Page 68 of Devoured
He nodded. “It wasn’t supposed to be possible. Something greater than both of us made it happen. Connected us across realms that should never touch.”
“And then?”I prompted.
“Then nothing, for years. Until your husband strangled you. Again I was pulled... transported to watch. I saw what he did to you.”His voice grew darker. “I whispered to you then. Told you what choosing revenge would mean. I wanted you to fight back. To damn yourself.”
I whispered back, “Why?”
“Because then you’d end up here. Not everyone does... most souls go elsewhere. But the guilty who choose their guilt? They come to places like this.”He resumed bandaging. “And I knew if you came here, I’d find you. I would search through every version of hell until I found you,my moth.”
I shook my head. “That’s insane.”
“Perhaps. But here you are. Here we both are. Whatever force connected us that night when you were twelve... it was right.”His words echoed certainty.
I thought about Theo’s visits and how he killed him.
“You killed Theo’s ghost in my cell. How could you even reach him? How could you kill something that’s already dead?”I asked.
The Executioner secured the bandage. “Your guilt was strong enough to manifest even in the ordinary world. That’s rare. Most people’s ghosts stay in their heads. But you... your self-hatred was so pure it took physical form. It could follow you anywhere.”
“So it wasn’t really him?”I needed to understand.
“It was real enough to hurt you. Real enough that I could destroy it when I finally reached you.”His voice hardened. “He was tormenting you. Only I get to do that.”
The possessiveness in his voice made me look up. “So you want to torment me?”
He nodded slowly. “I should skin you. Hang you on these hooks. Watch you bleed. Torture you until you break completely.”His hands stilled on the bandage. “But I can’t. I don’t want to.”
He turned, walking back to the table where he’d picked up the medical supplies.
“You’re brave.”His voice lowered. “Stronger than most who find their way here. You killed Helena without hesitation. Faced down creatures that would’ve broken others.”
His shoulders shifted. “But underneath all that strength, you’re still fragile. Still breakable.”
I was done being fragile. Done being the woman who cowered and apologized for taking up space. He saw strength in me—but he still thought I could be broken.
Behind him, I unwrapped the sheet completely. The fabric whispered as it fell on the table, leaving me bare in the torchlight. The heat kissed every inch of my exposed skin. I felt the stares of the hanging souls tracking my movements.
“You keep calling me your moth,”I said, voice steady in the thick air. “But what if this moth doesn’t burn? What if she’s stronger than you think? What if it craves the flame.”
His massive frame went rigid. Even without seeing his face, I could feel the war beneath the helmet. Control versus want. Duty against desire.
“Turn around.” I commanded, my voice steady despite my racing heart.
His hands flexed at his sides. “If I turn around—if I see you like this—I won’t be able to stop myself.”
“Then don’t stop.” The words came out like a challenge.
And slowly, he turned.
Those hellish eyes pulsed like embers through the slits of his iron helmet as his gaze moved over my naked form. Where he looked, heat bloomed—every nerve ending sparking with sensation.
“Za-hh-ra.” He drew out each syllable with careful precision.
The way he said it stopped my breath. Not the flat “Sara” everyone defaulted to, butZa-hh-ra—the soft’z’, the gentle roll of the’r’my mother had taught me. The way no one had bothered to learn in twenty-four years.
My knees went weak. All this time, and he was the first to get it right without being told. That did something to me. Broke something. Fixed something. I don’t know. But hearing my real name in his inhuman voice made me want him more than I’d ever wanted anything.
“Beautiful,”he murmured, and the helmet modulated the word into something guttural, reverent. His control trembled—I saw it in the way his massive hands flexed, in the slight widening of his stance, like his own body was bracing against what it wanted to do.
