Page 126 of Hell Bound

Lucifer

The rays of the sun beat down on the pack’s heads, red and bloody, as though heralding the future of the Culling.

And that future was not going to go well for our youngest member.

Jovran crossed his arms and scowled, watching Pypentha try to teach Deasley to block a blow with increasing desperation, her lips tight and eyes squinted with anxiety.

The scowl became a wince when she easily swept him off his feet.

Deasley landed on his back with a sharpoof, sending up a cloud of dust.

Instead of getting up, he just stared at the sky. “I’m going to die, aren’t I?”

Any remnants of his good humor had vanished over the last day. There had been no more talk of hope for escape.

Only an ever-increasing weight seeming to stoop his shoulders.

I strode over to him, reaching down. “No. Not if we have anything to say about it.”

Deasley looked at my outstretched hand and sighed. “I’m a glutton for punishment,” he muttered, taking my hand and allowing me to pull him upright.

“No, you’re in survival mode.” I slapped his chest, wiping away a smear of dirt. “And every minute you spend out here could make the difference.”

It was another heaping portion of guilt to add to what I already carried around: if I hadn’t sent Deasley to tail Lilith’s mortal incarnation for twenty years, he would’ve been at Pypentha’s level by now.

As it was, he was so far behind there was no catching up to Odragir in time for the Culling. I’d as good as signed his death warrant myself.

“Let’s try something different. Pypentha, take a break.”

I yanked my shirt over my head, tossing it to land on the fence Pypentha had slumped against. She was greedily drinking water, her hands trembling a little.

Deasley pulled off his own shirt, wincing slightly—we’d worked him so hard since the announcement that his muscles had to be screaming at the slightest movement he made. “Is this the part where you kick my ass and tell me it’s good for me?”

I shook my head, running my hands through my hair and pushing it out of my face. “You and Pypentha are both quick. I thought you would adapt easier to her method of fighting, but perhaps the martial style of Tainted is not compatible with yours.”

Deasley nodded, crossing the courtyard to stand in front of me. He brought his fists up, bouncing on his toes.

I watched him, confounded as he hopped around me. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Boxing.” He jabbed the air, a one-two punch thatmighthave been enough to knock out a small, starved rabbit. “I went to all kinds of MMA fights in Miami.”

Pypentha choked on her water. “That’sdancing, not fighting.”

Deasley scowled, jabbing again with ferocity.

“Let’s try it.”

Both of them looked at me. Pypentha’s eyebrows had almost climbed to her hairline. “Commander, with all due respect—”

I put a hand on her shoulder, squeezing lightly. “Sometimes you have to work with the strengths you have.”

She looked skeptical, but shook her head, climbed up on the fence next to Jovran, and sat down. Jovran still wore a hard scowl, a low growl rumbling from him when Pypentha flicked her long white braid over her shoulder and nearly hit him in the face.

I heard my second-in-command mutter, “This had better not be a disaster. He was improving,” and chose to ignore it.

He was improving, but he still wasn’t in Odragir’s class. Deasley deserved more than to be given up on now, even if we had to resort to unconventional methods.

“Show me what you mean by ‘MMA’,” I ordered, crouching into my fighting stance in front of him.

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