Chapter Fifty
Kara
The darkness settled in around us first.
I could see nothing.
Do nothing.
All I could feel was the heavy, warm presence behind me.
Luke caged me in, squeezing almost too tightly.
Holding me—
It was the only thing I believed he could do.
I couldn’t move.
Speak, cry, or even blink.
Silence overcame us, thick and endless, and I knew—he couldn’t speak either.
We were being pulled under, dragged to Hades-knew-where, and I should have been angry.
And I was.
But as the dark became familiar—less of an absence and more of a blanket—I acknowledged something else.
Luke had unleashed devastation across worlds to get his hands on me.
But he never stepped through the crossover. He let it close… and then pulled me into this place with him.
He had every opportunity to destroy my family. He didn’t.
Instead, he removed our curses. He chose imprisonment in Hell. And he dragged me with him.
But he was always going to choose me.
He told me—again and again—-there was no choice beyond his.
My mate was cruel.
I knew that.
And yet…
I loved him.
Hades, I loved him even in anger, in sorrow, in confusion.
In the darkness, where I couldn’t smile or speak, my heart bled out the truth.
I was where I wanted to be.
But that didn’t mean I wasn’t furious.
There was a war inside me.
A constant clash between heartbreak and glee.
I knew what being in purgatory meant.
Stuck. Unable to move.
Beside Luke.
When he pulled me in, I became imprisoned with him.
I knew what my family must be thinking.
When I reached out through the bond, I felt…nothing. As if the connection had been severed completely.
My heart cracked down the middle. And yet—knowing I was here with Luke, knowing I could torment him for eternity with my irritation and love—
That brought a flicker of elation.
A strange, twisted joy.
An eternity of pleasure.
And irritation.
He would feel everything.
How long until we could move?
The answer came sometime later, when Luke spoke first.
“Each hour will get better. This is how it starts—but soon, we’ll have free roam in Hell again.”
His voice startled me.
I had grown so used to the silence that the sound struck like a crack in the dark.
I jumped…then relaxed against him.
Slowly, I wiggled my toes, testing the limits of my limbs.
I stretched my legs as much as I could.
Luke’s moved too, rustling slightly at my sides—like he was savoring the return of sensation as much as I was.
“But we can’t leave,” I said quietly, already knowing the answer.
I didn’t need him to confirm what I felt deep in my bones.
“It took thousands of years for me to leave Hell the first time,” he admitted. “And even when I did…it always called me back within minutes.”
When I said nothing, he muttered.
“I’m sorry, Kitten.”
That was the last thing he said before silence folded over us for days.
Each hour, our movement returned. Within a day, a glow of red light bled into the darkness—and for the first time, I could see Luke and nothing else. Another half day passed, and his room appeared around us. The same one with the fireplace, the desk, the massive bed.
I’d never been so excited to see a bed—but it wasn’t comfort I craved. I was hungry. Not cursed with gluttony, but still…weak. Hollowed from the inside.
As if he knew, Luke conjured an assortment of meats and vegetables onto the table.
I ate in silence, my thoughts swirling.
He could still use his power.
Could I?
Curious, I stepped out of his cozy room and into the vast bleakness beyond. I stared into nothing, the oppressive stillness—and wondered again.
The answer was yes. I could.
I built myself a home.
Just a small brick house. One bedroom. A bathroom. Kitchen. Living room. No decorations. No extra rooms. Nothing beyond what was necessary.
Then I climbed into bed.
And I slept.
I didn’t know how much time had passed. But when I woke, he was there—Luke, asleep beside me.
And for a moment, fury returned.
The tether to my family was gone—completely, violently severed.
And as much as I ached to reach for him, to cling to the only person left who chose me…
I didn’t know how.
Not with the raging beast inside me.
“No.”
The word tore out of me and made him stir. He sat up slowly, his shoulders tensing when he saw my expression.
“Leave.”
“Kara…” His voice was full of yearning.
And that’s what cracked mine. “You just had to tell me.”
“I told you—countless times—to say goodbye to your family.”
“But never why!”
He hesitated.
“I never thought you could—”
“Care for you?” I asked, voice rising. “I do. But it’s like you don’t want me to.”
His eyes brightened.
“I want everything from you. Kitten, you were trapped with me no matter how you felt. I didn’t expect you to care.
Maybe in time—down here—you could have. But you…
you’re so soft, so good. And yet you accepted a literal monster.
” His voice cracked then. “I promise I’ll be good to you.
To you. I won’t hurt you. I’ll make you happy here. ”
“You’re my mate, so I except nothing less.” I crossed my arms.
A flicker of fang peeked from his upper lip, and I got the oddest feeling…he liked that I called him mate.
He took a step forward, but I held up my hand.
“No, you’re still leaving.”
His tail dropped to the ground like a defeated noodle.
“Don’t make me sleep outside.”
“You can sleep in my bed when you are acting like a proper mate. When you tell me your plans, confide in me, share your thoughts—even the dark ones. Eventually, I’ll be in your head to hear them anyway. And when that happens? I want you to love me right.”
His tail flicked. “I can do those things.”
“Good.” I turned away with a small shrug. “We’ve got a long time for you to get better at it.”
He paused. “Can I at least sleep in the house?”
“I don’t care. Just not in my bed.”
So, he started sleeping on the floor outside my door like a complete lunatic.
He tried sneaking in to curl up beside the bed the first night. I kicked him out. Politely. (Okay, I threw a pillow at him. That counts.)
The weeks that followed were much like that. Luke would find every excuse to hover, to spark conversation, to mutter apologies he sometimes took back just as quickly with a grumble about how he wouldn’t have changed a thing.
I didn’t want him to. Not really.
But it was…nice.
A slow, warm bloom in my chest, watching him try.
He was terrible at it—constantly swinging between a moody, brooding devil and a desperate mess, practically on his knees. Sometimes, he was the aloof creature who kidnapped me. Other times, he looked at me like I was the last light he’d ever see.
And then there were his senses. Hades, his senses.
Any time he touched me—even barely—his body reacted. Instantly.
It wasn’t subtle.
The second I noticed, I ran. Always. Before he could sense any…interest from me.
And I had noticed something else:
Every time he got flustered like that, he looked like he was in pain. Not just embarrassment—real discomfort.
I never asked.
But I wondered.
It was around then that his thoughts started bleeding into mine. Only when he was flustered, desperate, or unraveling. And usually, they were a mess.
Like the first time…
“Fuck. Why does my cock never go down? You’d think it would realize Kara’s upset and know now is not the time.”
I’d catch fragments of his thoughts when his control slipped.
“I’m dying. That’s it. I can’t even function without her. Pathetic. I just want to sit with her—but can’t, because my body betrays me.”
“How long is she going to push me away?”
“Why do these damn urges never stop? Thinking about her only makes it worse.”
“This must be my punishment for forcing her down here with me. So be it. I accept it. She’s mine. She’s always been.”
It only took a few stray thoughts before he realized I could hear him—and then came the inevitable growl.
“Kara, get the fuck out of my head.”
Then silence. Always silence.
I didn’t want him to suffer. Not really.
But I needed to push him—needed the distance—until it no longer felt like a crime to love him. I didn’t even know what I was waiting for. Maybe proof. Maybe peace.
Luke tried to win me over—through food, minor comforts, even human entertainment. He materialized things from my world: board games, old movies, a stack of novels, even a few gadgets that didn’t belong in Hell. I humored him more than I admitted.
Mostly, I loved his determination—the way his brow furrowed when I beat him at cards, or how he sulked when I denied him even the lightest touch. His frustration was obvious, but it never lasted long. Sadness always crept in to drown it out.
I could feel him—his moods, his thoughts, like an invisible heartbeat under my skin. Sometimes, when his guard slipped, I caught the quieter fears before he shut me out again.
He was terrified I’d never forgive him.
He thought he’d ruined everything beyond repair. And then, trying to convince himself otherwise, I’d hear the faintest whisper:
“It’s fine. I have an eternity to make it right.”
He was in a constant state of determination and quiet devotion.
Even without saying the words, I felt them—his love pulsing beside mine like a second heartbeat. Every action, every conjured comfort or distraction, came with a purpose.
He spent entire days trying to discover what made me smile—even dedicating one afternoon to terrifying me because he remembered I loved horror.
And every time I cracked, even just a little, his eyes lit up like the blood moon.
We spent months like that. Me, clinging to my distance. He, chipping away at it.
And eventually, I wore myself out. The effort it took to keep him at arm’s length rivaled his own effort to stay close.
Still, when I looked at him, I couldn’t quite reach out.
Couldn’t take his hand, even when I wanted to. I could not climb into his lap—the place I knew I belonged—because something inside me held back.
Like loving him was still…a betrayal.