Vengeance (Burning Beliefs #2)

Chapter Thirty-Four *edited*

SERENA'S POV

The taste of Demitri's lips linger on mine for as long as I'm conscious. A smile graces my lips, as warm as the blankets covering me, and I imagine I look like an idiot. If anyone is looking. Dean is snoring softly, with both my sister and my boyfriend (I guess I can call him that) breathing deeply on the opposite couch.

It seems so wrong. It feels so wrong. But somehow, it feels right; it's as addictive as drugs. I'd know. When we're together, there's always someone that could catch us in the act, there's always a consequence to pay, and both of us are ready to afford it.

However, I can't help but think of Zach. A long time ago, I thought he was the only man in the world who could make me feel so passionate. And for a longer amount of time, he was. His voice, whispers of lovely nothings stated in the dead of night, brought me comfort in my darkest moments. How could I let that go so easily? It was easy not to forgive him after the trauma I experienced. And I don't have time for "star-crossed love" while dealing with the mental episodes and flashbacks to Hell. Casual dating, casual kissing, casually making out, is almost a gift. It's all I need right now.

And it's good for Demitri, too. My stupid sister won't admit she's in love and that stupid man won't admit he's in love to her face, so I guess we're stuck. I can't wait until everyone else finds out. Dad's reaction will probably be hilarious, and the same goes for everyone else. Well, actually, not so much for Zach. I'm afraid I'll be breaking his heart. But maybe then, he'll realize just how much it hurts.

Slowly, ever so slowly, the bittersweet reminisence of vengeace lulls me into a much-needed sleep.

*   *   *

Eyes open. Mouth dry. Skin caked in dried blood. Fire at the edge of my vision. It doesn't take a genius to know where I am.

I've woken up in a dark room. This dizzying fear settles in my stomach, my heart pounds cold, and every little scratch on my body stings. There's a gag around my mouth and my clothing is torn to shreds. I can't be here, I don't want to be here, it's not fair that I'm back.

I wonder who's going to torture me this time.

I wait. I wait for ages. Spiders crawl across my shoeless feet. Rats scuttle in the shadows of the cell; painful groans from other prisoners in cells next to mine echo across the bloodied cement. I was taught that Hell was meant for sinners, for the cheats of the world, and for the people who did harm to others. Sitting here, crying, waiting, as patient as I can manage, I start to think. How many people down here are like me? How many people trapped in Hell don't deserve it?

Finally, at this question, someone appears.

With tangled dark brown hair, loosely tied back, and wild, blue eyes, she grins at me crazily. Her skin is sickly pale, with bruises across her face, and she's so thin I'm surprised she has the energy to walk.

"Hello, sister," she snickers.

It's an odd feeling pitying someone the same moment you're scared of them.

She sits down on the floor in front of me. I don't respond to her, partly because of the gag, and partly because I'm afraid. Gracie's apparations were usually the most violent.

She crosses her legs and rests her hands on her knees. She looks around the prison cell, still smirking, clicking her tongue.

"Look at where we are, Serena," she says. "Trapped in a hellhole. Literally."

She laughs at her own joke.

"How many people did you send down here?" she tilts her head. "Out there, killing for Crowley, how many souls did you deliver straight into the hands of the King?"