Page 5 of The Demigod

And, of course, the chains on the walls.

Wrists and ankles.

A few even had these horrific bands to go around their necks.

My belly flipped as my mind was helpless but to imagine the kind of terror one would feel to be so bound, to be so helpless as awful things happened to you.

No.

Dammit.

I needed to stay focused.

If I couldn’t accomplish my mission, all there would be for humankind—and many different, less powerful creatures—would be misery.

I found the horned creature chained in the darkest corner of the cellar, his arms out like on a cross, but his body lax, his head slumped. I moved across the floor, kicking something that looked suspiciously like a part of a human mandible as I went.

His horns were just slightly sticking out of his skull right at that moment, and I couldn’t seem to resist the urge to reach out and run my finger along one of them.

A snarl had me snatching my hand back, my heart punching against my ribcage.

But he was snarling in his sleep, the sound weak and distant.

He was insanely handsome, all classically good-looking bone structure that was a bit softer in sleep.

Blood was dripping lazily down the side of his head from what I assumed was a wound to his skull.

As if feeling the wound at the same time I thought of it, a pained whimper escaped him.

“Sleep,” I said softly, reaching out to touch his strangely heated skin, feeling the warmth slice across my frigid fingers and work its way up my arm.

At the command, his whole body went lax.

It wouldn’t last long; I wasn’t that powerful. But it was a small mercy I could give him.

Sleep would allow him to rest through the worst of his head pain. And let his body reabsorb the adrenaline from Oizys’s powers.

I could show him some kindness.

Then, as soon as he woke up, I would do whatever it took to get him to agree to help me.

CHAPTER THREE

Daemon

Consciousness came slowly.

It started with small awarenesses that teased at the edges of my mind, pulling me out of the deepest sleep of my life.

It was the cold at first.

Sure, the sensation of being cold was a constant battle since leaving Hell and entering the human plane. It was just a natural adjustment to a new climate. It didn’t seem to nag me the way it constantly bothered Ace, who could always be found in one of his grandpa sweaters curled up near the fire.

But this was different. It was the kind of chill that crept across your skin and burrowed under, kept rooting down until it seemed to settle in your very bones.

My body was racked with it, violent shivers that had me pushing closer and closer to the edges of sleep.

It was the screaming next.

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