Page 96 of A Match Made in Hell
‘The amount of power you’d have to draw from Tartarus to kill the demons with magic would be overwhelming, that part still stands. It’s not an option. So, I started looking for another way. There’s a painting in the art cave that never changes and I’ve always wondered why –’
‘Me too. It’s awful.’
‘Artistic merit aside, I was intrigued.’ He smiles wryly. ‘When I was digging around in the old journals, I found one that claimed the painting depicted a way to rid us of the demons entirely.’
I gape at him. ‘And you’re just telling me thisnow? Why didn’t you do something sooner?’
‘Because I knew I wasn’t strong enough to do what was needed. I’ve been searching this whole time, trying to find a better way, but I can’t. According to the journals, if the gates were to be opened, one of two things would happen. The likelihood is everything would crumble, and Tartarus would be unleashed, as the demons want. But there’s a slim chance if the divide between the two planes is kept in place, it’d create a . . . vortex, of sorts. The demons would be called home. They’d fight like anything, but eventually, they’d be sucked through. But we both know I’d never be able to keep that divide.’
I sit up straight. For the first time in days, hope unfurls in my stomach, picturing the Sorter being swept up in a tornado; a wicked witch being dragged home to Oz. ‘But I could.’
‘Willow.’ His tone still manages to contain that level of command it held before. ‘They’ll fight back. Plus, there’ll be even more demons trying to force their way through once the gates are open. You’d have to find the strength to close them again. Keeping yourself free of sin to maintain the divide would be next to impossible.’
Semantics.
‘We’ll get help,’ I say. ‘I don’t think the humans would say no to shoving a few demons through the gates. I won’t get overwhelmed, and then I’ll close the doors, easy-peasy.’
Sath just looks at me.
‘Don’t do that.’ I flick his nose. ‘You wouldn’t have told me if you didn’t think I had a chance. I can do this.’
I really think I can. I’m snuggled against someone I have every reason to be angry with, and I’ve never felt more peaceful. If I can think of this peace – and none of the other emotions Sath elicits in me – closing the gates after the demons will be a breeze.
I should probably test that theory first though.
Sath’s thumb skims the skin on the inside of my wrist, making my pulse jump. Shadows ripple down my arms, and I let them turn into the flaming whip I couldn’t control earlier. This time, though, it doesn’t lash out at the first object it sees. I trail it along the floor – the carpet smoulders, but doesn’t burn, because I don’twantit to burn – and all the while Sath strokes my arms, my back, the nape of my neck.
The sensations make something low in my gut clench. I try to think of peace, and contentment, and what Asphodel will be when it’s all over. A sanctuary. A second chance. Who needs the quiet of Elysium when you could have the chaos of living instead?
I rein in the flames, and beam at Sath, triumphant. His brow is furrowed, more concerned than impressed, but I am not to be deterred.
‘This’ll work.’ I place a hand on his cheek. ‘I can do this.’
His skin, such a normal temperature now, is soft beneath my palm. He holds his breath as my fingers explore his face, tracing his eyebrows, the bridge of his nose, before settling on his lips. My gaze drops to his mouth, parted beneath my touch. My power flickers. What am I doing?
What am I doing?
I spring from the bed, pulse thundering, before reluctantly turning to face him. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to . . .’
Mean to what? Tenderly caress his face, like nothing had happened?
‘It’s all right.’ Sath slides from the bed, and his towel slides with him, lowering on his waist. He stops to adjust it, which I absolutely do not watch, especially not when he loosens the knot in order to fix it, revealing the side of his hip and a flash of thigh and I’mnot looking, okay? ‘Did you want to talk about it?’
‘About what?’
‘Us.’
‘There is no us.’ The words are a reflex, a shield to deflect from the fact that, for me, there’s always been an us. We both know it. But then he used me, and betrayed me, and a massage and an offer of help isn’t enough to change that. It is, quite frankly, a matter of principle.
‘Really?’ He stalks towards me. My back slams against the wardrobe and his arms brace around me, either side of my head. My breath hitches. ‘What sin did you use just now, to make that fire?’
‘Wrath,’ I reply blandly.
‘Liar.’
Maybe I am. Now, though, itisanger that has me drawing on my power, and I’m finally able to form a sword in my hand, silver and gleaming and sharp. The hilt is decked with seven jewels, the largest a blood-red ruby set in the centre.
‘Careful.’ I aim the blade at his neck. He doesn’t flinch, instead regarding me with an intensity that almost makes his eyes turn molten again. I miss that gold. It made him easier to read. Every flare was a precursor to anger, to his powers coming to the surface, to . . . something else, maybe. Something I saw the night of lust. ‘Now you’ve told me everything, I don’t need you any more. I could still do to you what you did to your predecessor.’
