Page 55 of Pain

“There’s no communication between Hell and Earth, babe,” I said. “They’re parallel universes. For all we know, where we’re standing right now on Earth is the bottom of the Pacific Ocean or something.”

She blinked at me.

I put the truck in park and snorted. “Wild, right?”

Her hand left my thigh, and it was like being hit by a bowling ball hurled offa cliff. All the nauseating feelings came back to me. All the concerns. All the worries. All the crippling thoughts.

And she could see it on my face.

“Get out of the truck, Maxar,” she ordered. “Now.”

Nodding, and swaying a little when I first stepped out, I swallowed down the bile crawling up my throat and met her in front of the grill. She took my hand in hers and sent those calming thoughts and feelings back into me.

“The bond is still forming,” she said. “Soon, we won’t need to be connected for me to do this. For now though, don’t let go.”

I wasn’t going to let go for anything. “You’ll have to accompany me to the bathroom and hold it for me while I pee then,” I said, stupidly attempting to lighten the mood.

Her smirk told me she appreciated it. “Fine by me.” Then she lifted up onto her tiptoes and pressed a kiss to my jaw.

The bear growled behind us.

“This way,” I said, pulling her toward the door that, I’m assuming, said Entrance, even though it was in the demon language.

We arrived at the door where yet another ugly demon who sat behind some scratched Plexiglass, glanced at us with unveiled boredom. “Names?”

I cleared my throat. “Maxar Rane, Omaera Playfair, Zandren Thorne, and Drak Ferrin.”

The flick of the guard’s eyes to Drak for half a second was all we got in recognition of royalty. She may not even knowwhoZandren was, since shifters never came to Hell.

“You’re here to see Gwinn and Nulon Rane, and Quintella Voldrak?”

“Just Gwinn and Nulon,” I corrected.

She grunted and the big metal door clicked open.

Omaera smiled at her. “Thank you.”

The guard reared back in surprise, her glare intensifying.

I led them through, holding on tight to Omaera’s hand as we navigated the narrow, dark corridor, illuminated only by glowing green strips on the floor.

“This isn’t ominous at all,” Omaera murmured. “Why does Hell have to beso melodramatic?”

“Because people hate melodrama,” Zandren said. “And Hell is determined to be the antithesis of all things enjoyable.”

“He’s not wrong,” I murmured.

“Of course I’m not wrong,” Zandren said with indignation. “Just because I’ve never been to Hell before doesn’t mean I don’t know shit. Or can’t infer shit.”

“Pooh Bear,” Omaera said gently, “be nice.”

Zandren’s growl vibrated through the darkness. “Don’t know why we’re even fucking here.” He grunted. “I feel funny.” He grunted a few more times as we continued walking in almost-pitch-blackness.

More grunting, followed by a growl, some feet shuffling, then a terrified whimper before I was suddenly hauled backward by the neck of my shirt, then slammed against the wall, Zandren’s face right in mine. I couldn’t see it, but I could feel his warm, angry breath on my face.

“Where the fuck did you bring us, you fire fucker? I just tried to shift and I couldn’t. What’s going on?” Panic filled his tone as he roared in the hallway.

“Zandren!” Omaera exclaimed. She snapped her fingers a few times, but no flames formed. Her hand in mine tensed. “Maxar, what’s going on? Why can’t I … why do I feel … human?”

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