Page 116 of Wrath

Z stared at me as if she’d never seen me before. Tears made her blue eyes appear glassy.

“You’re…alive.” It wasn’t a question.

My ribs strained. “Fuck, I’m alive, baby. I don’t know how, but I think we somehow got transported into Lilith’s trial.”

“I thought I lost you.” Her voice was husky, sounding like it had been scraped over coals.

You nearly did,I thought but didn’t say out loud.

The last thing I wanted was to worry her further. I knew how close to death I’d gotten, and it still terrified me. Even thinking about that inky abyss…

A shiver reverberated through me as shame descended.

How could I have let my pride take me over like that? I died because I didn’t have a handle on my sin. I almost left Z alone for good.

The thought stabbed at me with a rust-coated blade—not sharp enough to slice efficiently but capable of festering, turning the wound infected.

“What is this?” I scanned the cave once more. “Obviously the next trial, but what the hell are we supposed to do?”

“Free ourselves, maybe?” Z sounded hesitant.

“The shadows aren’t obeying me,” I growled as I once again tugged at one of the wisps, attempting to encourage it to slice at the binds holding me captive.

It remained stubbornly at my feet.

“How is that possible?”

“Because you’re not the king of your sin here,” a smooth voice rumbled.

Z and I both twisted our heads to see a robed figure standing against the cave wall.

A robed figure who had most definitelynotbeen there a few seconds earlier.

I could distinguish zero characteristics of the stranger. The robe was long and red, embroidered here and there with golden streaks, covered his lowered head. I only guessed it was a man due to his low voice.

“Who the fuck are you?” Z snapped, indignation tinging her tone.

“I’m the judge, jury, and executioner,” he said in that monotone, unnerving voice of his. “And all I need is one answer, then you’ll both go free.”

One answer?

The robed figure turned towards me. I tried to see his features, but all I could make out through the hood were shadows.

“Ryland Pride,” he said, using the last name I hated more than anything in the world—mainly because it was a constant reminder of the sin that plagued me. “Tell Z how you got your scars.”

I felt the blood drain from my face.

“What?” I choked out.

“Is that all he needs to do?” Z asked, sounding stunned. “Tell me about his scars?”

A tiny smirk pulled at her lips, and I knew she thought this would be easy.

But I couldn’t talk about the injuries that shaped me into the man I was today.

Not to her.

I began to shake my head, denial forming on my lips, a soundless plea.

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