Page 98 of I Hope This Email Finds You in Hell

“In the beginning, I had good intentions. To be kinder, more merciful. I thought I could bring real change. Good. But that’s where I was wrong. There is no good in hell. There is bad, and there is worse. Before I knew it, I was becoming worse.

“My mother raised us with rules to keep us human—the same ones I passed on to you. Eat three meals a day whether you’re hungry or not. Sleep at least a few hours a night. Lean into your fear instead of shutting it out. I tried to adhere to them, but they were reminders I was human, to myself and those around me. It felt like displaying my biggest weakness over and over again. So, the meals became further apart, I’d go days without sleep, and when I stopped feeling so afraid all the time, it felt good. I didn’t realize what it really meant.”

“The portrait.” I recall the painting downstairs. How it was obviously Luke, but not. “Your eyes were black.”

“Not just my eyes.” A humorless laugh chuffs out of him. “When I assumed power, I couldn’t just fire everyone. It was a delicate situation. The devil’s right hand was Beliar, who had always despised me—he thought the old boss was insane for keeping a human so close to the throne. He’d been waiting for the perfect moment to off the previous devil to take power, so imagine his fury when I, the useless mortal who never deserved to be here to begin with, beat him to it.”

“No wonder he hated you so much,” I comment.

Luke shrugs. “It didn’t help that I demoted him to manage the shipping facility and appointed my brother as DOO. One human at headquarters was bad enough, but two? Incomprehensible. It was only a matter of time before he went after one of us, but he acted quicker than expected.”

My gaze flicks to the scar on Luke’s neck, more recent than the others. “He tried to kill you.”

“At my own fucking party,” Luke huffs. “Came up behind me and slit my throat. Everyone thought it was a killing blow, myself included. It should have been. Would have been.”

“But you weren’t human,” I whisper, a little afraid, a little in awe.

Luke meets my eyes. “My blood poured out black. Beliar had turned his back to me, relishing the cheers of the crowd. He’d used a normal blade, a scythe, never suspecting it wouldn’t be enough. But I still had my obsidian dagger. I drove it through his back, right where his heart would have been, if he’d had one. Hell beings go feral for a plot twist, and the human king surviving an assassination attempt was the kind of absurd chaos they ate right up. Beliar was banished to the abyss and my status as ruler was more secure than ever, especially given that I was apparently no longer human.”

I let my eyes drop from Luke’s to the bandages peeking from behind his dress shirt. “Last night, you were convinced you weren’t going to die. You wouldn’t let me try to give you blood. It’s because you knew you’d heal, didn’t you? It’s the same reason you ripped out the arrow.”

Luke has the decency to offer a guilty nod. “When I saw my blood was red again, I didn’t know what to think. I still don’t. I am healing faster than a human, but slower than I did when I wasn’t one. My whole life, I’d been warned that the longer you spend in hell, the more likely it is you’ll lose your humanity. I didn’t know that the reverse could happen in the overworld.”

“You were becoming human again.” There’s a beauty in that truth that’s impossible to ignore. A new realization hits me. “Wait— How old are you?”

He quirks a brow. “Thirty.”

“Going on three hundred?”

“Going on thirty-one. I wasn’t…unhuman long enough for it to slow my aging.” Amusement flickers in Luke’s eyes, though it dims as he meets mine. “I know I told you too many half-truths and lies, so I don’t blame you for not believing what I said downstairs. But I meant it. You make me feel. Awe and gratitude and peace. Anxiety, which I could definitely live without. But most of all, you make me feel hopeful. I forgot how beautiful and good that can be. The furthest thing from a weakness.”

I’m mad that tears wet my eyes and I can’t lift my hands to wipe them. “This doesn’t mean I forgive you,” I warn, the dampness in my voice muting the threat.

The corner of his mouth quirks up. “I suspect I’ll have to do much more begging before that.”

“You said you’ve never been a beggar.”

His gaze is loaded with sincerity. “I’ve rarely had something worth begging for. Now I do.”

Before I can respond, a door behind me slams open and shut, echoing in the room. The click of shoes across the tile sounds like the ticking of a bomb. Luke tenses, tugging against his restraints.

A chill sweeps across the back of my neck as a familiar voice declares, “Welcome home, brother.”

Thirty-two

“Dante,” Luke grits out.

It takes a second for my concussed brain to realize Dante is Luke’s brother’s name. Their mother certainly has a sense of humor.

Maybe I’d laugh about it if terror wasn’t thrumming through my veins.

Dante bypasses us to stand by the windows. Like Luke, his jacket’s gone, and now he only sports a silky black dress shirt and matching vest. He unbuttons his sleeves and rolls them up, something I’ve watched Luke do hundreds of times in the office.

“Apologies for the wait,” Dante says casually in that smooth, seductive voice he used downstairs. “As you can imagine, things are a bit hectic tonight. The eclipse, the blood moon, my asshole brother crashing my fucking soiree—it’s all a delightful mix, until it isn’t.”

This can’t be real. He can’t be real. My brain can’t wrap around the truth that this is Luke’s brother, let alone the devil.

As he removes his mask—the ram horns coming with it—I get the first good look at his face.