Page 10 of The Road to Hell

Shopping wasn’t the worst torture I’d endured—that honour belonged to the decade I’d spent in Lucifer’s tender mercies—but it had certainly earned a spot in my top ten.

Lily had dragged me to countless “department stores,” as she called the brightly-lit labyrinths. To her, they were efficient troves of essential supplies. To me, they were loud, overcrowded, and a brutal assault on my senses. Each store was its own war zone—children shrieking as they ran around like chaotic hellspawn, and their parents too exhausted to care.

But Lily had navigated each aisle with the precision of a seasoned commander, making snap decisions and tossing items into her cart with a confidence I couldn’t argue with. I hadn’t questioned her choices, not because I trusted these items’ utility, but because I lacked all context to judge. What exactly was a “water filtration straw” anyway? And why did we need something called a “multi-tool”?

Now, we stood in her apartment, and I stared at the gear Lily had spread across the floor, the afternoon sunlight streaming over the supplies. The pile was painfully minimalistic, stripped to the essentials after hours of internal debate on Lily’s part. She’d cut everything she’d deemed unnecessary, such as these so-called tents, a stove, and even rope. She claimed they’d only bog us down. What remained were compact bedrolls, these strange collapsible water canteens, a basic first aid kit, something Lily called IMPs—Individual Meal Packs, not to be confused with Vol the imp—and enough ration bars to feed a small army.

Then, of course, came the two non-negotiables: clothes and weapons.

Inferno’s Kiss and Shadow’s Embrace—her two swords—rested in their scabbards nearby, their presence a stark reminder of what lay ahead. Her daggers, Whisper, Hell’s Fang, and Oblivion’s Edge, sat beside them, gleaming with readiness. Once she armed herself, the weapons wouldn’t leave her person until—if—we came back.

My own weapon, nameless but polished, sat next to hers, ready to go. Whereas she preferred dual swords, I preferred the one. But my blade weighed twice as much as hers.

I stood back and watched as she packed and repacked our two separate bags. Next to them sat a third, smaller satchel, one she’d stuffed full of dried fruit, something called trail mix, and a type of jerked meat that resembled aged flesh. None of it looked particularly appetizing and had me grateful I could subsist purely off blood.

Her movements were meticulous, but there was an uncharacteristic tension to her. She kept running her fingers through her dark, silky hair, tugging at the strands like she was trying to smooth out invisible knots. Her teeth kept catching her bottom lip, a nervous habit I’d never seen before. Her other hand absently picked at the hem of her shirt, twisting the fabric until it was a wrinkled mess. Lily never fidgeted—never faltered. She was usually so composed, so commanding—an unshakable force of nature that could silence a room with a single look. Seeing her like this was strange.

I stepped closer, the floor creaking under my weight, and crouched beside her. “Lily.”

She didn’t respond, just adjusted a strap on one of the packs for the fifth time.

“Hey,” I said, my voice low and steady. “Look at me.”

After a moment, she did, and in those crystalline eyes, I caught it—the doubt she was trying so hard to hide.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“I—” She hesitated, then shook her head. “You don’t think we should go. Mason didn’t either. What if this is a mistake? What if I drag us down there and it all goes to hell?” A humourless laugh escaped her. “What if I get one of us killed? Or worse—all of us?”

Lily rarely doubted herself. It was what had drawn me to her from the start. She could be outnumbered, outmatched, thrown into a fight with impossible odds, and she’d still meet it head-on, refusing to flinch. Fear never dictated her choices—only sheer will and that unshakable fire burning inside her.

I didn’t agree with her plan. Walking into Hell was akin to walking into the viper’s nest. Lucifer would come after her. He didn’t see Lily as his daughter—not anymore. He saw her as competition. A usurper. And me? I was the traitor, which was ironic considering Lucifer’s past.ButI knew better than to think she’d abandon her plan. She’d never backed down—not when it mattered. And if she was questioning herself now, it was my job to steady her, to remind her of all that she was capable of. She’d defied the impossible before. I had to believe she could do it again. Even if she didn’t believe it herself right now.

I reached out and took her hands in mine, running my thumb over her knuckles. “You’ve got this,” I assured her. “Hell isn’t some unknown realm. It’s our home turf. You grew up there. We’ve survived it before, we’ll do it again.”

A weak laugh slipped past her lips. “We survived because we lived in my father’s palace. That’s not exactly roughing it. This is different. I might not have all my memories, but I certainly remember Hell. The heat, the wasteland, the fire, the smoke and ash, the lava, the hellspawn, the creatures, all of it. Eliza doesn’t know what she’s getting into. But I do. And I’m the one who begged her to come. It’s my responsibility to protect her.”

“We’ll protect her together,” I said. “But you need to remember thatshemade her choice. And as you so firmly pointed out to me, she’s capable. She’s a warrior, like you.”

I wasn’t worried about Eliza, the supplies, or the terrain. Lily and I knew Hell’s depths better than anyone. What worried me—whatterrifiedme—was losing her again. I’d barely survived it the first time.

Still, I held her gaze, willing her to see the strength I saw within her. Earth might’ve softened her in some ways, but not in the ways that mattered. Lily was still Lily—resilient, resourceful, and relentless. If anyone could do this, it was her. She just needed to be reminded.

“Thanks, Rath,” Lily murmured, her voice soft, almost hesitant.

The sound of my nickname from her lips sent a low thrill through me. But I didn’t draw attention to it again. I knew her well enough to keep my mouth shut. If I kept making a fuss over it, she’d bury it out of sheer stubbornness, and I wasn’t about to let that happen.

Instead, I tightened my hold on her hand, anchoring us together in the moment. Then she shifted her weight, pulling a hand free to reach for a pack of dried food across the floor. The movement brought her closer—close enough that her hair fell in a soft curtain over her shoulder and brushed against my arm. I froze, afraid the slightest reaction would scare her off.

She had no idea how badly I wanted to pull her closer. Or maybe she did. We’d kissed a few nights ago, after all. But did that kiss mean as much to her as it did to me? She didn’t remember our relationship from before all this—thanks to me erasing her memories. My mistake, I knew that. And this was my punishment.

I was the one who remembered everything. How it felt to hold her in my arms, to kiss her until the world disappeared. We’d been so much more than this before. But right now, there wasn’t anything thing I could do about it, damn it. For three very specific reasons.

First, there was my promise to give her time—however much she needed. I didn’t care how long it took.

Second, there was Jack. She’d lost him only days ago. I hated thinking about him—hated that he’d meant something to her. But he had. And that meant I needed to give her space. His death was still fresh, and she hadn’t grieved his loss yet. I wouldn’t take advantage of that.

And lastly, her missing memories. It didn’t feel right, moving forward with her when she couldn’t remember the life we’d shared. I wanted her to remember me, to rememberus. Every moment, every argument, every whispered promise. I wanted to give all of it back to her. Whether that was even possible, I didn’t know. But if we were marching into Hell, then it was one more battle I was willing to fight.

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