Page 49 of Where Light Cannot Follow

She gasps.

The sound that leaves her throat deepens, the grief in it swelling as though something inside her has been split open and pulled to the surface.

His eyes blaze against olive skin, and the smile he wears is crooked, intoxicated.

He drinks it in.

The woman’s sobs grow sharper, rawer. Each tremor of anguish seems to feed the light in his eyes.

He whispers something to her, but I can't make it out.

Without thinking, I barrel into both of them. It almost surprises me how substantial they both are, how much physical impact there is. I end up sprawled over the whimpering soul. She curls into herself, the motion pushing me aside.

I gasp as the demon grabs me by my sweater, the fabric twisting at my throat as he yanks me back. "Who the hell do you think you are?"

He emphasizes this by shifting his grip, wrapping those strong fingers around my throat. My fingers fly to my neck. My breath is cut off. My pulse is⁠—

Nonexistent.

And my breath? Unneeded.

This only exists because I believe it.

"Dante," I spit. "That's who I am."

The demon's eyes widen, his nostrils flaring. He gives me a shake, and despite knowing logically this isn't real, my teeth still clack in my jaw, my joints still ache.

Then he stops. And smiles at me.

I kick him, and he grunts, surprised, perhaps by my strength. Perhaps by my conviction of it. I'm not certain how anything works here, truly.

"Oh, I'm going to enjoy watching you suffer," he hisses, then rubs his thumb across my lips, parting them, moving slowly. I snap forward to bite, but he only chuckles.

"Malrec." Virgil's voice thunders.

The demon turns toward him, then drops me to the ground.

"Virgil." The demon grins, even more maliciously than before. Beside me, the tortured woman emits a low moan. "I knew I recognized this one's particular flavor of pain. Acquired a pet, have we?" He spins back to me with predatory speed and has his hands back around my throat before I can move. "Wandered off the path, did we?"

Virgil shrugs, his face utterly composed. He seems nearly bored. His gaze drifts back the way we came, as though he's considering leaving. His eyes pass over me, and only in that brief moment do I see a spark of feeling so deep it could cut through hell's foundations. But I've misjudged this man. He's far better at concealing his emotions than I've ever been.

It strikes me hard that he's chosen to be readable to me. All this time.

Every flicker of emotion I thought I'd caught, every moment I believed I was seeing through his composure—he let me see. He welcomed me to see his truth.

"You know how tedious these souls can be," Virgil says in a dry, detached tone I've never heard from him before. "I’m enjoying my time with that one, though. He comes from a modern city. You remember how I find those fascinating."

Malrec scoffs. "You and your obsession with the mortal world."

Virgil only shrugs. "We all have our diversions."

"Yours aren't amusing at all." The hand tightens around my throat. I try to tell myself this isn't real. Hell isn't real. But my senses betray me. The clench around my windpipe feels as real as anything I've ever experienced.

"Well," Malrec purrs. "I can relieve you of him now."

"It would be wiser for you to go." Virgil glances back toward the shadows once more. His voice is slow, languid, and unconcerned with what happens here. "He approaches. And you've gone too far with this one." Virgil nods toward the crumpled woman. “I need not say how our master disdains excess."

Malrec licks his lips. "I haven't broken her yet."