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You’re a slow fucking learner, boy. The voice of his father pounded through his head, and what the fuck? He’d been done with the abusive son of a bitch since the day he’d passed away in the hospital, nothing but an empty shell, mentally and physically. It had been surreal to look at the hands that had pounded Arik, Runa, and their mother into bloody pulps and to see how fragile they were, the skin paper thin and bruised by IV catheters and blood draws.

Not once had Arik felt sorry for his old man’s premature death, but now that he’d gotten an eyeful of Sheoul firsthand, he almost regretted cursing his father to hell. Almost, because some people deserved to be there. Here. Arik was still in hell, and he needed to remember that.

He inhaled, taking in the fragrant sweetness of the pie, because the demons wouldn’t beat him for breathing. He knew, had tested them time and time again by getting as close to the forbidden food as possible and taking deep, full lungfuls of air, as if maybe he could absorb some calories that way.

So. Fucking. Hungry.

He swore, long and loud, and then turned his attention to the clothes. The black sweat pants were too long and the waist too big—who the hell wore these things?—but the drawstring tightened enough that he didn’t have to worry about them falling off. The T-shirt, black, with Guinness written across it, fit better, though it was loose around the shoulders.

The door opened, and he stiffened, waited for this dream to fade and reveal that he was back in his cell.

Instead, the Limos-demon entered and put a plate and plastic bottle on the floor. As hungry as he was, he couldn’t look away from her to the food. They ^and’d gotten her image perfect, right down to the jewel-colored eyes, the satin black hair, the tan curves that could make a guy weep.

He’d come all over that fabulous body.

The demons must have gotten a serious laugh over that, but Arik just wanted to puke. Bastards.

He waited until the female removed the other food and backed out of the room to creep forward. He eyed the stained paper plate, unable to identify the pile of stuff on it. Looked like it had been scraped out of some animal’s intestines. Probably had.

Crouching, he sniffed at it. Didn’t smell putrefied. In fact, it smelled almost familiar. He sniffed again, and blinked in surprise. Dog food? They were giving him dog food now? Well, hell, it was an improvement over unidentifiable, rotten organs and week-dead animals. He looked at the plastic fork in confusion. They’d never given him utensils, which could potentially be used as weapons.

What game were they playing with him?

Whatever. He was starving. He scooped up a bite, and moaned at the taste. It was awesome. The best thing he’d eaten in weeks, and it actually tasted like food. Some sort of sausage, maybe. Man, people were feeding dogs well these days.

He inhaled the food, licked the plate, and then downed the water. He’d already gulped water straight from the bathroom faucet, so he wasn’t thirsty, but the clear, icy liquid tasted like heaven in a bottle.

There was a tap at the door, and he stood, wondering what was coming next. Usually after eating he got to rest for a little while before the torture started, but sometimes the demons thought it was fun to see how much pain it took to make him throw up the food.

The demon pretending to be Limos entered the room. “I brought you more clothes.” She tossed a U.S. Army duffle with his name stenciled on it, onto the bed.

“Where did you get that?”

“Kynan—”

Without thinking, he was on her, slamming her against the door, his fingers wrapped around her throat. “How do you know about Kynan?”

She clawed at his grasp, her strength enough to keep her from choking. “Arik, listen,” She sucked air. Hard. “This is real. I know Kynan because he helped us. When Ares’s Seal was in danger of breaking. You helped too.”

How long was this mind-fuck going to continue? He released her and stepped back, knowing he’d earned a big, fat beating for daring to touch one of his keepers.