Chapter Eighteen
Kara
I smacked my lips together, groaning softly, as the scent of burned marshmallows hit my nose.
It took my sleep-rattled brain a few seconds to catch up. Burned marshmallows meant him.
My eyes shot open. I almost tried to lurch off the bed—until I remembered I was still tightly wrapped in a giant, infernal tail.
I paused, blinking up at the ceiling before cautiously lifting my arms. Huh. Free. He’d released my arms while I slept. I raised my head just enough to peek at myself.
Yup. The tail still sneaked around my waist and legs like a flesh-and-bone python. Heavy. Warm. Uncomfortably present.
…but also strangely tolerable.
Okay, that was weird.
He never told me how long this punishment was supposed to last. But after a solid nap? It didn’t feel like punishment at all. At least not if I didn’t look at the tail—or think too hard about how it moved, or how alive it was.
Energy hummed in my limbs. My mind was clearer. Sharper. I could use that. I could start figuring out how to make keeping me here more trouble than it was worth.
Juvenile? Absolutely.
But if being a pain in the ass got me closer to freedom, then I’d be the most annoying creature in Hell.
Still, this new clarity made me squirm. Not because of the Devil. Not even because of the tail.
Because I remembered how low I’d felt in that green room.
My stomach clenched at the memory. The pain. The fear. The illusion of my father.
I never wanted to feel that powerless again.
For most of my life, I went with the flow. I didn’t fight the current—I adapted. Dad said it was a strength, being optimistic no matter what came.
But lying here, tangled in a demon’s tail, I wasn’t so sure.
Maybe my ability to adjust was why I was in danger of getting comfortable. When I shouldn’t be.
How could I sleep so peacefully while a prisoner?
My stomach grumbled, low and irritated. Just a normal pang, thank Hades—no violent clamping of bones, no curse-induced agony. I didn’t feel like my abdomen was chewing through my spine, so…progress?
The Devil sat exactly where I last saw him: back facing me, horns sharp in the low light, head slightly bent forward like he’d been carved from obsidian. That position couldn’t be comfortable—but then, maybe I hadn’t slept as long as I thought. Maybe I wasn’t as rested as I felt.
The silence between us hung thick until I cracked it with the only thing I seemed to have left. Attitude.
“Don’t you have people to torture?”
His voice came flat and unhurried. “Hell doesn’t need me to tell it what to do.”
He still didn’t move. Not even a twitch. Like the question hadn’t bothered him at all. Or maybe it had, and he just liked letting me hear my voice echoing off the stone walls.
“Eternal damnation isn’t actually everlasting,” he continued. “The angels like to say it is, to convince humans to behave. But punishments here only last as long as the soul does. And not many of them last a year.”
I sat up slightly, frowning. “So…you don’t torture anyone?”
A long beat passed. Then he tilted his head—not enough for me to see his face, just enough to suggest he was amused. Or annoyed. Hard to tell with him.
“Why bother?” he said. “The realm tortures them for me.”
I didn’t get to interject. He added, “Besides… aren’t I tormenting someone right now?”
There was a roughened purr to his voice—low, edged with heat—and it sent a stupid shiver through me before I could suppress it.
His tail shifted beneath my breasts, the movement firm, deliberate.
Another part of it slithered along my hips, smooth and heavy.
I pressed my hands to the warm appendage, trying to keep it from lifting my chest even more.
I wore a T-shirt, and it didn’t matter—not with how blisteringly hot his body heat burned through the fabric.
When the tip of his tail slid up and nestled itself between my covered breasts, my breath hitched.
A flush rose to my face, hotter than him—and that was saying something.
He always felt like fire, but what flared low in my stomach burned hotter.
Worse. It wasn’t just heat. It was torment. A wicked kind of ache.
Arousal laced with discomfort.
I told myself he was doing it on purpose—trying to scare me, unnerve me with proximity and implication. That this was another form of psychological punishment.
It had to be.
Because if I let myself think otherwise—if I believed there was something else behind the way his tail pressed and moved, I might cry.
I peeked down at the thick tip just resting between my breasts. I didn’t feel sick. I didn’t panic. The tail still freaked me out, yeah, but it didn’t feel like just an appendage anymore. It felt like… him.
Which made it worse. And somehow, better. Neither made sense.
I didn’t want to touch it. But after a nap, and after everything that happened in the green room…I felt different. More grounded. Less vulnerable.
And as long as I kept believing he was doing this to mess with me—not to violate—I could breathe.
Barely.
“Would you stop squeezing me?” I closed my eyes and braved the unthinkable—grabbing the tip of his tail. “I have organs, you know. And the tip’s getting dangerously close to squeezing a tit.”
In an instant, he yanked me off the bed.
A gasp tore from my throat as my head whipped to the side. His tail lifted me into the air, holding me up like a hunter might dangle a rabbit by the ears. My legs hung uselessly beneath me, and I clutched at the thick coil wrapped around my waist for balance.
His crimson eyes slid over me, slowly and deliberate. Then his head tilted, just slightly.
“It’s a shame you fear my tail so much,” he murmured, “when you fit so well within it.”
The words sucker-punched me. I flushed wildly, heat crawling from my cheeks down to my toes. That sounded like something a demon would say if he were trying to seduce—something vulgar and dirty and…appealing.
No. No, he couldn’t have meant it like that. He didn’t feel desire anymore. He wasn’t flirting.
Then again, my body didn’t seem to care. It responded anyway, clinging to the lewd implications like an addict.
But before I could decide how to react, he stiffened.
Suddenly, he dropped me. I hit the ground with a startled thud, my knees were tight, and legs sluggish from being coiled so long. I groaned and rubbed them as I sat up, trying to bring circulation back.
The Devil stood over me, eyeing his tail like it had personally betrayed him. When he rubbed it, his posture changed. The gleam in his eyes dulled, his shoulders slumped ever so slightly.
He caught me watching. His face shuttered in an instant.
“You didn’t have to drop me,” I said as I climbed to my feet, brushing myself off. “What is it? Something clearly bothered you.”
His scoff was immediate, sharp. The tail curled around my ankle in response.
“You, existing, bothers me.”
I narrowed my eyes at the monstrous figure in front of me. “Then let me go.”
“You can’t escape me. Or should I say, you can’t escape fate,” he practically spat, the last word as if it was bitter on his tongue.
Anger surged through my veins like venom. “There is no fate. You cursed me. And in doing so, screwed yourself over.”
“Enough with the fucking marks!” he roared.
The floor vibrated with his voice. “They control no one. Your siblings—” He scoffed.
“They’re being led to believe they love these mates you keep calling them.
But the truth?” His eyes burned hotter. “Those marks are nothing more than an anchor the angels created to counteract my curses.”
He grabbed my wrist, his grip like iron.
“So why,” he hissed, “aren’t you bent over in agony right now? Gluttony should be tearing you apart.” His gaze searched my face like a blade against skin. “Is it me?”
I didn’t answer. Couldn’t.
The moment hung heavy between us.
His expression twisted into something darker—suspicion bleeding into something primal.
And my stomach dropped.
“Just because you could never love me doesn’t mean the marks are anchors,” I snapped. “Whatever they are, my siblings found something beautiful in the hell you gave them—and that pisses you off.”
“I don’t care about your siblings.” His tone was empty.
“You don’t care about anything,” I shot back. “Except some hollow obsession taking over the human world. For what? You said it yourself—you’ve lost touch, taste—”
“Kara.” My name came out low, a warning growling from his chest.
But I didn’t stop.
“I’m trying to understand, damn it. Why is unleashing evil some twisted thrill for you and Harvest? Does it really make you happy? Ruling over a world where no one is happy?”
He recoiled like I’d slapped him. His eyes flared, and the fury was instant.
“You think happiness exists without the pain?” he hissed. “I assure you, it doesn’t. There is no pleasure without suffering. No joy without sorrow. One defines the other.”
“All of those things existed before the end,” I whispered, shaking my head. “Now it’s just torment. All the joy—gone. And you’re fine with that?”
A twisted smile tugged at his lips.
“I’ll find joy in one thing,” he said, voice like poison. “Your father realizing his existence didn’t matter. And the angels?” He leaned in. “I’ve waited centuries to show them everything they did—all their efforts—meant nothing.”
My eyes widened as I studied the Devil. There was a frantic gleam in his expression, something raw and unguarded. It made me sad—and I wasn’t sure why.
“So, it’s just payback then?” I asked quietly. “You want to destroy what’s left of the human world…for revenge?”
He flashed those wicked fangs at me, teeth sharp as his tone. “Of course.”
“Why?”
His gaze intensified. “Come on. Look at me—and tell me you don’t see why.”
I frowned, trying to follow his meaning. Because he was…a monster? A prisoner? I didn’t understand. He must have read my confusion because he swiped his claw-tipped fingers through the air and let out a low growl.
“I’m trapped here. I have been since my exile.”
“But... you came to the woods to get me,” I said. “And you’ve shown up in other places. My dad said—”
“Brief spells,” he interrupted. “Always brief. I’m always pulled back.” He stepped closer, voice harder now. “Tell me, Kara…would you spend eternity down here, alone?”
I held his gaze. “I’m sure you weren’t always alone.”
He stopped in front of me, looming like a storm. A beast in every sense.
“You’re right,” he said coldly. “I’m eternal. I’ve had many partners over the centuries.”
A sharp twist pulled at my chest. I hated that it affected me, hated even more that I couldn’t pretend it didn’t. But I didn’t have time to dwell on the ache or unpack the hypocrisy of feeling it.
Suddenly, my body shuddered. The loss of power hit me like a wave of ice, cold and deep. An emptiness bloomed in my stomach, stretching outward like acid.
“Ah.” His voice dropped. “I was wondering when your mortality would arrive again.”
Without a word, he hauled me up into his arms. I didn’t resist. He carried me to the long table and placed me gently in a chair. Then, without a sound, he hovered behind me—his shadow draping across mine.
A plate of food appeared before me.
“Eat,” he ordered.
He stepped forward once. The weight filled the space behind me as he placed his hands on the table, arms caging me in. His presence was overwhelming, yet I didn’t flinch.
Then came the cup of milk and a pack of Oreos beside the plate.
I didn’t touch anything.
We stayed like that for what felt like forever, until finally, in a voice quieter than I’d ever heard from him, he said:
“I lied.”
I blinked but didn’t turn.
“I have fucked a great number of times.” His voice was hollow now. “But none of them were lovers.”
He turned and walked out, leaving me alone in silence.
He didn’t see the tear that slipped down my cheek.
I picked up the fork and began to eat. I didn’t know why I was crying. I just knew one thing for certain:
I had to get out of Hell.