“You and I don’t get the luxury of morality and soul-searching. You asked to be just like me when you wanted a trial, and now you’re one of the demons. And I notice you quite happily accept the lodging and the payment for your work.”

White-hot anger burned her cheeks. “All I wanted from life was a normal job, enough for food and rent, and a couple of normal friends. I was happy in my hovel of an apartment. It was my home, before you told everyone I overdosed. I don’t need three bedrooms in a mansion, or a four-hundred-dollar haircut. And I don’t need gold ingots. For fuck’s sake.”

His eyes bored into her, and for a second, she thought he might tear into her neck like he’d slaughtered the ewe. “Has it occurred to you that there might be worse monsters out there than hellhounds like me?”

Her fingernails dug into her palms. “Worse than agents of perpetual agony? Is that so?”

“There are monsters who would torture you without your consent, who prey on the innocent—unlike hellhounds, who approach only those who’ve agreed to the bargain. Whether you remember it or not, you agreed to serve Emerazel, and so did Hugo. So did I. Now we all reap the consequences. That’s life.”

“And you’re fine with that?”

A low growl escaped him, and she caught a glimpse of lengthening fangs. He was going to murder her. “Don’t you get it? It doesn’t matter if I’m fine with it. You can’t fight it. Emerazel is as old, as powerful, and as immovable as the stars. If we don’t reap the souls, she’s more than capable of taking them herself. Hugo’s soul will be collected whether you do it or not. But if you defy the goddess, you will join him in the inferno. In fact, Emerazel will want your soul now for your mistake.”

A hollow opened in the pit of Ursula’s stomach. “For one cock-up?”

Kester’s face was stony. “Hugo is internationally famous. Your image will be plastered across the news. If I don’t tell Emerazel about your failure, she’ll slaughter me along with you.”

Ursula fought the urge to vomit. Of course. There had been CCTV cameras all over the club, recording her image. She could already imagine the headline: Insane Mystery Girl Fakes Death, Attacks Hugo Modes.

“Maybe no one remembers me,” she said, her voice breaking.