Page 234 of Poison Aches

Against gods, mere humans will perish.

“The contract…I’ll sign it!” I rush to say. “I’ll agree to your terms! Every single one of them. I’ll be yours! You can do whatever you want with me!”

Maybe, just maybe, Pandora was desperate like me.

Maybe she was just a pawn, endowed with all the beauty but with no power.

Maybe she took a desperate gamble and did what she was told not to do—because she’d had enough of being walked over, trampled on, being seen as less than.

So she gambled, opened the box and unleashed misery.

Why can’t I do the same?

Why do I have to be considerate of others when no one ever considers my thoughts and feelings?

What’s signing away my life to this cold, ruthless god when I know he’ll do what he is capable of? Destroy my enemies with just a flick of his wrist.

I hold Emmett’s gaze for a heartbeat.

I let him see what he’s looking for in me.

How pathetic I am, begging for a god to help when I once scoffed and told him off.

I let him see my pain… because only he’s ever seen it clearly.

“Why now?” he growls.

“Why not?”It’s not like you’ll live long.

That contract is only as good until you kick rocks, and besides, my heart is no longer involved in this.

In fact, my heart when it comes to Emmett Easton is no longer a concern. It simply doesn’t exist and will never exist.

This is purely business.

The ghost of a smirk appears at the corner of his lips, then it shifts into something that neither resembles a smile nor a frown, but my God does he look every bit as intimidating and all-powerful as ever.

“Do it then,” he says simply, as if daring me. He places the now familiar black envelope on the desk.

I quickly rush towards the letter opener on his desk, take out the contract paper I had denied before, believing I would never be so stupid as to sign it, but now...

Emmett’s words from what feels like ages ago echo in my ear.

“You will sign it, Angel. With blood and tears.”

And now, he leans back in his chair, watching me with a dark, hooded gaze with his robe open enough for me to still see his solid chest.

He doesn’t believe I’ll do it. He still thinks of me as a coward.

But see, my desperation and pain outweigh my self-preservation.

I really shouldn’t do this—and he himself has warned me that once I sign this piece of paper, there’s no turning back.

There’s a reason why the rituals of this agreement are far from the ordinary.

With shaky breaths and even more unstable heartbeats, I take the sharp edge of the letter opener and prick my forefinger—all the while holding his gaze.

And without feeling the pain or listening to the warning bells chiming in my head, screaming at me to stop and find another solution to get out of this maze, I press my bleeding finger to the paper…and sign away my life to the lord of hell.

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