Kingdom of the Cursed (Kingdom of the Wicked, #2) (13)

I swallowed a scream as it took a step closer, those icy eyes lighting with…

Before I could cry out for help, each set of its jaws snapped open and shut as if it wanted to bite me, but changed its mind, much to its shock and mine. It shook its heads, eyes glazed, and stepped away. A predator acknowledging a larger threat. I fell into the embankment and stared, dumbstruck as it slunk backward into the woods, its gaze never leaving mine as it softly snarled.

I didn’t breathe again until it disappeared from sight. So much for making a fearless impression on the underworld. “Blood and bones. What was that?”

“If you’re finished playing with the puppy, I’d like to continue our journey.”

“Puppy?”

I swiveled my head in the demon’s direction. Wrath stood a few paces away, his powerful arms crossed and an annoying smirk on his face. No assistance, no offer of help. Only mockery at a situation that could have turned ugly very rapidly. Typical demon.

“That was the size of a small horse!”

“Refrain from saddling it up like one. Unlike my brothers, they don’t enjoy being ridden.”

“Hilarious.” I pushed myself to my feet and swiped at the snow on my cloak. As if I wasn’t cold and wet enough before. “I could have been mauled to death.”

“There are a number of solitary lesser demons who call the woods and outlying lands home. Hellhounds are the least of your concern. If you’re finished with the dramatics, let’s move. We’ve wasted enough time.”

Of course the demon would call a three-headed hellhound a puppy and say I was being dramatic over the encounter. I trudged past him, muttering every obscenity I could recall. His dark chuckle set my feet moving faster, lest the Sin Corridor get any more wicked ideas.

We traveled on, thankfully with no more wildlife encounters. Our biggest challenge was the relentless storm. I silently vowed I’d never fantasize about snow being romantic again.

When I thought our blustery misery was coming to an end, another towering mountain appeared from the mist. I had to lean all the way back and still couldn’t see over the top of it.

I bit back a small whimper. There was no chance I could drag my frozen body up and over that behemoth. My head felt strange, a combination of dizziness and exhaustion. Or vertigo. I considered plopping down right there. Maybe a few minutes of rest would help.

Wrath strode ahead, leaving me where I stood contemplating my near-certain demise. Just like when he’d held a hand to the gates of Hell, he placed his palm against the rock face. Gold light shimmered as he quietly commanded the mountain to do his bidding.

Or maybe he was whispering a threat to a Hell god that owed him a favor.

I was too far away to hear him and I snickered at the thought of his potential demands. I full-out laughed when a section of mountain slid back like his own personal door. Of course. A mountain obeyed his every wish. Why wouldn’t it?

Too bad he didn’t order the storm to heel like he should have done with the hellhound earlier. It probably would have tucked its tail between its legs and raced in the opposite direction.

For some reason, the imagery had me doubling over, laughing so hard tears streamed down my face. A second later, I forgot what was so funny. Snow fell in heavier flakes. My pulse slowed, my heart clenched. It felt like I was dying. Or traveling to an isle of—

Wrath was before me in an instant, his strong hands wrapping around my upper arms. I didn’t realize I’d been swaying on my feet until he’d steadied me. Even with his assistance, everything kept spinning wildly and I squeezed my eyes shut, which only made it worse.

I opened them again, and tried to focus on one point to ease the sensation.

Wrath’s stern face swam into view.

He looked me over, frowning. If I had the ability to do so, I would have rolled my eyes at his critical assessment of whatever he found lacking. Not everyone was blessed to look like some deviously handsome deity while traipsing through Hell. His lips twitched.

I must have said that last part out loud.

“Perhaps I should carry you the rest of the way. If you’re commenting on my godlike looks, you must be tremendously ill.”

“No. Absolutely not.”

I staggered toward the opening he’d made in the mountain, desperate to get out of the snow. I accomplished two steps into the dark tunnel before my legs were swept out from under me and a warm, muscular arm banded across my shoulders, holding me in place.

I squirmed, humiliated to be carried like a rag doll or child. Wrath was unfazed by my attempts to get free. As the soon-to-be Queen of the Wicked, this was not the first impression I wanted to make. Half-delirious, half-frozen, and wholly reliant on a demon.

Wrath had once said power was everything here, and, even through my delirium, I knew relinquishing mine for a moment would mark me as an easy target.

“Put. Me. Down.”

“I will.”

My head rolled back, landing in the nook between his shoulder and neck. He was deliciously warm. “I meant now.”

“I’m well aware of that.”

The world swayed with each of his steps, grew darker. It was suddenly an effort to stay awake. My skin felt oddly tight. Everything was too cold. Sleep would make all of that go away. And then I could dream. Of my sister. Of my life before I’d ever summoned a demon. And of the time I’d foolishly believed love and hate were nowhere close to being the same emotion.