Page 78 of Sorrow & Strangers

Perhaps there is a rune that will help me blend in . . . No, there’s no time for me to research one that might work, and I don’t know any off the top of my head. I’m planning to stay out of sight, anyway.

The halo pulses, and I can feel the urgency in it. Apparently, this is not the location of the veil, and I can feel Connor’s insistence that I move as the halo’s thrums become more powerful. As I walk deeper into the forest, I try to work out how to harness its power. The halo hums three times, and I stop, looking between two prominent trees. They are angled outward, as if they are reaching away from each other, but their roots are intertwined in a tangle between them, proving they will never be truly free of each other. The space feels hauntingly sad, and I brush my hand over the halo, seeking comfort.

The halo hums and starts to glow. I hold it away from my body because the light it emits is no longer warm and bright. It is dark and ominous. I look at the trees, and there is a shimmer between them which disappears if I look too closely. This is the gate. As I take a deep breath and close my eyes, I wonder if there is a story behind this place. Forcing myself to focus, I delve into my powers, searching for the spark of angel power in the sea of my own dark, destructive ones.

I see the light pulsing like a beacon, and I dive deeper to reach it. I almost have it when a hand wraps around my arm, a rabid growl destroying my concentration.

“What the fuck are you doing?” the stranger snarls.

There is no surprise when I look up at his amorphous face, and I easily glare up at him. Two weeks with no sign of him, and this is the moment he decides to come back?

He pulls me around to face him and braces his hands on my arms, shaking me. “Tell me. Tell me you’re not insane enough to go to Hell. Tell me you do not value your life that little.” His voice is deep with anger, but also fear.

“What are you doing here?” I growl back, shoving at his chest. To my annoyance, he barely moves, his feet remaining firmly planted on the ground.

“You are being an idiot. Tell me why. Why Hell?”

“None of your business,” I say, and turn away from him, stalking toward the veil.

He grabs my wrist again, stopping me. “You are my business,” he snarls.

I don’t have time for this. “I have to go to Hell.”

“Why?” he demands, pulling me roughly toward him, my body colliding with his.

I glare at him, knowing I have only two options here. I can drop this and leave empty-handed, then try to come back later, hoping he’s not watching me at that precise moment. Or I come clean. My instincts scream at me to tell him to go fuck himself, but this is bigger than me. Rafe needs brimstone. There is no time, and I can feel Alice’s anxiety about it. I can feel Rafe’s pain with the decreased dose. “I need to do this for Rafe. He needs brimstone.”

I feel him watching me, his grip on my wrist tightening and relaxing a few times as he thinks through what I’ve said, also waging a war in his own mind. The silence stretches loudly between us before he finally speaks again.

“Ask me.”

I blink, confused. “What?”

“Ask me to take you,” he growls, his grip bordering on pain as he grows more impatient.

Despite the feel of the bones in my wrist grinding together beneath his grip, I give him a bored look. “I don’t need you to take me.” Even I can hear the petulance in my voice, but there is something so vindicating about not needing him.

He scoffs harshly. “You think you can fake an angel of death?” he asks, the derision in his voice making me bristle. “You’re fluent in Infernal? And I don’t just mean the runes, but the actual language?”

Perhaps the wings would help me fit in more than I thought, though I doubt angels of death wear cut-off denim. Doubt burrows its way through my newborn confidence. “Well, no, but⁠—”

“With your tiny little denim shorts and baby pink sports bra? You think you’ll fit in with the leather-clad demons?”

“I—”

“With your face absent of all makeup? Your hair not styled? Do you know anything about demons? Their culture? Trends⁠—”

“Who cares?” I ask, interrupting him this time. He’s psyching me out. “None of that matters. I’m just going to get in, get the brimstone, and get out of there. So let go of me.”

“Are you even aware that time works differently down there? Have you runed yourself to ensure your body and mind stay on this realm’s timeline? Do you even know where the brimstone you are so desperately seeking will be?” he continues with his interrogation.

Fuck. I did not plan this at all, and I hate that he’s right. But he is not coming with me. I’d rather eat my own eyeballs.

“I’ll find it,” I say, but I’m much more hesitant, especially considering I didn’t realize that time runs differently in Hell.

He slides his free hand to my lower back and pulls me against him. “Ask me, princess,” he says, the timbre of his voice changing, deepening, becoming cajoling and seductive. His hand against my bare back makes my skin prickle in a way that’s not altogether terrible.

“I . . . I . . .” I swallow hard a couple of times, trying to free whatever is lodged in my throat. Fuck.