Chapter Five
Angelina's POV
The collar bit into my neck with every breath. Cold metal against skin that had never known restraint. I shifted, trying to find a position that didn't make the chains dig deeper, but it was useless.
I should have thought this through. Should have considered what walking through that veil really meant. But all I'd seen was Richard's fading light and the certainty that I had to do something.
Now I was here. Chained. Trapped.
Above me, the souls drifted like a twisted mockery of the night sky. Each one a person who'd made a choice they couldn't take back. Each one aware, he'd said. Conscious. Trapped for eternity in their own private hell.
So it was true. The devil really did keep the souls of the damned as stars in his chambers.
I looked away, unable to bear the sight of them any longer.
He was sprawled across an enormous bed on the far side of the chamber. Black silk sheets that probably cost a thousand soul energy. His eyes were closed, body relaxed, like he didn't have a care in the world.
But I could tell he was aware of me. Every time I moved, even slightly, his jaw tightened. His fingers twitched against the sheets.
Watching. Always watching.
I tested the chains again, seeing if there was any give. The metal scraped against itself with a sound that echoed through the chamber.
His throat moved as he swallowed. I watched his Adam's apple bob, the movement somehow hypnotic in the dim light.
A thought crept into my mind. Dark and unwelcome. What if I could use that awareness against him? What if his attention on me was a weakness I could exploit?
The moment the thought fully formed, pain seared across my scalp.
I gasped, my hand flying to my hair. A hissing sound filled the air, like water on hot coals.
"No." The word came out strangled.
His laugh cut through the chamber. Low and rich and deeply satisfied.
"Well, that was faster than I expected." He sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. "I thought it would take at least a day before you started having impure thoughts. But a few hours?" He shook his head, grinning. "This is going to be easier than I thought."
My chest felt tight. The pain comes before the transformation. I had to be careful to keep those strands completely silver.
"Why are you doing this?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
"I told you. It's fun." He stood, stretching like a cat. "Watching angels fall is my favorite pastime. And you?" He walked toward me slowly. "You're going to be particularly entertaining."
"There has to be more to it than that."
"Does there?" He crouched in front of me, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his skin. "Maybe I'm just bored. Maybe I like the irony of Heaven's perfect little soldier rotting away in my chambers. Maybe I think it's hilarious that you traded your eternity for one pathetic human."
None of it rang true. I'd seen that flicker in his eyes when he first recognized me. The way he'd said "it's you" like it meant something.
"You said you knew me before."
"I did."
"Then tell me why you're really doing this."
He studied my face for a long moment. Then smiled. "No. I don't think I will. Let's call it motivation for you to figure it out yourself."
I wanted to scream. To rage against the chains and the collar and the unfairness of it all. But what good would it do? He'd just laugh. Add it to his collection of entertaining moments.
Instead, I looked at him. Really looked. At the sharp angles of his face, the way shadows seemed to cling to him like a second skin. The darkness that poured off him in waves.
How did this happen? How did the brightest angel in all of creation end up this dark, this cruel, this twisted?
"What's your name?" I asked suddenly.
The question seemed to catch him off guard. His smile faltered for just a second.
"Why do you want to know?"
"Because if I'm going to be stuck here with you, I should know what to call you."
He considered this, head tilting. "Daemon."
The name settled over me wrong. Like a coat that didn't quite fit.
"Daemon," I repeated slowly. "That's... odd."
"Odd how?"
"It doesn't sound like an angel's name." I frowned. "Angel names have meaning. Purpose. Daemon just sounds like someone trying too hard to be intimidating."
His expression went dark. "Careful, angel. You're in no position to critique my choices."
"I'm just saying it's strange. What was your name before? Your real name?"
"This is my real name." But his voice had gone tight. Defensive. "The name I had before doesn't exist anymore. That angel doesn't exist anymore."
"But he did once."
"Once." He stood abruptly, turning away from me. "Once is a long time ago. Long enough that it doesn't matter."
I watched him walk back to the bed, his shoulders rigid. For just a moment, he'd looked almost vulnerable. Almost like the answer to my question hurt him.
Then he laid back down, that lazy confidence sliding back into place like armor.
"Get some rest, angel," he said without opening his eyes. "You're going to need it."
Above us, the souls pulsed in their endless vigil. A thousand hearts beating in the darkness.
I touched my hair again, searching for any black strands. Found only silver.
For now.