Page 13 of Signed in Blood

What the hell? I must be dreaming. “This isn’t real. None of this is real,” I whisper.

“Oh, my little piece,” he says as his dark brown eyes turn black and he stares into my soul. A power takes over my body and I’m paralyzed in front of him. He stalks toward me and I can do nothing, not even move as his gaze holds me still.

“It’s real. You’ve died. You’re in hell.” Every beat between what he says, my body gets weaker and weaker, absorbing this reality. “This is a room for contracts.” He murmurs in a sinfully decadent voice with a timber that vibrates through my body.

As his last word is spoken, he releases me and I fall harshly to the floor on my knees.

Yet, I feel no pain. It takes a moment of him passing, pacing to my left, forcing me to move so I can keep him in my sights for me to realize, I feel no pain at all.

Nothing.

This is when I recognize him; he’s the man I saw before we went into the concert. He looks different but the same. It’s his gentle lull that has me hypnotized. Maybe it’s the way he’s looking at me that makes me weak in the knees or maybe it’s the sound of his voice that’s comforting to me.

Whatever it is, I sit in that, trying to understand my purpose in all this. I don’t know what’s happening and at the same time, I feel no pain for what they did to me. It’s such a contrast to what I went through. No soreness between my thighs, no ache of my muscles from trying to escape. I glance at my wrists, where I know my skin was rubbed raw. There are no scars, nothing but smooth skin.

As the realization dawns on me, his voice cuts through my racing thoughts.

“I healed you,” the man states.

“Who are you?” I ask breathlessly, knowing all too well he isn’t human. Fear captures every cell in my body when he stares at me. Like he doesn’t want me to know.

“A person who has an offer for you,” he answers. But that’s not an answer, is it?

He says we’re in hell, so does that mean he’s the devil? He’s as handsome as one.

“It’s you, isn’t it?” I have to ask, needing to know if he recognizes me too. “The man on the street?”

It’s silly that I need that connection to him, almost like it makes this easier on me, knowing he’s aware of me too.

He simply nods, never taking his eyes off me. Almost like he’s studying me in the same way I am him. There’s something about the expression on his face that seems more familiar to me, as if we met in another life or understand each other in a way that doesn’t make any sense.

Considering we’d only just officially met.

“Are you the devil?” I dare to ask him, my cadence shaky.

“I’m called many names—Lucifer is the one I prefer—to some I’m even God, but many know me as the devil,” he rasps in that hypnotizing tone that both entrances and terrifies me.

I’m in hell with the devil. My throat tightens. What the hell did I do to deserve this?

He doesn’t allow my mind to wander, stating, “I know what it's like to lose yourself to vengeance.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask in a single breath. I wish I could just wake up.

“There is no waking up from this,” he says, reading my mind. “I’ve been in your shoes, so to speak.”

I’m almost afraid to speak, but I’m more terrified of not responding to him. Of not pleasing him. “And what shoes are those?”

“My family was murdered in the name of religion…and I tried to pray to God to spare them, but he didn’t listen to my pleas…but I can tell you who did.” Leaning close to my lips, he rasps against them, “Another version of me.” His eyes light up at the end of his statement. “I want to help you. I can help you,” he states with emphasis. All the while he looks down at me and in his eyes, I swear I see compassion. I see understanding. And it almost breaks me. My eyes turn glassy but I refuse to cry.

“They might have killed you, but that doesn’t mean the story ends there.”

I feel a sense of relief, aware he knows what it’s like to want revenge. I don’t realize that’s what I’m feeling until I hear him say it. As if I need some sort of clarity of what I do with what I went through.

“What do you want with me?” I ask him and my voice shakes. I don’t sound confident with his pacing, so he stands with his shoulders squared toward me.

“I’d like to offer you a deal,” he says once again and I pray all of this is only a nightmare. Making a deal with the devil… I can’t go through with it. Can I?

I’m not made like that, I’m not evil. I’m a good person, I want to stay a good person. But if I’m already in hell, does that mean I’m a demon now too?