Eleven
Gray
We walked briskly down a long, carpeted corridor decorated with garish orange-and-gold walls and a ridiculous number of chandeliers. Ronan stayed a few steps ahead of me no matter how hard I tried to match his pace, his angry footfalls audible even with the carpeting. The hellhounds trailed on my heels—Sebastian’s insurance policy that I wouldn’t bolt the first chance I got.
It was almost laughable. Where would I go? How could a demon sworn witch on a death march back to hell via some chintzy, overdone Vegas hotel possibly escape?
You must seek your own sword…
The voices from my vision on the hell boat floated through my mind, but at the moment, I had no idea what to do with that bit of advice. My own sword? From the sound of things, I’d be lucky if Sebastian even let me u
