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Frowning, I stared off. “Obsidian Mountain?”
“It is a stretch of black-sooted mountains on the southern border, also called Obsidia. It happens to be the location of Infernium.”
“The asylum you spoke of. The one from my dreams.”
“Yes.”
Which made absolutely no sense why I would’ve dreamed of such a place. “What stopped them from imprisoning, or killing, your father?”
“Because doing so would unleash hell. My father is the only thing that keeps Letifer in slumber.”
Letifer. I remembered the conversation with Camael, and how she had spoken of the end of the world. “And if he wakes, we’re all doomed.”
“If he wakes, every creature in every realm stands to become one of his Mortunath. And yes, we’d basically be fucked.”
It didn’t seem real. It seemed like the kind of talk found in fantasy novels, with doom and gloom and the big bad guy who would destroy everything to his own gain. I kept waiting for the moment when I would wake up, and I’d be lying in bed back at Aunt Nelle’s, all curled up into Jericho, whispering about the awful nightmare I’d just had. As much as I yearned for distraction, tried to cast my stress aside, as he’d told me, I found myself right back to worrying about my fate. “Do you anticipate the Noxerians to be receptive to making a deal?”
“It’s hard to say, with my father being the one to have claimed your soul. Of course, it doesn’t matterwhohas laid their claim. I’ve no intentions of turning you over.”
Panic and frustration mingled together inside me in a turbulent mix that had me feeling like I could throw up. “But you said that was bad. That the fire demons would come.”
“They would. Unless the Noxerians refused to grant claim to your soul.”
I could feel my pulse hasten with the burgeoning anxiety. “But the likelihood of them making a deal is slim.”
“Yes. Denying my father what he wants will only make him more determined.”
The panic exploded in a flash of light that sent a shuddering ache to my skull. “God, this is too much! Too much!”
So many unknowns floated around my head, my muscles bunched with the distress pounding through me. I couldn’t even mourn my baby because of it, and the thought of that tore at me. I didn’t want to think about this. About what some fucking demon planned to do with me. I’d lost! I’d lost so much between my father and my baby, and now the universe wanted more. Why wasn’t it enough! “I just want to hit something. I want to hit something so hard it hurts. Until it feels as helpless and pummeled as I do right now!”
“Then, hit me. Right now.” His words caught me off guard, and I frowned up at him to find no hint of amusement. Only the cold and austere gaze of a man who refused to be swayed.
“No.”
“Do it. Show me your pain.”
With gentle hands, he rolled me on top of his body, and I straddled his stomach, feeling a hint of humiliation from the pad I wore. The pad soaked in the blood of my baby. A baby that I was robbed of.
“Hit me, Farryn. As hard as you can.”
The anger swelled inside of me all over again. “Stop it. Stop it!”
“Think of what was taken from you!” He grabbed tight to my wrists and gave a slight jerk. “Come on! Pretend I’m the thief. Your thieving God who took from you. I am the one who has forsaken you. Hit me!”
“No!”
“Do it!”
“Stop it!” Irritated by his insistence, I gave a hard smack to his jaw.
He didn’t so much as flinch. Instead, he clenched his teeth, his lip curved to a snarl. “That’s it. Harder.”
Harder.The words beat through my chest like a war drum. The idea that he could’ve been twisting my pain into some sick masochistic torture of his own enraged me, and something took over me. I snapped. In a fit of fists and nails, I punched, scratched, and smacked him.
Every hit, I waited for him to haul off and hit me back, but he didn’t. He took it all. Every miserable and pathetic thought about myself, I pummeled into his chest and jaw and stomach and arms.
I knew he was goading me, maybe because he really was hurting, and this was his way of dealing with the anger and disappointment. By accepting pain. Punishing himself the same way my thoughts punished me. It was wrong of me to respond, but I wanted it out of me. The anger. The hate. The bitterness. It felt so good, I slipped into a blind haze of violence. Punching, punching, punching.
