Chapter 25
NICK
The onyx stone sits on the small table where Baal and I usually share drinks, mocking me as firelight bounces off its smooth surface.
“Perhaps it was for me,” I say, even though I know the impossibility of that statement.
Sure enough, Baal scoffs. “Raph, you know that is not possible. The stone is for her. It was left underneath her pillow. That wasn’t a coincidence.” His hand grips my shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
I shift in the seat to face him then bring my gaze to Rhi.
She sits upright on my bed, legs dangling over the side.
Hard to imagine it was not long ago I had her pinned beneath my hand, my face between her thighs before she rode me.
My only concern then was making her scream in pleasure.
The only matter more pressing was how to convince Belial to take the throne, and now, I am faced with the most soul crushing and heart-shattering matter of all: keeping her alive.
Before Baal arrived, I’d made sure to place a robe over her shoulders, as her black nightgown left very little to the imagination. Despite the silken belt holding it closed, Rhi hugs her middle, staring blankly at the mirror in front of her.
Baal passes a pensive glance between the two of us. “She’s more than just your mistress, isn’t she?”
“How obvious is it?”
“To anyone with two working eyes, it’s as blatant as fucking hellfire.”
Tell him, Rhi urges.
I hesitate, reaching for the stone and rolling it between my fingers.
Do you trust him? she asks.
You are the only person I trust.
Rhi audibly sighs, earning another us suspicious glance from Baal. Isadora knows, as does Belial. You are planning for your father to return anyway. What do we have to lose?
I finally meet Baal’s eyes, understanding the question in them before he asks, “Who is she?”
“She’s…everything.” Her eyes clash with mine. “She’s my everything.”
Her mouth curves into a gentle smile. I take that as a small victory and tuck it inside my heart.
Keeping my eyes locked on hers, I continue, “She’s my home, my heart—the only woman who keeps it beating. She’s the air in my lungs and the blood in my veins. She is every thought worth having and every memory worth keeping.” I draw in a breath, lifting my gaze to Baal. “She is my soulmate.”
His eyes widen. “Are you saying that figuratively?”
“Literally.”
His eyes warily dance between me and Rhi once more. “And who are you?”
I stand up to meet him, rising above him by only an inch or so.
“I am Raphael Morningstar, The Devil, King of Hell.” I flit my gaze to Rhi, who nods in encouragement.
“But I am also Nicholas Cervallos, eldest son of Victoria Cervallos and brother to Scarlett Cervallos. I was a senior at Alystair University in New York, a school and safe haven for monsters of myth, before I came here.”
My friend’s tawny complexion pales, and it’s then I confirm he had no idea. He wasn’t a part of my father’s plan. Relief surges through me, another confirmation that where sometimes I thought I could do without Baal’s presence, he really has cemented himself as my friend, and a good one.
But for how long he remains my friend after this revelation, I can’t say.
Baal opens his mouth, closes it, blows out a breath, then says, “I’m sorry. Your father made it seem as though you were in another realm, entirely aware of your birthright and preparing to take the Throne.”
At that, I laugh. “Lucifer is the master of manipulation, twisting words so one cannot deny their truth. I was in another realm, aware of my birthright, and preparing, in a way. I was in the mortal realm, being well versed on what would happen to me should my prophecy come to pass. A prophecy Azrael cursed me with.” Baal’s brows shoot to his forehead, and his mouth parts, no doubt to ask more questions, but I continue.
“What my father failed to disclose was that once I arrived here, my memories as Nicholas were wiped entirely. He knew as long as Rhi remained in my thoughts, I would fight tooth and nail to return to her.”
Baal turns to Rhi. “So that’s your name.” She smiles, nodding. “I figured as much,” he says. “That other name is pretty but doesn't suit you at all.”
“Liv,” she says. “It was the name of someone very important to me.”
I could drown from the sadness in her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” Baal says, clearly understanding.
“I’m sorry to both of you. It’s fucking incredible how hard you both fought for each other.
How you,” he gestures to Rhi, “fought through literal Hell for him, and you,” he turns to me, “fought past an iron-clad memory block to come back to her. And now…” He shakes his head.
Now, there is a very high possibility she might die.
I turn and grab the chair behind me, tossing it towards the fireplace with a frustrated yell.
Failure is a formidable foe, lurking in my brain as I conjure up ways to save her and come up empty.
How can I have so much power yet feel so utterly powerless?
“Hey.” Her voice immediately soothes my rage, the touch of her hand between my shoulder blades a balm subduing my anxiety. I turn towards her, sucking in a breath at how she becomes more beautiful every time I set my eyes upon her.
“Do you have so little faith in me?”
I frown as my arms come around her. “Of course not. Is it so preposterous that, despite how much I admire everything about you, your strength, determination, and sometimes murderous antics,” I wink as her mouth parts in mock umbrage, “I can’t stand to see harm come to you?
That I’d rather keep you far from danger, even if you welcome it? ”
Rhi rests her head against my chest, and I suck in a deep inhale, cementing her soft scent into my nostrils, before she tilts her chin, gazing up at me.
“I can do it. I can win this. But…” She turns to face Baal. “Can there only be one winner?”
Her voice carries a hint of trepidation, and I know that question is in regards to Isadora.
Baal shakes his head. “It’s whoever survives. All seven of you can emerge victorious, though that is highly unlikely.”
“What has been the highest number of victors?” I ask.
“None,” Baal quietly says.
“None?” I don’t fucking believe that.
“No one has ever survived, Raph. The trial is designed that way. It was never meant for one victor, let one multiple.”
The rage creeps in again, despair riding alongside it.
“There has to be something I can do. I’m the fucking Devil, for fuck’s sake.”
“You can’t,” Baal argues. “If you don’t say the words committing her to the trials, she’ll die anyway. At least give her a chance.”
Rhi stands between the two of us, head swiveling back and forth as we argue until her voice rings out in my head.
Stop this. We’re wasting time. It’s officially two days until the Harrowing. Use this time instead to prepare me, prepare us. Me and Isadora.
My mouth parts, attempting to protest, but the look she bestows upon me would certainly wither a tornado.
“What do I need to know?” she asks. “And don’t sugarcoat it.”
I look to Baal, as this is also my first experience with The Harrowing, and while I understand its general purpose, my friend will have much more insight for Rhi.
“It’s a bloodbath,” he says. “Every man for himself. It’s entirely Machiavellian—you can do whatever is necessary to win, including kill your opponents, because they sure as fuck will try to kill you.”
“I thought more than one person could win, so why would we have to kill each other?”
Baal smiles sadly. “This is Hell. The beauty you see here really does exist only on the surface, a perfectly golden peach with a rotten center. Beneath our radiant suns and picturesque landscape, it is a festering realm brimming with violence and death.” He sighs, closing the space between the two of them until one sharp look from me has him pause.
“Easy, Raph.” Baal holds up his hands, chuckling as I draw an arm around Rhi’s waist and tug her into me. If I only get two more days with her until this fucking bloodbath begins, I want her practically embedded in my bones.
“Look,” he continues, “I am not saying it is impossible to win, just that no one ever has.” He tilts his head. “But you seem very capable of improbable things, so my money’s on you.”
His last statement calms my fraying nerves a bit. Rhi has slain a Prince of Hell, fought a demigod, come to Hell, and brought my memories back. Who is to say she won’t triumph in this?
“And what will this trial be?” Rhi’s voice is steady and unwavering. Pragmatic, even in the face of uncertainty and fear. Admiration and pride war with my irrevocable love for her.
“That,” I answer, “no one knows, not even me.” I turn her to face me, and cup her cheeks. “But I will be with you, every step of the way, and I will do whatever I can to help you. We are tied together infinitely, sorceress. Don’t ever forget that.”
Rhi smiles at the mention of our telepathic connection, and the desire to somehow be even more tethered to her erupts within me like a dormant volcano. But how does one become closer to someone when that person is already the other half of their soul?
Keeping my eyes locked on hers, I say, “Before The Harrowing, I want to do something. Do you trust me?”
“Without question,” she answers.
“Good.” I kiss her forehead. “Baal, I’ll need you too.”
“Of course.” He nods his head, and I feel grateful for his continued loyalty despite it all.
I face the door and gently tug at Rhi’s wrist to follow, but Baal stops me.
“Raph, you need to say it.”
Slowly, I turn and stare at the woman I would die for—have died for—wracking my brain for a last Hail Mary attempt at sparing her this.
I lick my lips.
“Raph…” Baal warns.
Do it, Rhi commands.
“Rhiannon Owens.” My voice trembles, holding none of the power it usually commands.
“You are one of the seven chosen for The Harrowing. Prepare accordingly. The trial commences in two days’ time.
” The words rush out, as though keeping them on my tongue longer than necessary will burn a hole right through my mouth.
I continue to stare at her, the woman I love, who has my heart and soul in her hands and always has, since the moment I stumbled upon her in that hallway. The woman who, despite my power, despite my authority, I can’t save.
L’amor che move il sole e l'altre stelle, I remind myself. Love, our love, is the most powerful force in the universe. I’ll continue to hold onto that, believe in it, because perhaps then, I can justify how I sentenced the woman I love to death.