Wet lashes blink a few times before emerald green eyes flutter open and look directly at the man.
“That is better. Always look fear directly in the eyes. Don’t ever let anyone see that you are afraid; it makes you look like a fucking pussy. Fear is weakness. And weakness is not a sign of greatness.”
Lucifer gives a slight nod and the branding iron comes down on the child’s arm, singeing it. Stone thrashes and a devastating scream escapes him, piercing deep within my bones. The smell of burning flesh and smoke stale the air. His father stands over him, unmoved—evil, in its truest form.
After one of the men removes the branding iron, Lucifer places his hand over the crown mark decorating the angry, red skin. He closes his eyes and chants in Italian. Suddenly, the wound heals itself and begins to flow with crimson light. The runes now glow under his skin, weaving and crawling through his veins in intricate patterns.
My heart pounds so profusely, I’m finding it hard to breathe. Panic sets in, and I can no longer control my thoughts from running wild. I can’t breathe.
Lucifer drops a kiss to the child’s head. “Well done, Prince Stolas, my future heir.”
The vision disappears into the darkness, and with a hard exhale, I throw my tear-filled eyes open. I bolt off the couch and run to the fireplace, throwing up from the horror I’d just witnessed. After several minutes of emptying the contents of my stomach, I gasp for air and regain my composure before turning to face Stone. He’s watching me with a guarded expression. And though he’s a man standing before me, all I hear is his two-year-old screams rattling in my head.
Rage quickly replaces every feeling, and all I see is red.
“What the hell did you see, Hope?” he barks, shaken by my reaction.
I wipe more tears away and my gaze falls to his crown tattoo. “He did that to you? But you were only two!” I spit out, crying all over again.
A look of pure fear crosses his expression before it quickly morphs into anger. Stone’s fists tighten at his sides, to the point that it looks painful. “That isn’t what I showed you.”
“But it’s what I saw, Stone. The room. Your father. The branding. You were only a child.”
He stands taller and places all his walls and barriers back up, blocking me out once again. “I don’t need your sympathy, mortal. I need your gift of prophecy,” he bites out.
“How could I not feel for you? Your own flesh and blood stood there like a cold-hearted bastard, as if he didn’t give a fuck that you were his child and not his property.” I stare at him blatantly in the face, but he’s become detached. Broken. He’s unfazed, like he saw this sort of scene play out in front of him all the time.
That’s when it truly hits me. This isn’t just a man with a tortured past. Stone is really Lucifer’s son—the next heir. The prince of the Nine Circles of Hell. The darkness and evil he speaks of, I’ve never truly witnessed until this very moment. And it’s terrifying.
“It’s about fucking time,” he says, hearing my thoughts.
My lungs are still struggling to breathe correctly, the images of my vision lingering.
“We leave tomorrow.” His voice is detached and cold as he stalks out of the library.
Stone
The door slams behind me as I storm into my office. The sheer force of it rattles the entire house. With a raw snarl filled with fury, I begin tossing everything in the office, starting with the desk. My arms come out, and in one powerful sweep, every item falls to the floor, shattering and banging as they connect with the wooden panels under my feet.
I learned at a very young age to never allow anyone to see you when you’re weak. And unfortunately for me, Hope just witnessed my weakest moment. Of all the horrid things my father has done to me, branding me as a small child is the one that haunts me most.
It’s also the moment I realized that whatever you’re feeling on the inside, you must remain cold and heartless on the outside. Just like my father. Detached. Aloof. Uncaring.
The jackhammering in my chest squeezes my lungs, making it impossible to breathe, or to get a hold of my heightened emotions. And if I don’t get it under control soon, my demon will make an appearance.
I haven’t felt this out of control since I was a small child.
The door opens and Lev walks in, quietly closing it behind him. He looks around, taking in the mess. Without a word, he saunters over to the bar hidden in the cabinet, grabs and opens a bottle of liquor, and pours two glasses—neat—before making his way to me and handing me a crystal tumbler.
“Speak freely,” I sigh into the glass.
“Rough night?”
I snort and down the liquid in one swallow. “Try rough existence.”
With a nod, he takes my glass, returns it to the bar, and grabs the bottle of tequila. When he is back by my side, he shoves it at me, knowing the glass will do nothing to calm me.
I lift the bottle to my lips and take a long pull, allowing the alcohol’s burn to calm my nerves.
“Need me to take care of something, or someone, my Lord?”
“No.” My response is clipped. I would kill him if he ever laid a hand on Hope—or hurt her in any way.
Yeah, I’m in a fucked-up place if the idea of a demon hurting a divine mortal bothers me.
“Something happen between you and the human?” He chuckles.
I sink onto the couch with a heavy sigh. My best friend takes a seat next to me, lifts his feet onto the coffee table, and crosses his ankles.
“What makes you think that?” I ask.
“She’s beautiful. You’re upset. It’s simple math.”
“I’m not upset. I’m enraged. There’s a difference.”
“Is there?”
“Yes.”
He nudges my arm with his elbow. “You know, you can trust me.”
I run my hand over my jaw and blow out a long breath, turning to face him. “We opened a blood link.”
Lev arched his brow. “Ah fuck, Stolas.”
I nod and take another sip of tequila. “That reminds me, I need to get laid.”
“Aww . . . would you look at that? Romance is not dead after all,” he counters.
I snort, twirling the bottle in my fingers.
“I don’t know, Stolas.” He sighs. “You’re in some pretty deep shit. When your father finds out what you did . . .”
“He won’t.”
Lev pops his knuckles; the sound echoes through the room. “No? You gonna keep a secret from Lucifer? ’Cause that isn’t going to end well for you, my friend.”
“I’m not. We are.” I pin him with a hard look. “From everyone.”
A smile curves his lips. “Right. Of course, we are. So, what? You’re up here, throwing shit around because . . . all her mortal thoughts center around how sexy she finds me?”
My blood runs cold. “Watch it.”
Lev grants me a lopsided smirk. “Shit. You’re in deep.”
“I’m not in at all.”
“No?” He motions toward the destroyed room. “Then you suck at interior decorating.” Lev takes out a cigarette, lights it, and inhales—relaxing.
“Hope initiated the link. She and Hendrix had private words, which oddly, I can’t find when I search her mind. But whatever they talked about, it solidified her understanding.”
“Is she blocking you?” A cloud of nicotine billows out of his mouth.
“She doesn’t know how, yet. I was going to teach her after I got what I needed from reading her thoughts—which, by the way, are all over the fucking place.”
“She’s a girl. Apparently, when you aren’t fucking them, they have feelings and shit.”
“Anyway, I attempted to get her to prophesize on command by opening the connection, and allowing her in. In return, she read a memory.” I swallow and tighten my jaw.
Lev and I have known one another since birth. He knows all my secrets and keeps them.
Where we come from, childhood memories are filled with nothing but torment.
“Which recollection?”
“My father branding me,” I admit.
His side profile shows he’s pissed for me. But Lev doesn’t say anything more, because sympathetic words aren’t needed between us.
When you’re a dark soul and grow up in the Circles, you’re unapologetic.
THE DIVIDING LINE
Hope
THE SUN SHINES DOWN FROM the hilltop in front of us. We’ve been driving through a tangled valley for what feels like hours; the entire time, my mind has been trying to recover from the place of fear and darkness I witnessed. Stone hasn’t spoken more than a handful of words to me the entire morning. And when he has, it’s been in a cold voice, packed with displeasure. This means it’s going to be one of those days again, where I am a weak, annoying human.
The car continues to drive over a narrow, winding cobblestone street, which guides us up the hilltop, toward the bright sunlight. I focus on the sunshine and the warmth it’s radiating instead of the weird looks Stone’s driver, Virgil, is giving me.
After last night, my emotional state remains rocky. The vision of what Stone’s father did to him, coupled with not being on my medication for days, is playing with my mind. Every time I glance at Virgil, I swear he’s peering at me with a strange, sober, ominous glare.
Midway on our life’s journey, I found myself. In dark woods, the right road lost. The quote from Dante’s Inferno floats through my mind, along with an unfamiliar male voice.
I look around the group, but everyone is busy discussing their roles and duties once we enter the Circles. My eyes lift and catch Virgil staring at me in the rearview mirror instead of at the road ahead of us. Shifting with unease, I slide on the leather bench, closer to Stone. He ignores me and continues to bark orders at Vassago, so I stare out the window as frustration lingers.
The higher up the hill we go, the further into the dark woods we travel. This forest is different than normal wooded areas. It’s not lush and fairytale-like. It’s shadowy and hauntingly beautiful.
The bark on the trees appears almost black, as the trunks bend and twist, arching over the path. Their leaves are a vivid indigo. The ground is covered in black sand, kissed with gray and white flecks that look like ash. A glowing, peacock-blue hue peeks between the gnarly branches of the trees, along with a light gray mist, which gives off an eerie vibe.
It’s ominous, yet serene.
Every so often, I swear I see honey-yellow orbs glow from in between the trunks of the tree line. Like they’re watching and following us as we drive farther and farther into the unknown.
“We’re at the gates, my Lord,” Virgil announces from the front of the limo.
I look around, puzzled. There are no gates, fences, or anything in front of us but a wall of black nothing. Literally, nothing. “Where are they?”
Avi winks. “Wait for it,” she replies cryptically.
Virgil disappears from the driver’s seat. A few seconds later, Stone’s door opens.
“Stay here with Avi and Lore,” Stone orders, causing me to panic.
“Wait, where are you going?” I grab at his arm.
He leans in close, blocking the sudden chilly air surrounding us. Our faces are so close that if he moved in a sliver, his lips would touch mine. Stone’s minty breath brushes over my cool skin. “I’ll be right back. You’re safe, sweetheart.” He ducks his head and slides out of the car.
Lev and Vassago follow suit, before Virgil slams the door shut, practically on my face.
“I think he likes me,” I mumble, and shift back to face Avi and Lore.
Lore sighs. “No. He doesn’t.”
Avi rolls her eyes and smiles. “Ignore Virgil. He’s always this way. Like Lore.”
“Where are they going?” I ask Avi.
“Patience, mortal.” She winks and points to the glass window.
I stare at Stone’s back for a bit, before the honey-yellow orbs that were once within the confines of the dark woods begin to descend on us. Hundreds of sets prowl out of the forest on all sides, surrounding us. Attached to the creepy, glowing eyes are large, black, wolf-like creatures with steel spikes on their fur backs, and oversized steel claws. I press closer to the window to see better.
“Holy shit,” I exhale.
The animals approach the group with their wild, sharp teeth bared and heads hanging low. Then the largest in the pack steps forward, sniffs, and locks eye contact with Stone before he releases a high-pitched, screeching howl.
My hands fly to my ears, covering them from the painful sound. Stone lifts a hand with two fingers raised, then drops them in a relaxed manner. The pack of wild animals steps forward, forming perfectly straight lines on either side of us, before they drop their heads like they’re bowing in submission. What the hell?
“Those are hellhounds. They guard the gates. Stolas controls them,” Lore explains.
I fake a smile and nod. “Of course they are. Where is this infamous gate then?”
As if on cue, the trees begin to shake and the woods blur. Ahead of us, an iron gate rises from the black sand, painstakingly slowly, but eerily silent.
The pointed, wrought-iron bars are held up by stone columns, adorned with statues of hellhounds atop each one.
My lips part at the oddity and magnificence of it all.
The gateway climbs until it appears at least fifty feet in height. Once it’s completely risen, the door to the car opens and Stone bends in, holding out his hand for me to take. A rush of warm air spills inside with him—a complete temperature difference from only moments ago.
I stare at his hand with trepidation.
“You’re okay, Hope. Just follow his lead,” Avi encourages.
I slide my hand in Stone’s and he helps me out, but doesn’t release his grip as he turns us toward the gates. Behind the iron wall, the sky has a deep, rich, crimson glow, highlighted by autumn oranges and golden yellows.
Miles away from where we stand, large mountain peaks fade into the cerise sky.
A single road leads from the gate to the mountains. On either side, pure black sand.
I inhale and take in the ancient iron sign arched above the closed entrance. My eyes run over the inscription and I try the words on my tongue, “Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch’intrate.”
“Abandon all hope, ye who enter here,” Stone translates seductively in my ear.
Time stills as I shift my focus to him. My eyes seek out the spot on his chest where these same words are tattooed in black script. I fight the urge to run my fingers over them, and ask if they were another cruel branding violation done at his father’s hand.
“I need to move your soul over to the realm before we continue,” he states in a low, calm manner. “The three of us will make a triangle around you as we walk to the gates. We will do so in a downward formation, to represent the element of fire. When the gateway opens, we’ll walk through, followed by Virgil and the girls in the limo. He’ll drive the rest of the way.”
“Why can’t we just take the limo in?”
“While you’ve tethered yourself to the Circles, your soul was born divine and is unwelcome in my dimension. On your own, if you go through the gates, you will be rejected and seen as a threat for crossing over without permission.”
“A threat?” I repeat. “What does that mean?”
“The Circles will think you’re an intruder and cause your soul to burst into flames.”
“Wait. Isn’t your father the one who ordered you to bring me here?”
“Yes, but it must be done this way.”
My nervous gaze darts around wildly, as I try not to have a panic attack. “How do you know this will work?” I challenge. “Have you done this before?”
“Each of us represents a layer of the Circles. Vassago the fifth level. Leviathan the second, and me the eighth,” he explains. “In downward trinity formation, we embody fire. You fight fire with fire. The dimension will sense our dark souls and read our formation.”
�
�We fight fire with water where I come from,” I mutter, and rub my forehead.
He stares at me, unamused. “Mortal semantics.”
“If your way works, what happens once I’m over the dividing line?”
“My vow of protection and our blood link will kick in, safeguarding you.”
“And if it doesn’t?”
“Then you burn to death. Let’s go already,” Vassago snarls.
Stone lunges for his brother and grabs him by the lapels of his expensive suit. “Don’t ever speak to her that way,” he spits in Vassago’s face, “or out of turn, again.”
I shiver at the anger radiating off Stone. “Stop.” I try to hold him back, as he continues to stare down his brother. “Let’s just do this already.”
The brothers stay locked in some sort of demon challenge, until Stone pushes off him and I move to stand in the middle of the three. Virgil returns to the driver’s seat of the limo.
We approach the gate and Stone bows his head, chanting in Italian before the gates open without a sound. He dips his chin and we all take the final steps through, over the dividing line. The heat becomes heavier in the air with each step we take.
Once we’re far enough from the entrance, the gates close with a slam. I look behind us; the gateway is firmly sealed. Along with my fate, apparently.
“Hope,” Stone’s says, touching my arm. “You’re safe. The car is waiting.”
I swallow the lump in my throat and nod, allowing him to lead me back into the limo.
“Straight to the Ninth Circle to see your father, my Lord?” Virgil asks Stone.
“No. We’re going to the penthouse.”
“Yes, my Lord.”
Vassago gives his brother an unfriendly side glance, which doesn’t get past Stone.
“I’m sure father’s minions have already alerted him of our arrival,” he states, sounding bored.
A dread fills my stomach as I look over my shoulder, out the back window.
The iron fence disappears, falling into the ground. The sharp points at the top are the last pieces to sink into the sand. Where the dark woodland area was only a few moments ago, there is now a black wall of hollowness. I inhale and tell myself, like all bad visions I’ve had over the past two years, this one too shall pass.
Stolas: A Dark Soul Series Novel Page 15
