To Hell and Back by L.B. Gilbert
Chapter Fifty
Valeria knew these sheets by texture. They were machine-made silk. Their softness was a comforting embrace, a reminder that she was home, because nothing that pure or mechanically perfect existed in Sheol. But she didn’t roll around in them the way she wanted to. The cracks of light in her skin were still there, and they hurt like hell.
A hand touched her forehead very gently. “How do you feel?”
Rhys’ blurry form sharpened into focus. “I feel like I got struck by lightning,” she croaked. “About a million times.”
“We’re going to fix it,” he promised, his fingers feathering over her skin.
She knew without asking that the spots he touched didn’t have the cracks. Leaning over, Rhys poured her a glass of water, waiting with endless patience until she had drunk the entire thing.
His beautiful face was so serious it was breaking her heart. “Is it that bad?” she asked. Was she going to die?
His eyes dropped to her hands. “Veda has seen you. He came to set your broken arm.”
“And?”
Rhys hesitated. “It’s going to take a little while, but you’re going to be fine,” he said in a bracing tone.
She gave him a weak smile that stretched the light in her, the cracked spiderwebs illuminating a constellation against the dark silk sheets. “Liar.”
“I’m not lying.” Rhys sat on the edge of the bed. “We didn’t finish off the angel. I had hoped you would normalize once we closed the door, but it seems the angel’s reach extends into this realm. Veda’s best guess is that the creature is in a state between life and death. Whatever happened to you over there, it’s not progressing.”
“But it’s not getting better either.”
He opened his mouth to tell her another comforting lie, but she waved him into silence. “It doesn’t matter. I’m so happy to be home and with you.”
Even if it’s only for a few more days.
Rhys seemed to hear her unspoken words. He got on his knees, his hands hovering over her as if he wanted to touch her but was afraid of hurting her. “You will recover.”
It was an order.
Valeria smiled despite the pain. She hadn’t noticed it in Sheol—she’d been too overwhelmed to feel it there. She needed a distraction, which was why it was a good thing she had a million questions.
“Tell me about your war.”
Rhys closed his eyes for a long moment before refocusing on her face. “I wasn’t hiding anything from you.”
Her mouth quirked up. “So, I imagined the bat wings? Or that you were at war with angels for God knows how long?
“No, of course not, you didn’t imagine those things,” he said with a little shake of his head. “The wings are quite real. It’s what we call our hybrid form. It evolved for battle. Over time, we learned that it presented an advantage to keep it secret, so we don’t flaunt it.”
He looked down, uncomfortable. “But I admit I wasn’t eager for you to see me that way. Thanks to the Host’s influence here, those wings evoke a visceral reaction in the people who see them.”
“They do make an impression,” she said, trying for levity.
Rhys nodded, acknowledging her attempt at humor but not willing to step an inch away from his concern for her.
“As far as I know, no angels remain on this side of the barrier, but memories seem to have burrowed like parasites. We’re automatically pitted against them as demons.”
“It’s a bit on the nose in terms of branding, but Michael’s kind of a blunt hammer, isn’t he?”
Rhys’ face curdled. “I can’t say that I know him as well as you do now.”
“Not your fault,” she assured him.
“I will never stop reliving that moment when you fell,” he whispered. “If I’d known where you would end up, I’d have done everything differently—I wouldn’t have left you alone for one.”
But she hadn’t been alone when the cross coven came. Figuring Ravenna was making herself scarce, she opened her mouth to ask about her, but Rhys forestalled her.
“I know it may have appeared differently in front of the castle,” he said, “but I’m not ashamed of our hybrid form or our history. I was just concerned what you were thinking at that moment because I wanted to get you as far from the angel as possible.”
“I know.” She nodded encouragingly, prodding gently until his hesitation and reserve completely broke down.
In halting words, he began to tell her about the war, how it had started on a distant planet—not Sheol. But it had ended there after the Draconai and other dragon clans had hunted their old enemy, the Dareia, until they submitted.
“It wasn’t easy, but we eventually brokered a peace,” he told her.
“How old were you?”
His grin was like sunshine, genuine amusement crinkling the skin around his eyes. “I know I’m much older than you, but I’m not that old. This happened before I was born. The only battles I’ve fought were against the Angelii.”
Rhys poured her another water, urging her to drink some more before he continued. “In the early days on Sheol, when we were still at war with the Dareia, they sent out a distress alert to anyone who would answer. No one came to their aid because our reputation was too fierce. So much time passed, we forgot they’d sent it. So did they.”
“I gather the Angelii didn’t?”
“No. We’d been living in peace with the Dareia for so long, many never knew we had ever been at war—compared to us, they were a short-lived species.”
His mouth compressed, the memories darkening his handsome visage. “But some malcontents did remember, and they’d nurtured that hatred across generations. So when the Angelii came, offering liberation, those idiots accepted on behalf of all their people—imagine a tiny fraction of the population deciding what the rest wanted, how they would live.”
She winced. It sounded too much like Earth’s present day governments, and the way the rich bought politicians so they could dictate policy to suit them. “Didn’t they know what they were inviting?”
He lifted a shoulder. “I’ll never know. But the rest of the Dareia made their displeasure clear. We weren’t a perfect society, but food was plentiful and there was no fighting to speak of between our groups, just a healthy rivalry.”
He passed a hand over his eyes. “When the Angelii came the majority of the Dareia spurned them—something the Angelii never forgave.”
Rhys trailed off.
“What happened?”
“What you’d expect—the Host gave no quarter. Most of the Dareia population was slaughtered in a matter of weeks.”
“Did any survive?”
He lifted a shoulder. “A small group. Our closest neighbors were under our protection.”
“What happened to them?”
“They came here with us, but chose to make their own way in the world. They were rather like your Fae in some ways. I think most made their lives with them, settling in Europe. Mostly Greece.”
She frowned. “But how did you cross over? I spent months helping Michael try to get through the barrier.”
“Months?” Rhys’ mouth dropped open, his face paling.
Of course. He didn’t know. How could he? “I guess you’ve been too busy to check a calendar since we got back. Time runs faster on the other side of the barrier.”
“I had no idea.” He broke off, swearing and covering his face with his hands and swearing. “I can’t stand knowing you were in that monster’s power for so long.”
“I survived,” she whispered. His grief was raw and real, and it soothed that damaged spot that had started to unravel in Michael’s tender care. “But I’m still confused. How did your people get through the barrier back then? How did you get through it now?”
Rhys sighed. “According to our oral history, that wall wasn’t always there. The lore suggests that it was constructed by the Mother to protect this world. Before, it was easy to go from this realm to the next—or at least feasible if you were strong enough. Some of our kind did it to prove themselves or for the adventure. And even though the barrier existed by the time I was born, it wasn’t as dense at first. It took years for it to get to that state—as if it were building itself up in response to the amount of turmoil on our side.”
“That almost makes sense. Every time Michael tried to punch his way through, it just got stronger.”
“It’s an intricate and cunning piece of spell-work,” he acknowledged. “When the Angelii arrived, it became as it is now—impermeable if you don’t know the right spell and designed only to be opened from this side.”
The tiniest of frowns puckered her brow. Anything more would be too painful. “Then how did you cross?”
“This is going to sound strange under the circumstances, but I think it was prayer—prayer and pity.” He crossed his arms, the memories making him edgy. “Our backs were to the wall. We’d beat the enemy back, but our small coalition was perhaps weeks from death due to starvation.”
He sighed shakily. “Then the door was opened from this side. We were invited here and allowed to settle on a conditional basis.”
The act of mercy was stunning in its implications. How often had Michael cursed the Mother, an entity Valeria had never really believe in.
But she existed, or at least she did then. “So did the Mother open the door again?” she asked.
“No, it wasn’t the Mother. It was your mother.”
Rhys stood, scrubbing his face roughly with his hands.
“My love, I’m afraid I have some bad news to share…”