Page 66 of Hell Raising and Other Pastimes (Grave Concerns 2)

I set the glass down, afraid if I didn’t answer it right, I’d end up in pain again. “I want to feel like I belong somewhere.”

No pain seared through me, letting me blow out the breath I’d been holding. It seemed I’d been truthful, even if not entirely sure about it.

“A romantic, are you?” Lucifer shook his head as if disappointed. “I had hoped for so much more from you when I heard of the mortal who seemed to be at the center of this.”

“Are we done?”

Lucifer nodded. “For now. We do have a few more rounds of competition left, so I suspect we will have plenty to bargain with later.”

I took a large gulp to finish off the water, then rose.

“Hell is a very dangerous place, Ms. Harlin, and you seem to want to keep your team alive.”

I pointed my finger at him, narrowing my eyes. “Don’t you threaten them.”

“It was an observation, not a threat. I am curious, though—how far would you go? What would you do to keep them safe?”

The answer came from me without having to think about it, without question. “Anything.”

His gaze dropped to my wrist, to the bracelet still there, and I realized he’d gotten more answers from me without me realizing it.

Sneaky bastard.

Lucifer reached out and unclasped the bracelet. “Well, finally you show some backbone. Maybe you aren’t quite as dull as I’d assumed.”

Instead of arguing with him—what was the point?—I crossed my arms. “Can I go?”

He waved me off. “Go and get some sleep, Ms. Harlin, because I suspect tomorrow’s competition will be even more taxing. And, Ms. Harlin?”

I faced him once more.

“I will give you a piece of good advice. Do not think about betraying me, plotting against me or otherwise working against me. People who cross me do not last long—especially mortals.”

I thought back to the shadow, to the man who had tried to chop me into pieces, to Jerrod and Olin and the poltergeist. I met Lucifer’s gaze head-on, met his not-so-subtle threat without flinching with a fact of my own. “And you should know, I’m a lot harder to kill than I look.”

* * * *

I woke, jerking upright. The mist stuck in my throat and lungs from the dream wasn’t easy to forget, to push away even if it hadn’t been real.

The dreams felt worse in hell, more real, more all-consuming. It made me miss the ambrosia, that short burst of blissful, easy sleep I’d managed after drinking myself into a stupor.

I rolled over, trying to pull real air in, to reassure me that I wasn’t in that damned dream. Funny that I’d be happier to find myself in hell.

“No wonder you never had a long-term boyfriend. I don’t think anyone is sticking around if they wake up tothat.”

I wiped my mouth before turning to find Gran standing beside the bed, two cups in her hands. “Why are the dreams worse here?”

“Because you’re closer to death here.” She sat on the edge of the bed, then held one of the cups out to me. “Drink that. Don’t just hold it.”

The heat seeped into my palms, and I forced myself to sip the bitter tea. After I swallowed it, I shifted to get more comfortable. “What are you doing here?”

“You slept late, and I got tired of waiting around. Hell is far more boring than you’d expect.”

“I never would have expected that.”

“I’ve complained to Lucifer about it before, but he never does anything. He is one stubborn man. He used to be more fun, though. He’s gotten worse the last few years.”

“I can’t imagine him ever being fun.”

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