Page 60 of A Match Made in Hell
The demons shuffle on their feet, wondering, I think, if the show is over. Sath’s eyes snap open, but he doesn’t turn to face them.
Instead, he looks at me.
Is this what you wanted?he seems to ask. I stare at him. Stare at the blood glistening on his hands, the streaks of it he’s left all over his face, black droplets staining his lips like a deathly kiss. The smell of copper taints the air, and with it comes the faint tang of fear from everyone else in the room.
Not me.
These demons have been causing trouble for too long, and I want them brought in line here. Now. I want them to know they can’t get away with this any longer, and if suffering is the only thing they understand, then suffering’s what they’ll get.
Is this what I wanted?
Yes. I lift my chin in answer to his silent question.Yes.
21
Sath sets fire to the dead demons a moment later. Ashes pile high in the pool of blood, like dead ants congealing in poison. He orders two others to clean up the mess and dismisses the rest with a growl before storming towards his quarters, throwing open the door with no heed to my hiding place and sweeping past me without a word.
I slam it shut before anyone spots me and watch Sath’s retreating form. My pulse races as I consider my options. His ignoring me wasn’t much of an invite, but I can’t not talk to him after what just happened, even if he is in one of his shove-Willow-against-a-wall-and-look-angry moods.
Weirdly, the thought doesn’t upset me as much as it should.
I follow him into his study, twisting the doorknob slowly so as to give him time to tell me to stop. The main lights are off, the neon glow from behind the bar the only thing illuminating Sath’s form, sat on the sofa. He’s utterly still.
I thinkon, and the sconces lining the walls come to life. Sath remains a statue. I edge towards him, carefully, cautiously, like I’m approaching a wounded animal. His eyes are fixed on a spot on the wall, a vacant expression on his face, tears running down his cheeks. Something in my chest twists.
I’ve never seen him like this before. I don’t know what to do.
I hover near the sofa, debating whether or not to leavehim to whatever breakdown he’s having, knowing I am wholly unequipped to deal with it.
‘Sath?’ I risk another step. ‘I . . . Are you . . . What are you doing?’
The question is unnecessary. I can see what he’s doing. He is moping. Dark hair sticks to his forehead, while his skin shines with sweat. My feet move of their own accord, bridging the gap between us until I’m sinking into the seat next to him. I take his trembling hands in mine.
When he finally speaks, his voice is hoarse, like he’s been screaming for hours and nobody heard. ‘Are you happy now?’ He tugs away from my grasp. ‘Did you enjoy it? Seeing them in pain? Watching them die?’
‘Yes,’ I answer without hesitation. ‘I don’t understand why you’re freaking out. They wanted toopen the gates. Humans would’ve been hurt. They deserved everything you gave them, and more.’
He shakes his head. ‘Revenge isn’t always the answer.’
‘That wasn’t about revenge. That was reminding the demons what happens when they cross the Devil. That was about showing them who youare.’
He shudders. ‘And what if who I was out there isn’t who I want to be?’
I don’t have an answer. It’s his job. Last I checked, Asphodel doesn’t have an HR department he can walk into and hand over a resignation letter. And I can’t sympathise with this, because I can’t fathom why he wouldn’t want that kind of power. He can walk into a room and make anyone tremble. Can make up all the rules and have no one tell him no. No decision is a bad decision, because he’s the one who decides what’s good and what’s bad.
He’s oblivious to how lucky he is, having no voices in his head calling him a disappointment for always picking wrong. For me, that kind of freedom would be a dream.
For him, it’s a nightmare. Dried blood on his face strips free, like old paint peeling from a wall, as more tears slide down his cheeks. I wipe one away with my thumb, leaving the digit resting against the side of his face. He’s warm, feverish almost, and I’m not sure if it’s because he’s upset or hot is . . . normal for him. In every sense of the word. Even dirty and distressed, he’s hopelessly attractive, and after last night it’s all I can notice.
He really has no business being this good-looking. It would be enough to make the saintliest girl alive flustered, and I am, by way of being here, no saint.
Fuck’s sake. I pull my hand away. ‘You weren’t this troubled over the human you killed,’ I say. ‘Is it only the demons you don’t like hurting?’
‘Who said I wasn’t troubled?’ Sath sags into the sofa. ‘You should go.’
‘Why, so you can brood in peace? How’s that working out for you?’
His gaze flicks to me, then away. ‘You shouldn’t see me like this.’
