Page 6

Chapter Six

LILY

“What. Is. That ?” Eliza demanded, studying my impish friend with her daggers in hand. “Is that a hellspawn?”

Vol stood atop a charred rock, his stubby arms crossed and a deeply unimpressed expression plastered across his tiny, toothy face. “Excuse you,” he said, his tone dripping with disappointment. “I’ll have you know I’m a distinguished imp of impeccable character. Not a ‘ that .’”

Eliza’s daggers didn’t waver. “It talks? Why does it talk? And why does it look like it crawled out of Satan’s dirty laundry basket?”

Vol gasped, clutching his chest theatrically. “Satan’s dirty laundry basket? Rude. I bathe weekly. Bi-weekly at worst.”

“Eliza, put the knives down,” I said, already unzipping my jacket. “He’s with us.”

Her gaze snapped to me. “He is?”

“Yes,” I replied, digging through my pack. Hell’s suffocating heat had already seeped under my skin, each breath like sucking air through a furnace. Fleece-lined, downy jackets and thermal boots were essential in Alberta. But here? Here they were liabilities. Theoretically, Hell’s climate wouldn’t kill me—a perk of being a celestial—but that didn’t mean I had to be miserable. And sweating through every inch of clothing was high on my list of miseries.

Sweating was more of a discomfort for me, as was dehydration, so I preferred to avoid both if possible. And seeing as how this realm didn’t come with corner stores stocked with water bottles, it was time for a wardrobe change.

I’d just shrugged off my jacket and tossed it aside when Rathiel strode over and asked under his breath, “What happened back there? At the gate?”

I froze for a heartbeat. I’d been asking the same thing since I shoved my hand through the portal and lit up the night like Canada Day.

“I’m not sure,” I admitted as I peeled off my heavy, sweat-dampened shirt, revealing the black tank top I’d worn as my base layer. The lightweight fabric clung to my skin, offering just enough relief without feeling restrictive. But as the heated air hit my bare shoulders, unease and discomfort crept up my spine. I hadn’t worn anything this revealing in years. Not since I’d discovered the scars. They were a map of my greatest failure, etched in raw, uneven lines that even time hadn’t been able to smooth over.

But Hell didn’t care about my discomfort. Tank tops were a necessity, not a choice. The heat would eat me alive otherwise.

“Have you ever done anything like that before?” Rathiel asked, stepping closer.

I shook my head.

“Did it hurt you?” he pressed. “Whenever I’ve opened the gate, it’s drained me, but you seem perfectly fine.”

“Not at all,” I told him. “It felt…right. I wish I had more answers for you. The last time I touched the gate, it didn’t respond to me at all. Then tonight, I could feel it calling to me. It felt completely natural, like Hell was welcoming me home.”

“Hmm.” He considered me for a few moments, then asked, “Do you have complete control over it? Can you keep the other fallen out permanently?”

“Honestly? I have no idea,” I said. “The gate feels closed? But maybe they also know how to open it. I know as much as you do.”

He slowly nodded. “Just one more mystery for us to figure out.”

I swallowed a laugh. “Guess so.”

Rathiel strode to his pack and started stripping out of his winter gear. I took that moment to push my jeans down and slip into a pair of loose-fitting cargo pants designed for maximum airflow and mobility. Then I swapped out my winter boots for a pair of lightweight hiking shoes, fitted snugly to my feet.

As I tied my hair into a high ponytail to keep it off my neck, I glanced at Rathiel again. He’d already removed his winter jacket and was in the middle of removing his shirt, revealing a chest slick with a light sheen of sweat. His muscles gleamed in the eerie, reddish light of Hell, each scarred ridge and contour a testament to the years of combat and hardship he’d endured.

I’d seen bits of him before, obviously, but I hadn’t prepared myself for a full frontal. My attention caught and lingered, my mind momentarily blank.

“You’re staring,” Rathiel said, his voice low and amused. When I met his gaze, his lips curled into a slow, sexy grin that was equal parts infuriating and captivating.

“Am not,” I said, too quickly, and turned back to my pack with a pointed air of indifference.

He chuckled, the sound rumbling and deep, before pulling a breathable black shirt over his head. The fabric stretched over his torso before he flared out his wings, slicing through the back with practiced ease.

I reminded myself I was not attracted to him—yes, the voice in my head laughed at me—and tossed a smaller bag to Eliza. “We’re similar sizes, so I packed some clothes for you too, if you need any.”

She caught the bag deftly and gave me a grateful nod, her gaze flicking to Vol once more before she started sifting through the contents. “I packed similarly, but extras never hurt.”

“Agreed,” I said, shifting my attention back to our supplies.

I wasn’t sure if dehydration was a thing for sirens but given the whole “fish out of water” situation we had going on, I figured it was best to keep an eye on her. Once we ran out of bottled water—which we would—we’d have to switch to using the filtration straws. Whether those could filter out the nastier stuff in whatever Hell called water remained to be seen. If not, we’d adjust our plans accordingly.

One upside to me suddenly being able to control the gate was that we weren’t stuck here. We could, theoretically, leave and resupply if necessary. The only catch? Finding more gates. And seeing as how no one had labeled them with exit signs, that would be challenging. But it was an option.

Eliza shed her outer layers, stripping down to her base clothing—a tank top, underwear, and socks. She pulled on loose tactical pants, hiking boots, then adjusted her daggers. Despite the circumstances, her movements were calm and efficient, the mark of someone who knew how to handle herself no matter the environment. Considering how out of her element she was, she was doing well.

Meanwhile, Vol perched on a nearby rock, watching the exchange with a mixture of amusement and impatience. “Are we done playing dress-up?”

Eliza shot him a glare but didn’t rise to the bait.

Ignoring him, I pulled out a water canteen and took a long drink, letting the liquid soothe the dryness in my throat. I swallowed carefully, knowing we’d have to ration it, and handed the canteen to Eliza, who accepted it with a nod of thanks.

I knelt beside my pack and withdrew a small bowl, plus another bottle of water. I poured a small amount for Purrgatory, then zipped open his carrier door enough to slip it inside, allowing him a quick drink too. His faint growl from inside earned a half-smile from me.

“I know,” I murmured, “you want out. Hopefully, it won’t take us too long to find a place to camp. We just need to find somewhere safe.” Which in Hell was like looking for a needle in a haystack. Truly, nowhere was safe.

Satisfied, I stood and faced my companions. Eliza practically jumped out of her skin before crouching and fumbling with her boot laces, her face angled downward. The clumsy, unnecessary action sent a jolt of unease through me.

Then I glanced at Rathiel.

He, on the other hand, wasn’t pretending. His gaze locked on me, unflinching and raw. There was no pity in his expression—Rathiel didn’t pity anyone. But something darker lingered in his eyes, an ache that carved through his usual stoicism. It wasn’t judgment. It wasn’t disgust. It was grief, stark and unguarded.

My stomach twisted, my chest tightening as realization hit.

The scars.

I dragged in a slow, measured breath, trying to steady my racing heart. They would have seen the scars eventually. There was no hiding them here, not in Hell’s sweltering heat. Better now than later, I told myself. But the rational thought didn’t stop the burning self-consciousness prickling across my skin.

Eliza broke the silence first. Her voice, tinged with disbelief, cut through the air. “You told me you lost your wings, but I never imagined…” She trailed off, her gaze flicking to me before darting away.

I forced my shoulders back, lifting my chin in defiance against the shame clawing at me. “They’re just scars,” I said. “They don’t matter anymore.”

“They matter,” Rathiel said, his voice low and rough.

I froze as he stepped closer, circling me with slow, deliberate movements. He didn’t speak again, didn’t ask for permission. He simply stopped behind me, his presence undeniable.

The silence stretched, thick and heavy, before the faintest touch of fingertips brushed against one of my shoulders. His hand lingered, his touch so light it was almost reverent, as though he feared pressing too hard would break me.

“When I saved you, the wounds were fresh,” he said softly, his voice strained. “But these…” He trailed off, his fingers following the path of one scar, tracing the raised, twisted skin.

“They didn’t heal properly,” I said.

“No,” he murmured, his voice thick with an emotion I couldn’t name. “They didn’t.”

The quiet words hit harder than I expected, a reminder of the wounds I’d carried alone for so long.

Eliza’s voice broke the moment. “Your father did this?”

I met her gaze, her expression caught between horror and anger.

“Yes,” I said simply. “It was my punishment for rebelling against him.”

Rathiel’s hand fell away, but the heat of his touch lingered. He stepped around to face me, his jaw tight and his eyes burning with an intensity that made my chest ache.

I took a deep breath and forced my thoughts back to the problem at hand. This was no time to dwell on my scars—physical or otherwise. Right now, survival came first. And survival meant arming myself. I strode to our weapons bag and did exactly that—sheathing two daggers to my wrists, strapping a third to my calf, and hanging my swords at my hips, right where they belonged.

Once the bag was empty, I folded it up and tucked it into my pack, which I then heaved onto my back and buckled the straps across my chest. I wasn’t used to carrying one while armed, but we needed these supplies, so I’d adjust.

“We need to get moving. The longer we stay in one spot, the more dangerous our situation becomes,” I said, studying our surroundings to get my bearings.

I’d grown up here, so I liked to think I knew every inch of the terrain. However, my father was known for changing the landscape based on his whims. Thankfully, I did recognize this place. Ahead of us, looming against the fiery haze, sat the Blazing Cliffs.

The terrain leading up to them was rugged and uneven, a series of rocky slopes and cracked ground that would love nothing more than to send us plummeting to our deaths. Then, on the other side of the cliffs, was an ocean of lava. The temperature would continue to rise the closer we got, but caves riddled the towering cliffs, and right now, caves were our best option.

I pointed to the cliffs. “That way. I know of a few caves up there, near the top of the plateau.”

“You do?” Eliza asked, her tone skeptical.

“Sure,” I replied. “My father forbade me from leaving the palace, so naturally?—”

“You left the palace,” Eliza finished, laughing.

Rathiel let out a quiet snort, the faintest trace of a smile tugging at his lips. “Naturally,” he echoed, his tone laced with dry amusement. “I seem to recall a particular moment when Lily was much younger. She believed she could outsmart me by climbing out a window to reach the roof.”

I rolled my eyes, despite the warmth creeping into my cheeks. “I didn’t think I could outsmart you. I did outsmart you.”

Rathiel arched a brow, his expression shifting into one of exaggerated skepticism. “And you nearly broke your neck when you slipped and fell.”

“Sure, but that was the day I learned to fly,” I said, my voice taking on a wistful note.

Eliza’s gaze jumped between us, her brow furrowing as she studied Rathiel and me with growing curiosity. “Wait,” she said, gesturing between us. “Just how long have you two known each other?”

“My whole life,” I answered. “But Rathiel’s lived for millennia longer than me.”

Eliza’s face paled. “Millennia? How does that work? He doesn’t look a day over twenty-five.”

I brushed a stray strand of hair from my face. “Celestials stop aging when we reach maturity,” I explained. “Rathiel may be far older than me, but physically, we look the same. Perks of being an angel.”

Rathiel let out a low grunt, his voice rough. “I’m no angel.”

“Rath—”

“No, Lily. I’m not an angel,” he snapped.

His tone startled me into silence. And no matter how hard I stared, he wouldn’t look at me.

“Uh, what argument did I just start?” Eliza questioned.

Rathiel’s gaze shot to her, cold and distant. When he didn’t speak, Eliza looked at me for clarification.

I sighed. When I’d first introduced Eliza and Mason to Rathiel, I hadn’t exactly given them a full history lesson. I’d covered the basics—his connection to me and my father—but I’d left out the finer details. At the time, it hadn’t seemed necessary.

But considering we were now trekking through Hell together, perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to give a little more context. Especially because she didn’t know he fed on blood. That seemed like something I should share with the class.

“Rathiel is technically a vampire,” I told her. “The progenitor of the species, in fact.”

Her eyes widened. “As in, the first ever made?”

“Mm-hmm,” I murmured. “Technically, none of the fallen are celestials anymore, thanks to my father. Gremory, Gavrel, Rathiel…” I gestured toward him. “They all chose to fall alongside my father. But when they landed here, Lucifer saw an opportunity to make them into something else. Before he shaped Hell into the lovely place it is now, the realm was little more than a void—a black hole where the worst souls resided until they repented. My father changed that. He remade it. And he remade his most loyal too.”

I glanced at Rathiel, whose shoulders had tensed.

“My father came across demons native to this realm and, in essence, let them possess his fallen.” I said. “Two beings forced into one. Lucifer called it a gift, but really, it was a punishment—a way of ensuring his fallen could never abandon him and return to Heaven.”

“He made us into monsters,” Rathiel growled.

“Rath, no?—”

“But her?” he interrupted, gesturing to me. “She’s perfect. No matter what Lucifer has done to her, she’s still…pure. She’s the best of us, the best either Heaven or Hell has to offer. And she always will be.”

The raw conviction in his voice stole my breath. My chest tightened as I tried to process his words.

“Rathiel,” I started, but my voice faltered. The way he looked at me—like I was something untouchable, something beyond his reach—unsettled me more than I cared to admit. He was wrong, so deeply wrong, about himself. But how could I convince him when he so clearly believed it?

Eliza shifted beside me, her brows furrowed as her gaze darted between us. Her confusion was evident, though she said nothing. Instead, she gave me a pointed glance, her eyes silently asking what the hell was going on between us.

I ignored her, my focus locked on Rathiel. “You’re not a monster,” I said, my tone firm. “You’ve done things, yes. We all have. But that doesn’t define who you are. You’re more than what he made you.”

Rathiel shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping his lips.

“It’s true,” I said, my tone hardening. “You’ve made mistakes but so have we all. No matter what, though, you’re here. You’re fighting to save Hell, to save me, to right all my father’s wrongs. That’s not what a monster does, Rathiel.”

When he didn’t respond, I placed a hand on his arm and squeezed, my fingers kneading his flesh. “You are not Lucifer’s weapon anymore.”

“No, I’m yours,” he said gruffly, though he gave me a small, albeit forced, smile.

I chuckled and bumped his shoulder with mine. “And don’t you forget it.”

Eliza’s gaze ping-ponged between us, her lips pressed into a thin line. Finally, she crossed her arms and leaned slightly toward me. “So…there’s definitely some history here between you two,” she said, her tone dry but tinged with curiosity.

“ A lot of history,” I admitted. A history I couldn’t fully remember. But now wasn’t the time to dwell on that. I was Lucifer’s daughter, but I wasn’t in the habit of kicking others when they were down. And right now, Rathiel was way down.

“We should get moving,” I repeated, bringing us full circle. “It’ll take hours to reach the cliffs.”

If it were just Rathiel and I, he likely would have flown me there. But Eliza’s presence complicated things. There was no way he’d leave me alone while he flew her all the way to the cliffs. So, walking it was.

Eliza raised a brow but didn’t press further. Rathiel simply nodded, falling into step beside me as we started toward the cliffs in the distance. The tension between us lingered, but I forced it aside. There were more pressing concerns to focus on—like surviving Hell.