Chapter Fourteen— demons
Daemon's POV
I needed to handle this before it became a real problem. Needed to remind Hell exactly why I was in charge. Why crossing me was a death sentence.
But first, I needed to make sure Angelina was protected. Even if it meant confirming every suspicion the court had about my feelings for her.
I made my way back to the upper chambers. The new guards were already in place. Six of my most loyal demons, stationed at intervals along the corridor. They bowed as I passed.
Inside, Angelina was sitting in the cage again, chains back in place. But something was different. She wasn't slumped in defeat or anger. She sat with her back straight, her eyes clear, watching the souls above with something that looked almost like peace.
"You're back," she said without looking at me.
"Did you think I wouldn't be?"
"I thought you might avoid me. After..." She gestured vaguely between us.
"After I kissed you and immediately locked you back up?" I moved closer to the cage. "That would be the smart thing to do."
"But you're not doing the smart thing."
"Apparently not." I studied her face. "Your hair. It's changed again."
She touched it absently. "I know. Only about a third silver left now." But she didn't sound upset about it. Just... accepting. "It's strange. I thought I'd feel more corrupted. More wrong. But I just feel different."
"Different how?"
"Clearer. Like I've been seeing the world through a fog my whole life and it's finally lifting." She looked at me. "Is that normal?"
"I don't know. Most angels I've corrupted just broke. Became shadows of what they were." I crouched down to her level. "But you're not breaking. You're transforming into something else."
"What if Lilith's right? What if I transform into something that can't love you?"
So she was still thinking about that conversation. Of course she was.
"Then I'll deal with it." I reached through the bars, tucking a strand of her black hair behind her ear. "But I don't think that's what's happening. I think you're just becoming more yourself. The version Heaven spent centuries trying to suppress."
"How can you know that?"
"Because I knew you before. Before they remade you. And this?" I gestured to her. "This feels more like her than the perfect angel they created ever did."
She was quiet for a moment, processing. Then, "Tell me about her. About who I was."
"Why?"
"Because I want to understand. Want to know what I'm becoming." She moved closer to the bars. "Please."
I should have refused. Should have kept that information locked away, used it as leverage or torture. But the way she asked, the genuine need in her voice...
"You were fierce," I said. "Not in an aggressive way, but in how you loved. How you stood up for what you believed in. Heaven tried to make all their angels the same—obedient, controlled, predictable. But you questioned everything. Challenged the order constantly."
"That doesn't sound like someone they'd want to keep."
"They didn't want to keep you. They wanted to fix you." I stood, pacing. "You were too valuable to destroy. Too powerful. So they broke you down and rebuilt you into something they could control."
"And you loved that version of me? The fierce one?"
"I loved everything about you. The fierce parts. The gentle parts. The way you'd argue with me for hours about philosophical points that didn't matter. The way you'd fall asleep in the gardens with your wings spread out like you were trying to hold the whole world." I stopped, realizing I'd said too much.
But she was smiling. Small and sad, but genuine. "I wish I could remember that."
"Maybe that's for the best."
"Why?"
"Because remembering might hurt worse than forgetting." I moved back to the cage. "The you that I loved chose to erase me rather than live with losing me. What does that say about how much I actually meant?"
"Or," she said quietly, "it says that losing you hurt so much that existing with that pain was unbearable. That forgetting wasn't the easy choice—it was the only choice that allowed me to survive."
The words hit me like a blow. I'd spent a thousand years believing she'd erased me because I didn't matter enough. Because her comfort was more important than our love. But what if she was right? What if it had been an act of self-preservation rather than selfishness?
"Don't," I said. "Don't try to rewrite what happened into something noble."
"I'm not. I'm just trying to understand why I'd make that choice. And pain seems like a better reason than indifference."
I didn't have an answer to that. Didn't want to consider that she might be right.
"You should rest," I said instead. "Tomorrow is going to be complicated."
"Why?"
"Because I'm taking you with me to meet someone. And you're going to need your strength."
Her eyes widened. "Where?"
"Earth. To visit a human king who thinks he's clever." I smiled coldly. "Time to remind him exactly who he's dealing with."
"You're taking me out of Hell?"
"Don't get excited. You'll still be chained. Still be under my control." I turned to leave. "But I think it's time you saw what your sacrifice actually accomplished. What Richard's life cost."
I left before she could respond, before I could see the hope or fear or whatever emotion my words had sparked.
Tomorrow I'd show her the human world. Show her King Marcus and his pathetic kingdom. Show her exactly how mortal lives meant nothing in the grand scheme of things.
And maybe, if I was lucky, it would remind me why revenge mattered more than whatever was happening between us.
But as I walked away, I knew I was lying to myself.
Nothing mattered more than her. Not revenge. Not the plan. Not even my pride.
And that terrified me more than anything Heaven could ever do.