Page 69 of She Who Holds My Wrath

“Lucifer—”

“Don’t Lucifer me,” he growls, suddenly serious. “I know you’re scared. You think I don’t see it? The twitch in your jaw, the way your energy hums every time the leyline flickers a little. You think love’s going to save her? It’s not. She’s out there finding Daisy, and you’re down here brooding like a rejected teenager.”

“Fuck you,” I hiss.

“Get in line,” he says dryly, standing up. “I’m heading back to Gehenna quickly to check on the Pits. When I get back, you’re leaving to take a shower. I’ll watch the line.”

He starts to walk off, but I call after him. “Lucifer.” He glances back, red eyes glowing faintly in the gloom. “Thank you,” I say quietly.

He smirks. “Don’t get sentimental on me. I’ll start writing poetry.” He leaves without another word, the sound of his footsteps fading into the distance, leaving me alone again.

The silence presses down like a weight and my fingers twitch with pent-up energy, despite being drained. Every few minutes, I press my palm against the leyline, hoping she’ll feel me. Nothing. No echo, no pulse back. Just the same, lifeless hum.

I close my eyes, trying to reach her the way Velentha taught me. To let the magic listen, instead of forcing it. But all I find is static.

Time blurs with my dwindling energy. Maybe an hour passes. Could even be six. The only thing I am certain of is, the more time passes, the more my thoughts spiral: what if she’s dead? What if Daisy’s dead? What if the Six found them both before she could even hide?

I slam my fist into the ground, the force rattling through the chamber. “Come on, V,” I whisper. “Give me something. Anything.”

The leyline hums faintly beneath my fingers. For a split second, I think I imagine it—but then it happens again. A pulse. Weak, trembling.

I shoot to my feet. “Lucifer!” I yell, my voice echoing through the caverns. “Lucifer, get back here!” No answer—just the faint rumble of power beneath the stone, flickering like the heartbeat of something barely alive.

My hands shake as I press both palms to the runes. “Velentha?” The leyline flares once, then dims again. It’s not enough to open, not yet. But it’s something.

My chest heaves, a shaky laugh breaking from my throat. “She’s alive,” I whisper. “She’s alive.”

And as the light fades, swallowed again by the dark, I swear I hear her voice. It’s so faint I almost think I’ve imagined it.

Come on, Aeshira. Come back to me.

Chapter 28

DAISY

His eyes widen for only a fraction of a second before his face seals back into its usual cold, polished mask—as if that flicker of surprise had never existed at all.

But I saw it. That tiny fissure told me everything: he hadn’t expected me. He’d assumed no one would betray him. In his mind, this place was untouchable, his victory inevitable. Well, more fool him.

“Daisy,” he purrs, voice smooth as oil, feigning a boredom he clearly doesn’t feel. “I’d say welcome to my chambers, but I know you’ve seen them before.”

The room smells faintly of frost and incense, something sharp and medicinal layered over cold stone. It’s too clean, like a mausoleum pretending to be a bedroom. The aurora bleeding through the windows paints everything in shifting greens and violets, turning his skin a ghostly pale one moment, and shadow-dark the next.

Anger surges through me. Flashes of the nightmares invade my mind—his hands, his breath, Korithax forced to watch—and my knees threaten to buckle beneath the weight of it. No. I clamp down hard, forcing air into my lungs that tastes like ice. I rebuild the mental wall Korithax taught me in Noxthrallia, brick by careful brick, stacking memory over memory until the images scrape uselessly against it and slide away. The effort makes. My temples throb, but the silence inside my head is worth it.

“That won’t work, Kaelith.” I grit out. “Your mind games can only work when I’m drugged and weak.”

“You’re always weak, Hell’s Whore,” he snarls.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch the subtle shift of his arm. The way his fingers angle towards the desk drawer beside him. Panic would be the smart response. Instead, something colder settles in my chest and I smile.

“One: you’re wrong. Two—” I tilt my head, letting out a sharp, disbelieving scoff, “I don’t think so.”

I raise my free hand. A white-hot spark blooms in my palm, bright enough to sting my eyes that are still adjusting from the dungeon. Heat floods the air, sharp and clean, the opposite of his suffocating cold. My flame lashes forwards, striking the desk. Fire devours it instantly.

Varnish pops like gunfire. Wood splits with a cracking roar as flames surge upwards, greedy and alive. Thick, sweet smoke billows into the room, tinged with the bitter tang of burning polish. Heat washes over my face, chasing the chill from my skin in once fierce wave.

Kaelith jerks back, genuine shock breaking through at last. “How?” he barks.