Chapter Twenty-Three
Kara
A stinging sensation jolted me awake.
I jerked forward, hand already halfway up to summon my scythe—
But I couldn’t move.
Two heavy bands, warm and solid, squeezed around me. My breath hitched until I realized what they were: arms. His arms.
The Devil.
I blinked hard, struggling to orient myself.
We were back in his room. He sat on the bed, and I was…
in his lap. His massive arms held me in place.
When I shifted, my back dragged against his bare chest, and a sharp ache flared down my spine.
The soreness stole my breath, and I whimpered uncontrollably.
The last thing I remembered—
Demons.
Fighting.
Harvest—
I reached up and touched the back of my head, wincing. That hit had been bad.
Where was Melinda?
Where was Harvest?
My eyes lifted slowly to the Devil’s face. He stared down at me with a glare so intense I couldn’t begin to decipher it. Rage? Relief? Something else entirely?
Why was I alive?
Emotion swelled in my throat before I could stop it. My chest ached with the kind of confusion that made you cry before you even realized it. I should be dead. But instead, my power hummed through me, familiar and whole. I could feel it stitching me together, closing my wounds.
The skin across my back was still raw—tender and stretched as it healed—but the pain had dulled. The pounding in my skull was nothing more than a stubborn throb.
It hadn’t been long.
I was still recovering.
And I was still in his arms.
The second I reached up to touch my nose, my captor yanked my hand away.
“Stop. Your wounds haven’t healed,” he said.
His voice was low, almost bored—but there was a sharpness I couldn’t ignore.
“Where’s Melinda?” I asked, pushing myself up slightly.
Something slipped off my chest.
I froze.
The Devil’s eyes dropped, jaws tightening, when he saw what had fallen—
My shirt was gone. Only my bra remained, the pale fabric stark against the surrounding shadows.
He reached forward, claws glinting.
I sucked in a breath and stiffened.
But instead of touching me, he grabbed the sheet and pulled it over my chest with a sharp flick, hiding the exposed skin. The fabric settled between us like a curtain drawn, and somehow, that small motion made my heart beat louder than it should have.
Oh, yeah. The portal Sebastian had taken us through had burned most of my clothes.
I quickly snatched the sheet from his hand and clutched it against my chest. What little remained of my shirt hung in scorched scraps around my midsection.
My pants were nothing but charred threads.
The exposed skin of my thighs and abdomen was pink, tender—still healing.
I didn’t know what unsettled me more: waking in his arms or the fact he’d allowed me the dignity of covering myself.
“Melinda, as you call her, is in Heaven.”
Oh, no.
My chin wobbled, and before I could look away, he caught it between his fingers.
“Don’t feel sad,” he mumbled. “She’s exactly where she belongs.”
I squeezed the sheet tighter to my chest, throat thickening. “I don’t understand. How am I here if she’s…” Shouldn’t I be dead, too? “What happened?”
“You left Hell. You left me. That gave Harvest enough time to reach you.” His voice dipped—low, guttural, almost feral. The sound rumbled through me. “Melinda took the blade meant for you.”
I didn’t move. I didn’t blink. I held myself perfectly still.
Not because of him.
But because something inside me had cracked open.
Melinda had died for me.
She had thrown herself between me and death without hesitation—and the ache that settled in my chest wasn’t just grief. It was guilt.
And I didn’t know what to do with it.
The Devil tilted my chin, leaning in until I felt the heat of his breath against my lips. “Don’t worry. The witch is where she wants to be.”
I turned my face away from him.
A growl rumbled against my ear, hot enough to raise goosebumps along my arms. “You should worry more about yourself,” he hissed. “You tried to escape. Again.”
My back arched slightly, instinctively leaning away from the heat of his voice. Oh, Hades. Was I trembling? No… it was him.
Before I could stop myself, the words tumbled out. “You try to scare me—and yet, you’re cradling me like I’m precious.”
That did it.
He stood abruptly, letting my feet drop to the floor. Then his hand caught the edge of the sheet.
He yanked it free.
I tried to hold on to the fabric, but it dissolved between my fingers like smoke. My breath hitched.
His gaze swept over me, slow and deliberate.
The remains of my shirt clung in tattered strips around my waist. My bra was mostly intact, and my panties…barely. Still, I didn’t flinch.
Behind him, his tail slapped the ground—once, twice—like it was acting on instinct alone.
He scoffed, voice thick and low. “Is this what woke the sins inside me?”
My heart thudded.
He moved behind me, his presence coiling like smoke around my body. I felt the air shift as his breath skimmed my shoulder.
“It’s laughable,” he muttered, darker now.
Twisting around to keep my eyes on him, I caught the Devil still scrutinizing me—like I was a riddle he couldn’t solve.
Before I could question whatever nonsense he was muttering under his breath, he stepped forward and ripped the last scraps of my shirt away. The air hit my skin like ice, and my breath caught as he raised his hand lazily, a flick of fingers toward the space between us.
“Undress.”
One ridiculous word—and suddenly, my skin buzzed like static. An involuntary throb pulsed between my legs, fierce and unwelcome.
Was it him? Was it me? Hades. Maybe it was the monster circling me like a predator who already knew he’d won.
“It’s time for your next punishment,” the Devil said coolly. “There’s a tub behind you.”
I turned. A porcelain tub sat where there’d been nothing seconds before. His obsession with shifting reality at his whim was going to give me whiplash.
“My punishment is…to bathe?”
There was a scraping noise behind me—his claws dragging a chair across the floor. He dropped into it, lounging like a bored king.
“My eyes on you is the punishment,” he said, voice darkening. “You’ll wash every crevice of your body while I watch. Or I can do it for you.”
A glint sparked in his red eyes. Not amusement. Hunger.
But that was the thing, wasn’t it? Everything he did—his so-called punishments—felt absurd. His tail coiling around me, watching me eat, caging me with his body, now this?
Was it truly cruel?
Even if I loathed him, was this…torment?
Or was he playing a game he didn’t even understand anymore?
I was covered head to toe in soot and grime, so the idea of bathing didn’t bother me. It was almost felt like he gave me what I needed—indirectly, of course—while pretending it was punishment.
Was I crazy for thinking how the Dark One handled me was…strange?
He wanted me to bathe.
Not scream. Not beg. Bathe.
Did he honestly expect that getting naked in front of someone who couldn’t even feel desire would scare me?
Of all the terrible, twisted things he could do, he wanted me to take a bath. In front of him.
A giddy sensation bubbled in my chest, and I had to bite the inside of my cheek to suppress the grin that tried to break free. Suddenly, I wanted to tease the monster. Everything that spilled from his mouth was absurd—especially when he made it sound like I was some kind of hideous thing.
I didn’t need praise from anyone to know my worth. But the idea of making an impotent devil squirm? That had its own kind of appeal.
No matter what he said, his actions never matched his words.
He called me repulsive—but touched me constantly.
He claimed to despise me—but wrapped me in his arms, watched over me, protected me.
His punishments? His tail. His eyes on me. His breath on my neck.
Every so-called consequence was just another excuse to get closer.
So fine.
I’d give him exactly what he asked for.
And I’d make sure he realized the power he gave me.