Page 21 of The Road to Hell

“Not at all,” I told him. “It felt…right. I wish I had more answers for you. The last time I touched the gate, it didn’t respond to me at all. Then tonight, I could feel it calling to me. It felt completely natural, like Hell was welcoming me home.”

“Hmm.” He considered me for a few moments, then asked, “Do you have complete control over it? Can you keep the other fallen out permanently?”

“Honestly? I have no idea,” I said. “The gatefeelsclosed? But maybe they also know how to open it. I know as much as you do.”

He slowly nodded. “Just one more mystery for us to figure out.”

I swallowed a laugh. “Guess so.”

Rathiel strode to his pack and started stripping out of his winter gear. I took that moment to push my jeans down and slip into a pair of loose-fitting cargo pants designed for maximum airflow and mobility. Then I swapped out my winter boots for a pair of lightweight hiking shoes, fitted snugly to my feet.

As I tied my hair into a high ponytail to keep it off my neck, I glanced at Rathiel again. He’d already removed his winter jacket and was in the middle of removing his shirt, revealing a chest slick with a light sheen of sweat. His muscles gleamed in the eerie, reddish light of Hell, each scarred ridge and contour a testament to the years of combat and hardship he’d endured.

I’d seen bits of him before, obviously, but I hadn’t prepared myself for a full frontal. My attention caught and lingered, my mind momentarily blank.

“You’re staring,” Rathiel said, his voice low and amused. When I met his gaze, his lips curled into a slow, sexy grin that was equal parts infuriating and captivating.

“Am not,” I said, too quickly, and turned back to my pack with a pointed air of indifference.

He chuckled, the sound rumbling and deep, before pulling a breathable black shirt over his head. The fabric stretched over his torso before he flared out his wings, slicing through the back with practiced ease.

I reminded myself I wasnotattracted to him—yes, the voice in my head laughed at me—and tossed a smaller bag to Eliza. “We’re similar sizes, so I packed some clothes for you too, if you need any.”

She caught the bag deftly and gave me a grateful nod, her gaze flicking to Vol once more before she started sifting through the contents. “I packed similarly, but extras never hurt.”

“Agreed,” I said, shifting my attention back to our supplies.

I wasn’t sure if dehydration was a thing for sirens but given the whole “fish out of water” situation we had going on, I figured it was best to keep an eye on her. Once we ran out of bottled water—which we would—we’d have to switch to using the filtration straws. Whether those could filter out the nastier stuff in whatever Hell called water remained to be seen. If not, we’d adjust our plans accordingly.

One upside to me suddenly being able to control the gate was that we weren’t stuck here. We could, theoretically, leave and resupply if necessary. The only catch? Finding more gates. And seeing as how no one had labeled them withexitsigns, that would be challenging. But it was an option.

Eliza shed her outer layers, stripping down to her base clothing—a tank top, underwear, and socks. She pulled on loose tactical pants, hiking boots, then adjusted her daggers. Despite the circumstances, her movements were calm and efficient, the mark of someone who knew how to handle herself no matter the environment. Considering how out of her element she was, she was doing well.

Meanwhile, Vol perched on a nearby rock, watching the exchange with a mixture of amusement and impatience. “Are we done playing dress-up?”

Eliza shot him a glare but didn’t rise to the bait.

Ignoring him, I pulled out a water canteen and took a long drink, letting the liquid soothe the dryness in my throat. I swallowed carefully, knowing we’d have to ration it, and handed the canteen to Eliza, who accepted it with a nod of thanks.

I knelt beside my pack and withdrew a small bowl, plus another bottle of water. I poured a small amount for Purrgatory, then zipped open his carrier door enough to slip it inside, allowing him a quick drink too. His faint growl from inside earned a half-smile from me.

“I know,” I murmured, “you want out. Hopefully, it won’t take us too long to find a place to camp. We just need to find somewhere safe.” Which in Hell was like looking for a needle in a haystack. Truly, nowhere was safe.

Satisfied, I stood and faced my companions. Eliza practically jumped out of her skin before crouching and fumbling with her boot laces, her face angled downward. The clumsy, unnecessary action sent a jolt of unease through me.

Then I glanced at Rathiel.

He, on the other hand, wasn’t pretending. His gaze locked on me, unflinching and raw. There was no pity in his expression—Rathiel didn’t pity anyone. But something darker lingered in his eyes, an ache that carved through his usual stoicism. It wasn’t judgment. It wasn’t disgust. It was grief, stark and unguarded.

My stomach twisted, my chest tightening as realization hit.

The scars.

I dragged in a slow, measured breath, trying to steady my racing heart. They would have seen the scars eventually. There was no hiding them here, not in Hell’s sweltering heat. Better now than later, I told myself. But the rational thought didn’t stop the burning self-consciousness prickling across my skin.

Eliza broke the silence first. Her voice, tinged with disbelief, cut through the air. “You told me you lost your wings, but I never imagined…” She trailed off, her gaze flicking to me before darting away.

I forced my shoulders back, lifting my chin in defiance against the shame clawing at me. “They’re just scars,” I said. “They don’t matter anymore.”

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