The Demonata #10: Hell's Heroes Read Online Free PDF Page A

I don’t get any hint of that. Bec looks nervous, but her mind appears to be her own.
    When Lord Loss is finished, he drifts back a few feet and studies her. He nods with satisfaction, as he does every time, and murmurs, “What a vision.”
    Bec blushes, unable to hide a timid smile. I’ve grown to loathe that smile. It’s wrong. This should be a place of tears and heartache, not shy smirks.
    “Come,” Lord Loss says, offering Bec an arm. “Let me show you more of my palace.”
    Bec gulps, then takes his arm and lets the demon master lead her out of the bedroom. They descend a staircase of webs. Some of Lord Loss’s familiars scurry past as the pair walk gracefully down the steps. The lesser demons scowl at Bec but steer clear of her, afraid of angering their master. Bec knows they hate her, but she doesn’t care. She’s safe as long as she stays by her protector.
    They stroll through the castle, Lord Loss polite as a prince, the perfect host, pointing out features of special interest. Bec admires the chandeliers and statues, and coos when Lord Loss modestly admits to designing them himself.
    “You’re so creative,” she says.
    “That is kind of you, but untrue,” he replies. “They’re modeled after objects I have seen on Earth. I have a certain workmanlike skill but no real artistic streak. Unoriginality is the curse of my kind.”
    They descend farther, to a cellar deep beneath the ground. In my sleep I tense. I know what’s coming and I hate it. This is one of the worst parts of the dream. If I could skip it, I would, but it draws me on as it always does, an unwilling viewer, unable to pull back or look aside.
    We enter a chamber of torture. Savage implements of torment are strapped to the webby walls. Brands glow red in burning fires. The air is pierced by the screams of the dying. Bec flinches and her fingers tighten on Lord Loss’s arm. He pats her small hand, comforting her. She gulps, then takes a trembling step forward. Lord Loss nods approvingly and leads her on.
    I’ve never been able to count all the people in the cellar, since many are hidden behind walls or cabinets. There are at least thirty, probably a lot more, to judge by the volume of shrieks and moans.
    “Do you feel sorry for them?” Lord Loss asks as Bec shudders.
    “Yes,” she whimpers.
    “Good,” he says. “Pity is a virtue. I feel sorry for them too. It’s true,” he insists as she shoots him a dubious glance. “I take pleasure from their torment, but I feel pity too. That is how I differ from my fellow demons. I don’t hate humanity. I crave their torment and sorrow, but I also adore them. I torture with love, Little One. Can you understand that?”
    “No,” she frowns.
    He sighs. “At least you are honest. I’m glad you can reveal your true feelings to me. I don’t want there to be any deception between us. Always tell me the truth, even if you think I won’t like it. Lies belittle us all.”
    Bec observes silently as Lord Loss sets to work on a few of the humans hanging from the walls or lying across hard tables. He acts like a nurse as he tortures them, every movement deceptively gentle and loving. He purrs softly, telling them how sorry he is, how he wishes he could free them, how it won’t be much longer now.
    Bec doesn’t look as if she shares the demon master’s enjoyment, but she doesn’t object either. I’ve tried to read her mind every time we get to this point, but I can’t. I’d give anything to know what’s in her thoughts. I hope she’s putting on a detached face to fool Lord Loss, to stay on his good side and trick him into thinking she doesn’t hate him. I hope this is a masterful act, that she’s plotting to betray him, waiting and praying for Kernel and me to burst in and rescue her.
    But her eyes are calm and emotionless, and when she licks her lips, it looks as if she’s fighting a desire to try what Lord Loss is doing.
    As the demon master continues to extract fresh pain from his