her choice. And as you so firmly pointed out to me, she’s capable. She’s a warrior, like you.”

I wasn’t worried about Eliza, the supplies, or the terrain. Lily and I knew Hell’s depths better than anyone. What worried me—what terrified me—was losing her again. I’d barely survived it the first time.

Still, I held her gaze, willing her to see the strength I saw within her. Earth might’ve softened her in some ways, but not in the ways that mattered. Lily was still Lily—resilient, resourceful, and relentless. If anyone could do this, it was her. She just needed to be reminded.

“Thanks, Rath,” Lily murmured, her voice soft, almost hesitant.

The sound of my nickname from her lips sent a low thrill through me. But I didn’t draw attention to it again. I knew her well enough to keep my mouth shut. If I kept making a fuss over it, she’d bury it out of sheer stubbornness, and I wasn’t about to let that happen.

Instead, I tightened my hold on her hand, anchoring us together in the moment. Then she shifted her weight, pulling a hand free to reach for a pack of dried food across the floor. The movement brought her closer—close enough that her hair fell in a soft curtain over her shoulder and brushed against my arm. I froze, afraid the slightest reaction would scare her off.

She had no idea how badly I wanted to pull her closer. Or maybe she did. We’d kissed a few nights ago, after all. But did that kiss mean as much to her as it did to me? She didn’t remember our relationship from before all this—thanks to me erasing her memories. My mistake, I knew that. And this was my punishment.

I was the one who remembered everything. How it felt to hold her in my arms, to kiss her until the world disappeared. We’d been so much more than this before. But right now, there wasn’t anything thing I could do about it, damn it. For three very specific reasons.

First, there was my promise to give her time—however much she needed. I didn’t care how long it took.

Second, there was Jack. She’d lost him only days ago. I hated thinking about him—hated that he’d meant something to her. But he had. And that meant I needed to give her space. His death was still fresh, and she hadn’t grieved his loss yet. I wouldn’t take advantage of that.

And lastly, her missing memories. It didn’t feel right, moving forward with her when she couldn’t remember the life we’d shared. I wanted her to remember me, to remember us . Every moment, every argument, every whispered promise. I wanted to give all of it back to her. Whether that was even possible, I didn’t know. But if we were marching into Hell, then it was one more battle I was willing to fight.

When the time came—and it would—it had to be her choice. She would have to kiss me . I wouldn’t push. Of course, that was easier said than done. Especially when she sat this close and licked her damn lips.

It was a small movement, unthinking, but it drew my attention with laser focus. The rational part of me told me to look away, to pull back, but I couldn’t. I still held her hand, still sat close enough that the heat from her body warmed me, and I wasn’t strong enough to let go or move away. It wouldn’t take much effort at all to pull her forward that last inch.

“Lily,” I murmured, my voice lower and rougher than I intended.

The faintest flush rose to her cheeks. I wanted to kiss her, to tell her everything she needed to hear—about our past, my hopes for our future, everything and anything.

She leaned forward.

But then chaos erupted.

“Take that, you mangy furball!” Vol screeched, his voice shrill enough to slice through the tension like a blade. A second later, a crash reverberated from the other side of the room.

Lily shot to her feet, her hand jerking from mine as we both turned toward the commotion. Vol darted across the floor, a blur of grey, with a furious Purrgatory hot on his heels. The ginger cat’s fur was puffed up to twice its usual size, and his green eyes were locked onto the imp like a missile targeting his prey.

Vol scrambled up the couch, narrowly avoiding Purrgatory’s swiping claws. “I said I was sorry!” he yelped, though the manic grin on his face suggested otherwise.

“Oh, for the love of—” Lily grumbled.

Before she could intervene, Vol calculated his escape and leapt onto the table. Purrgatory followed with an impressive pounce that sent both of them tumbling off the edge—and directly into Lily.

She scrambled to catch them both, then cursed out loud when Purrgatory’s claws raked down her arm in an attempt to regain his footing. The cat landed gracefully and immediately began grooming himself as if nothing had happened. Vol, however, clung to Lily’s leg like a lifeline.

Lily glared at her arm and cursed—a sentiment I echoed. She loved her two roommates, as she called them, but I had to admit, I didn’t reciprocate that feeling. They were downright menaces, always stirring the pot.

“I think I broke my tail,” Vol groaned dramatically, earning a scowl from Lily.

“I’m about to break a lot more than that,” she snapped, carefully extracting him from her leg and lifting him into the air.

Vol’s beady eyes darted between Lily and me, then to the flush still coloring Lily’s cheeks. His thin lips curled into a devilish grin. “Ohh, I see,” he drawled. “Did I interrupt a moment , Meat Sack?”

“Vol,” I growled, my tone low and warning.

He glanced at me, then back to Lily. “My bad,” he said, though he didn’t sound the least bit sorry. “I’ll just—uh—be over there. Far, far over there.”

Lily dropped him onto the couch, where he landed with a soft thud. Purrgatory, as if sensing his rival’s temporary defeat, hopped up beside him and promptly swatted at his tail. And just like that, the two were off again, fighting over God only knew what.

“Damn idiots,” Lily muttered, pressing a hand to her temple.

“You’re bleeding,” I said, stepping closer to examine the three scratches that ran from her elbow to her wrist. The sight of her blood—bright and vivid against her skin—ignited something primal within me. Hunger and protectiveness tangled together. I wanted to choke the life out of that damn imp for hurting her. But more than that, I wanted to press my lips to her skin and taste her.

My mouth watered, but I forced the urge down—both of them. Lily loved that damn imp, and more importantly, she hadn’t offered me her blood since the night I’d bitten her. I refused to take anything without her permission. She trusted me, and I would not risk that.

“It’s nothing,” she said, waving me off. “Just a scratch.”

When I reached for the first aid kit she’d packed, she crouched beside me and rested her hand on mine. Her touch sent my senses into overdrive, her scent filling the air between us. Focus, Rathiel. For all that is unholy, focus.

“Seriously, Rath,” Lily said, pulling me back to reality. “It’s nothing. It’ll heal in a few minutes.”

Of course it would. She was a celestial, an angel in every sense of the word. While I was now nothing more than a vampire. A voice in my head told me I wasn’t good enough for her, but I ordered that voice to shut the fuck up. It had no place here.

I lifted her arm to the light and watched as her skin slowly began knitting itself together. “Next time, tie those two down before they start another war.”

Lily snorted, the tension in her shoulders easing as a reluctant smile tugged at her lips. “And rob them of their fun?”

I met her gaze, holding it for a beat longer than necessary. “Maybe I’m more concerned about what they’ll interrupt next time.”

Her smile faltered, replaced by something softer, more uncertain. But before either of us could say anything more, Vol popped his head up from behind a couch cushion.

“For the record,” he said, a mischievous glint in his beady eyes, “I ship you two.”

I had no idea what that meant—but I’d learned not to ask. Especially when it came to the imp.

Lily groaned, pulling her hand back as Vol promptly ducked out of sight. Moment effectively ruined, Lily turned back to the supplies and resumed packing with the same meticulous attention as before. I watched her for a moment longer, committing the sight of her to memory. She didn’t realize it, but she was my anchor—always had been. And no matter how much I hated the idea of returning to Hell, I’d follow her there just to keep her safe.

After a few moments, she brushed off her hands and stood, appraising her neatly packed bags. “I think we’re ready.”

I rose to my feet next to her, crossing my arms just to keep myself from touching her. No one was ever truly ready for Hell. But we’d go anyway, because we had to. Because she had to. And I’d be damned if I let her face Lucifer without me.