Irinya carried that achievement with honor. She had been bred for her fate, died and suffered for it too. She’d fucking earned the right to revel in her curse. But she was being forced to leave death behind.

Now, she would walk in the light, and prey upon the living. Her only regret was she would be alone. For the first time in her wretched existence tremors of fear whispered along her nerves and thrummed in her veins. Her fingers had the audacity to tremble as she stared at the Gates of Hell.

With a growl, she fisted her hands, digging the points of her nails into flesh until she bled. She was not this weak thing. The chill of her blood pooled in her palm and sought a relentless path between her fingers. At the mercy of gravity, fate pulled her life's essence to its doom. Maybe a piece of her would remain in hell, crisped on the cursed ground?

Pain had long ago become a trusted friend, but fear? She could do without this new companion.

Behind her, the deep breaths of her master pulsed in the acrid air.

“Why have you stopped?” Ahimoth towered over her, his twin horns casting long shadows that twisted on the ground. Master of torture, brother of Death, Ahimoth had once claimed her soul. He owned every piece of her pain.

Her love for him ran nearly as deep as the fierceness of her hatred. No surprise he’d been the one to escort her to the gates. Death was a cruel bastard, but even he wasn’t heartless.

A drop of blood gathered at her knuckle, and lost its battle against the pull of the earth. Even it feared the long descent to the smoldering ground. It separated from her fisted hand, falling with reluctance to traverse the suffocating fumes, heating with each agonizing inch until it splattered on the brimstone with a hiss of surrender.

Irinya stiffened and leveled her chin. “Would it surprise you that I don’t want to go?”

“Would it surprise you that I don’t give a damn?” Ahimoth’s throaty chuckle reverberated through the air and made the ground tremble.

Not in the slightest.

Irinya held back her smile. He would never have the satisfaction of knowing he’d gifted her with a slice of pleasure.

He hated this order as much as she feared it. But Death commanded her exit from Hell and Ahimoth obeyed his brother without question.

The gate waited, twisted souls forever cursed to guard against the encroachment of the living.

That was what awaited her in exile, souls pulsing with the light of hope, happiness, and joy. The land of the living sickened and twisted her gut.

Forward or back? She could refuse.

Death always offered the damned a choice, or the illusion of having one. He offered a choice to everyone but her.

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