Caged by Damnation (Caged #2)(39)

"It was a little too easy, wasn't it?"

My stomach churned at the smile he directed towards me. The room became a hazy tomb as I focused on my surroundings, willing them to remain. If I was going to have Asmodeus shoved into my mind, couldn't I at least dictate the terms?

Concentrating on his form, I held onto that image, ignoring the walls around me as they flew by. It felt like I was strapped into the passenger seat of a racecar, unable to maneuver the events unfolding around me, but trying desperately to find a piece of substance to hold onto, something that might bring my world to a pause long enough for me to process and react.

Asmodeus reached towards an overly large book on top of a center bookcase, pulling it down and opening it to reveal a scroll. It was rolled tightly and tied with what looked to be human hair in strands of gold, brown, and auburn. The edges coiled inward, as paper did when it hadn't seen the light in an age. He grasped the document, and his eyes reached mine, and his lips moved, telling me something. His words were left behind as my consciousness smacked back into my body.





CHAPTER 9


WILLOW

I stopped in the common room after leaving my domain, needing a break from all the events that had taken place. I was overwhelmed; everything was unfamiliar and the stress was astounding. Curling up in the corner of the sofa, I cradled a small pillow to my midsection. It was a small comfort, but one I needed.

Across from me, the fireplace blazed a husky glow against the rose quartz it had been carved into. The small embers glistened off of the surface to create the illusion of a shimmering light throughout the room. It was lovely, but made my exhaustion that much more obvious.

Fatigue washed through me, making me wonder what time it was. Since I had woken up this morning, I had been led from Hellhound to Hellhound without even a meal. I couldn't remember the last time I had eaten. My stomach aired its grievance at its mistreatment, but I ignored it the same way everyone else seemed to be doing.

Without clocks, or a window to show the sky, I had no way to tell if it was lunchtime, dinnertime, or bedtime. Death might be in a hurry for me to go through the change, but I needed rest or I was going to be on the verge of a mental breakdown.

On the floor next to the couch was a basket with blankets. I pulled a downy plum-colored Snuggie over me, rested my head against the pillow, and closed my eyes. I had barely begun to drift towards a warm slumber when a loud creak squelched any chance of resting that I had.

Using the back of the sofa as leverage, I pulled myself into a semi-sitting state to look over at the doors in the common room. When I had first seen them, they'd reminded me of guardians or prison guards; now they served as torturers. Their reckless clamor had torn through my peace and left me with a dour-faced Death.

The doors had mostly closed; only one was slightly open, held in Death's grip, as he stood facing me. He looked more casual than I was used to seeing him, as though he had just woken from a nap himself. His eyes were softer, his hair in disarray, and for once he wasn't dressed from head to toe in black. He was wearing a thin, white canvas shirt. It was mostly unbuttoned, showing his chest and abdomen, which led to pair of dark blue jeans and black leather shoes.

Death looked like a character from a romance novel, not one that the heroine would fall in love with, but instead the character with a dark past who always ended up losing the girl. His was the personality that had too many walls built around it, barriers that kept away a chance at anything more than existence. His eyes were soulful, carrying a burden I hadn't thought he cared to carry. His posture was proud, commanding, but stifled by the weight of a world that acknowledged him but never allowed him to be a part of it. He was feared, revered, but never loved. He was the person that everyone loved to hate or hated to love, but was never given a happy ending. Instead he was faced with torment and loneliness.

I recognized these things in him because I had seen the same characteristics in Savannah when she’d first come to our coven. The main difference between Death and Savannah was that S had one life to live. She accepted that and put everything she had into it. She never took it for granted, but pushed through her own insecurities to find something tangible. Death had too many lives to endure, but knowing he had all the time in the world made it impossible to live in the moment.

Death's stoicism flared up, leaving me to wonder if the glimpse I had caught of his inner shell had been a hallucination. Did the shadows behind his eyes mean he was worried that I had seen beneath his mask? Death was many things, but could he have a soul that was more human than monster?

What was a monster? The definition varied based on who was asked. A child would use the most simple definition, a bad man or someone evil. Savannah's definition was based on her childhood experiences, someone who committed an unforgiveable offense against an innocent. Izzy would probably use a single word, Demon. Looking at Death, I realized that I had treated him the way I would if someone were the essence of evil, but did I truly believe that he was?

Death firmly closed the doors behind him, as if warning me away from what I assumed were his chambers. He didn't move away from the doors, but leaned his head back against them and crossed his arms. A duel of silence enclosed around us.

"I'm sorry about my meltdown earlier. It was rude of me."

Death seemed taken aback by my apology, but the look quickly vanished into the same hollowness of his vulnerability. Lifting away from the door, he crossed to stand near the couch with only small cushions separating us. It was intimidating to crane my head to look up at him, and extremely aggravating to find a satisfied grin plastered to his face. I wanted to wipe it off and take back my apology, but knew that would be childish.