Page 4 of The Road to Hell

Rathiel sighed. “We’ll find the numbers.”

“Yes, we will. And in the meantime, I’m asking Mason and Eliza to join us. If they say no, fine. But nothing you say will keep me from asking them.”

“And if they die?” he asked, his tone cold.

Okay, maybeonething he said could stop me. But I lifted my chin. “They aren’t going to die. I won’t let that happen.”

His eyes bored into mine for a long moment before his shoulders sagged slightly. “Fine,” he growled. “But if they’re coming, they follow my lead. No exceptions. You too.”

I bit back a smirk. Rathiel thinking he was in charge was almost cute. But instead of pointing out that I was the one running the show, I smiled sweetly and nodded.

“Anything else on your list?” he asked.

“Oh, just storming into Hell, raising a rebellion, and kicking Lucifer off his throne,” I said with a shrug.

Rathiel shook his head and turned back to the balcony door, his focus once again on the world outside. His hand strayed to his sword’s hilt, a reflex I recognized as his way of grounding himself.

When nothing happened, I stood from the couch and grabbed my jacket. I slipped it on and was halfway to the door when Rathiel’s voice stopped me in my tracks.

“Where are you going?”

“To the bar,” I said, keeping my tone light. “Mason’s working tonight, and with luck, Eliza might show up too. Figured I’d knock out two birds with one stone.”

“There’s no way you’re going alone,” he said, striding toward me, his long legs making quick work of the distance.

I turned, frowning. “I’ll be fine. It’s just the bar. You know, the one where I used to work?”

“That’s exactly the problem,” he shot back. “That’s the first place the fallen would look for you. I won’t risk it. Remember what happened the last time you ventured out alone?”

I flinched, the memory hitting like a punch to the gut. Jack’s lifeless body flashed through my mind, but I quickly shoved the thought down and forced myself to hold Rathiel’s gaze. I opened my mouth to argue again, but before I could get the words out, he closed the distance between us. His hand came up, and he gently clasped my chin, tilting my face so I had no choice but to look at him. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver through me, and the emotions in his eyes—raw, vulnerable, and fierce—made my breath catch.

“I will not risk your life again,” he said, his voice steady but brimming with intensity. “Not now, not ever. I’ve already lost you once, Lily.”

His thumb brushed lightly against my jaw, and my heart thudded painfully in my chest. “You don’t remember,” he continued, his voice dropping to a whisper, “but I do. I remember how it felt to see you broken, bleeding, and slipping away. I’ll be damned if I let that happen again.”

“Rathiel,” I whispered, unsure of what to say, unsure if I could even speak past the lump in my throat.

He leaned in slightly, his eyes never leaving mine. “You don’t have to do this alone, Lily. Not anymore. Whatever comes, wherever we go—I’m with you. Always.”

For a moment, I couldn’t breathe. The sincerity in his words, the way he said my name like it was a prayer, left me completely undone.

“Fine,” I said softly, my voice barely above a whisper. “But only if you promise not to hover like some overprotective watchdog.”

His lips twitched in the faintest ghost of a smile. “No promises.”

“Figures,” I muttered, stepping back and trying to ignore the warmth lingering where his hand had been. “Let’s go, then.”

ChapterTwo

LILY

The neon sign for Wraith & Whiskey flickered faintly in the darkness, the ghostly letters standing out against the night like a beacon for all things supernatural. It cast an eerie, pale glow over the cracked sidewalk, as though daring mortals to notice. They wouldn’t, of course. Magic cloaked the bar from human eyes, ensuring only the paranormal—or those like me—could see it.

I stared at the sign, and my heart gave a twinge. This place had been my second home for five years. I knew every inch, from the sticky floorboards near the jukebox to the gnarly bloodstain by the door—a souvenir from a rowdy evening that had resulted in a fight between a vampire and a chupacabra visiting from down south. The vamp had run his mouth and the chupacabra had put him in his place—rather painfully, I might add.

And now, I was back. Not as a bartender, but as a patron. That thought alone made me cringe. I’d spent countless hours serving drinks, and cleaning up broken furniture—usually broken by me—and occasionally spilled blood. Sure, the work had been hard and the hours long, but this place still meant something to me. And I’d had to give it up, because of my father.

I adjusted my jacket to make sure it concealed my weapons, then shoved open the door with enough force to knock out a small werewolf. The usual din of growls, laughter, and clinking glasses hit me hard, and it surprised me to find myself blinking back tears.

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