Page 90 of The Road to Hell

To my left, Korrak sat like a mountain of molten rage, nursing a massive horn of the same gut-melting liquor. To my right, Sareth leaned forward, her grin catching the firelight. She was a venerath, sleek and sinewy, with dark curved horns and bone ridges along her arms. She was built for speed, for tearing enemies apart before they could even blink.

A true warrior, through and through.

We were a motley bunch, sitting here around the fire, but we had earned this moment. We had stormed into another of Lucifer’s strongholds, torn it apart, taken everything we could carry, and burned the rest to ash.

And the best part?

We had done it without losing a single one of our own.

I tilted my horn toward the fire and grinned. “To a battle well fought, a victory well-earned, and the pure, unfiltered joy of watching Lucifer’s forces scatter like frightened vermin.”

A chorus of grunts, cheers, and growls answered me as everyone lifted their drinks.

“To the bastards we cut down,” Calder added, taking a long, obnoxiously slow sip. He sighed dramatically, licking the last drop from his lips. “And to the ones we left alive to run home crying to Daddy.”

I snorted. “Careful, Calder. You sound like you actually care about the war.”

“I care about the drinking that comes after,” he corrected, flashing me a fanged grin.

Varz let out a low, unimpressed grunt. “You barely lifted a damn finger during the fight.”

Calder spread his hands, all feigned innocence. “Ah, but I did just enough to earn my share of the spoils.”

“You killed two soldiers,” Varz deadpanned.

“They were very important soldiers,” Calder said smoothly. “Quality over quantity, my dear Varz.”

Sareth huffed a laugh, tipping her own drinking horn toward him. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, vampire.”

Calder gave her an exaggerated wink. “Oh, I sleep very well. Care to find out for yourself?”

Sareth chuckled, tilting her head as if considering it. “Tempting,” she mused, eyes gleaming. “But I prefer my partners with a little more bite.”

“Oh, darling, I bite plenty,” Calder assured her.

Sareth simply took another sip of her drink. I wasn’t sure if that was a rejection.

Korrak, however, mumbled something under his breath, unimpressed as always. “This is why I don’t drink with vampires,” he grumbled.

At the mention of vampires, I glanced up from my drink and let my gaze wander across the camp in search of my favourite one. Firelight danced in across the area, and multiple groups of hellspawn, all clustered together, drank, laughed, and sharpened their weapons.

And then I found him.

Rathiel.

He stood at the far side, slightly removed from the revelry, speaking quietly with a few of our soldiers. One of the hellspawn, a vexori named Jorek, laughed and downed the rest of her drink in a single swallow. Her gaze found me, and with a knowing grin, she nudged Rathiel’s shoulder.

He turned his head, and our eyes locked across the space between us.

Just like that, the rest of the camp faded away. The noise diminished to little more than a hum in my ears, and all the soldiers blurred. All I saw washim.

For a moment, neither of us moved. The firelight glowed between us, burning as bright and hot as the heat unfurling within my chest.

Rathiel didn’t look away.

Neither did I.

He lifted his flagon and took a drink, his throat moving as he swallowed. Then a slow smile curled the corner of his mouth—subtle, knowing, edged with a hint of teasing. My fingers tightened around my drinking horn as Rathiel’s amusement grew, like he knew exactly what that little smile of his did to me. Hell, he probably did.

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