Chapter Seven— screaming
Angelina's POV
I woke to the sound of screaming.
Not my own. The souls above me had begun to wail, a chorus of agony that echoed through the chamber like a thousand voices crying out at once. I sat up, chains rattling, my hands flying to my ears.
It did nothing to block out the sound.
"Stop it." My voice was hoarse. Raw. "Please, stop it."
The screaming only grew louder.
I looked around frantically, searching for Daemon. The bed was empty. The chamber stretched out in all directions, vast and dark, and I was alone with the damned.
Another scream tore through the air, closer this time. Personal. I looked up and saw one of the souls descending toward me, its light flickering wildly. As it came closer, I could see a face forming in the essence. A woman. Young. Her mouth open in an endless scream.
She stopped inches from my face.
"Help me." Her voice was everywhere and nowhere. "Please. It hurts. It hurts so much."
"I can't." The words tasted like ash. "I'm sorry. I don't know how."
"Liar." Her face twisted. "You're an angel. Angels save people. That's what you do."
"I'm not..." I looked down at myself. At the chains. At my hair, now streaked with black. "I'm not an angel anymore."
"Then what are you?"
I didn't have an answer.
The soul drifted away, back up into the darkness, still screaming. Others began to descend. Dozens of them. Each one begging for help I couldn't give. Each one showing me the face of who they'd been before this place destroyed them.
A man who'd sold his soul for his daughter's life. A woman who'd bargained for beauty. A child who'd made a deal he didn't understand.
All of them trapped. All of them suffering. All because of him.
Rage bubbled up inside me, hot and vicious. This was his doing. His cruelty. His collection of broken things he kept like trophies.
Heat spread across my scalp. That familiar hissing sound.
I grabbed at my hair, felt another strand crumble to ash in my palm. Black. Then another. And another.
"No, no, no." I was losing myself. Losing the parts of me that mattered. But I couldn't stop the anger. Couldn't stop hating him for what he'd done to these people.
What he was doing to me.
The souls scattered suddenly, fleeing back to their places. The screaming stopped. Silence fell like a hammer.
"Enjoying the wake-up call?"
I spun to find Daemon leaning against the far wall, arms crossed. How long had he been watching?
"You did this." I stood, my legs shaky. "You're torturing them. Making them scream."
"Actually, they do that on their own." He pushed off the wall, walking toward me with that predatory grace. "Souls in torment tend to be rather vocal about it. I just removed the dampening spell for a bit. Thought you should hear what your heroism really sounds like."
"My heroism?"
"You wanted to save Richard. Add his soul to my collection so little Sarah could have her daddy back." He gestured to the souls above. "Well, congratulations. He's up there now. Alive on Earth, damned for eternity here. Just like you wanted."
The words hit me like a physical blow. "No. You said he'd be free. You said—"
"I said he'd live. And he is living. But his soul?" Daemon smiled. "That belongs to me. That was always the price of our deal. You stay here, he stays alive, and when he eventually dies like all humans do, his soul comes right back to me."
"You bastard."
"Careful, angel. Your hair's already looking rather fashionable today." He reached out, running his fingers through the black-streaked silver. "How many strands did you lose this morning? Five? Six?"
I slapped his hand away. "Stop touching me."
"Why? You didn't seem to mind yesterday when you were having those dark little thoughts about me." He leaned closer, his breath hot against my ear. "What was it you were thinking? Something about using my attention against me? Exploiting my weakness?"
My face burned. He'd known. Of course he'd known.
"That's the thing about corruption, Angelina. It doesn't just change how you look. It changes how you think. How you feel." His hand moved to my throat, not squeezing, just resting there. "Soon you'll be having thoughts that would make these damned souls blush."
"I'd rather die."
"Would you?" His thumb traced my pulse. "Because I don't think that's true. I think you're already starting to like it here. Like the power that comes with darkness. Like the freedom of not having to be perfect anymore."
"You're insane."
"Maybe." He released me, stepping back. "But I'm not the one who broke into Hell for a human I barely knew. I'm not the one who traded eternity for a child's happiness. That kind of reckless self-sacrifice?" He shook his head. "That's not sanity, angel. That's martyrdom. And martyrs always end up on crosses."
I wanted to argue. Wanted to tell him he was wrong. But something in his words rang true. The certainty I'd felt yesterday, the righteous conviction that saving Richard was worth any price, had started to crack.
What had I really accomplished? Richard lived, yes. But for how long? A few decades at most. And then his soul would return here, and Sarah would lose her father anyway. All I'd done was delay the inevitable.
All I'd done was damn myself for nothing.
The thought must have shown on my face because Daemon's expression softened. Just slightly. Just enough to confuse me.
"You're starting to understand," he said quietly. "Good. That's good."
"Understand what?"
"That Heaven lied to you. They taught you that sacrifice was noble. That giving yourself away for others made you worthy." He moved closer again, but this time his touch was almost gentle when he tilted my chin up. "But sacrifice without wisdom is just waste. And you, Angelina, were wasted on their ideals."
"Stop it." My voice cracked. "Stop trying to twist everything."
"I'm not twisting anything. I'm showing you the truth." His dark eyes searched mine. "Heaven needed you to believe that suffering was holy. That pain had purpose. Because if you ever stopped believing that, if you ever questioned why a loving God would demand such terrible prices, the whole system would fall apart."
"You're trying to break me."
"I'm trying to wake you up." His hand moved from my chin to cup my face. "There's a difference."
For a moment, just a moment, I wanted to lean into that touch. Wanted to believe that maybe he wasn't just tormenting me. That maybe some part of what he said was true.
Then I remembered the souls screaming. Remembered the chains around my wrists. Remembered that this was the devil, and nothing he said could be trusted.
I jerked away from him. "If you're going to corrupt me, just do it. Stop pretending this is anything other than revenge."
Something flickered across his face. Pain, maybe. Or regret. But it was gone before I could be sure.
"As you wish." His voice had gone cold again. Distant. "I have business to attend to. Try not to do anything stupid while I'm gone."
He turned to leave, and I don't know what possessed me, but I called out to him.
"Daemon."
He stopped but didn't turn around.
"What was I to you? Before?"
Silence stretched between us. Long enough that I thought he wouldn't answer.
"Everything," he said finally. "You were everything."
Then he was gone, and I was alone with the screaming souls and the ashes of my corrupted hair scattered at my feet.
I counted them. Eleven strands lost this morning.
Only a matter of time before there was nothing silver left.