Page 17 of Her Deadly Angels (The Seven Sinners of Hell's Kingdom 2)

A blip of fear blooms from my middle as his heat ignites a blaze around my soul.

He hums, deepening our kiss. “They think they somehow have a right to you—”

Fire shoots around me, engulfing Micah and cutting him off from me. Screams of pain rip through the air. I stand frozen in shock at the strange world around me. Heat licks my skin, but it doesn’t burn. It warms my being and sinks into my bones, caressing my soul.

“Micah?” I ask, squinting through the bright glowing flames. I should be freaked the fuck out standing alone in what I’m pretty sure might be Hell. I should scream for Kase and Dante to get me out of here, yet I can’t. Curiosity makes me its bitch once again, and I shuffle a few steps forward along the burning coal-like path leading into a tunnel. My gut says this isn’t the main gateway to Hell. It’s the entrance of Micah’s portion of the fiery kingdom.

“Micah?” I call again, raising my voice over the heart-wrenching cries of the damned. “Micah, please. Where are you?”

Strolling deeper into the tunnel, I focus on the firelight at the end. I wonder how many Hell-bound souls mistake the flames for the expected light at the end of the tunnel crap. They’re probably surprised at first, thinking about how the fuck they made it into Heaven and then when they realize it’s fire and not heavenly light, they probably bitch and bemoan all their life choices. I know I would.

“All right, Micah. You need to stop this. I know I’m not actually here.” Like a new level of awareness, I sense a disconnection within myself. Micah plays with my soul, tangling my light with his darkness, but I know I’m anchored to the Mortal Realm. No one has said as much, but I’m nearly fucking certain I have to die to enter Hell completely. This is all just a mind fuck—and not a good one.

Micah doesn’t respond, and annoyance courses through me. I summon my bravery and remind myself that none of this is real, so I can get my legs to take me through the veil of fire. I rush through and spin, patting my arms instinctually. Nothing burns and my...damn it. I’m still wearing my towel. At least Micah didn’t undress me in my mind. If it were Kase or Dante, I’d be butt-ass naked. Probably bent over. They wouldn’t hide from me either.

Screams echo through the air around me, pulling me from my freaky thoughts. Spinning on the balls of my bare feet, I drink in the...far from hellish palace. I expected lava and skeletons, beasts and tortured souls strung up every which way, and not the sleek throne room of what must be a palace within Micah’s level of Hell. Towering obsidian walls stretch what seems like miles above me, climbing toward a ruby vaulted ceiling with what might be flames dancing on the other side, setting the room aglow in blood-red light. Huge arched doorways, with hellish beasts carved into the frames, lead into pitch-black chambers. My curiosity doesn’t get me to step closer to any of them because it checks out and calls to my fear to return my better sense to me.

I catch sight of an eerie throne on a raised platform with stairs leading to it. It seems like such a ridiculous sight. I have to sit in it and see what it’s like. I’m not one to pass up the opportunity to sit in a fancy chair. I used to do it all the time at furniture stores growing up, tours of places my parents took me to, and once at a museum of an old mansion—chains blocking the entrance be damned. But Micah’s throne is far superior than the head seat at a table for fifty people. All I’m missing is a scepter...or pitchfork, I guess.

I climb the massive, shiny black stairs wide enough to accommodate Micah’s huge devil body. Reaching the platform, I gawk at how huge the throne is up close and personal. The seat itself reaches my boobs. It doesn’t stop me from swinging my leg up and shimmying my out-of-shape ass onto it.

I plop my butt down and place my hands on the armrests, having to spread my arms wide to do so. A jolt of energy shocks me to the core, kicking the world on around me like the throne transports me to another plane. I scream as agony seizes me, shadowing my vision. Voices hum through the air, the cacophonous wails of the damned pleading and begging for forgiveness, for help, for an end to their very existence.

It steals my breath, the pain and torment cascading over me as if it is mine, and mine alone. My head spins with the noise, and I try to throw myself from the throne, but dozens of hands break through the stone and lock onto me, restraining me in place.

Firelight and black smoke fill the air. Hundreds of figures roam the room, lost and defeated. Unlike those screaming, these souls have succumbed to their fate in Hell, taking their eternal punishment in silence while flaming monsters weave through the masses, inflicting unimaginable torture. I heave, my stomach clenching in disgust. I can’t believe Micah allows this to go on. Is this how it is for Kase and Dante? I know they are psychos, but to see the demons beneath them declaring punishment on the devils’ behalves leaves me reeling. There is no way in literal Hell I want to experience what it’s like to watch a demon shove what might be some sort of demonic animal carcass down someone’s throat until they explode. The endless loop of torture shatters my soul.

I can’t do this.

I can’t be here.

But what choice do I have? The angels were right about me. I’m far too selfish to sacrifice myself to Hell to stop it from growing.

“Micah! Micah, please!” I scream, trying to pull free of the hands restraining me. I try to close my eyes only to have bony fingers pry at my lids. “Micah! Let me go!”

My ears pop and a wave of icy darkness swallows me whole only to spit me out in the living room of the apartment. I stumble through the hellfire and into Dante’s arms. Gasping, I rub my eyes, trying to rid the vision of Hell from my mind. The scent of rotten eggs clings to me and smoke wafts from my sweaty skin.

“Hey, look at me,” Dante says, pinching my chin, forcing my face away from the blazing summoning circle. “It’s okay. It wasn’t real.”

Tears burn my eyes. “You’re lying! It was real. Those souls—”

A roar lashes through the air, reverberating through my bones. Kase clomps toward the circle, where I spy Micah’s silhouette in his mortal façade. His gold eyes meet mine, a strange look crossing his face.

“What the fuck, Micah!” Kase hollers. “What did you do?”

Micah doesn’t respond to Kase. He doesn’t even look at him.

And then he whispers, “I’m sorry, Raven. I’m so sorry,” into my mind.

The summoning circle vanishes, leaving a ring of ashes in Micah’s wake as he abandons me without an explanation as to why he put me through that. My body and mind reel, trying to grasp reality, but my soul feels as if it resists and remains in Micah’s kingdom. Every time I blink, I see the demons. I hear the screams of the damned.

“Raven, look at me. I need you to focus on me. Come on,” Dante pleads, carrying me down the hallway and toward his room, not allowing me to stare at the empty space where Micah had stood.

I finally gather my nerve and meet Dante’s vibrant green gaze. “I did this to him.”

“He chose his fate. He made his kingdom to reign. Do not blame yourself.” Dante’s diamond-shaped pupils expand and retract. “I mean it, Raven. What he chooses to do is not your fault.”

Then why does it feel like it?

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