CHAPTER TWELVE

As Kyle swung in the air, upside down, tied by his feet to the silver rope, he looked up at Rynd—those large, lifeless black eyes, that awful scowl—and watched him swing the huge silver sword, aiming right for his throat. He knew this moment might be his last on earth. In a way, Kyle was relieved. He had been living for centuries too long, he knew that, and death might bring a peaceful reprieve.

On the other hand, as Kyle thought about it, he realized that death, in his case, would not bring a reprieve at all—but rather a quick descent into hell. He knew what he had to look forward to was a millennium of battling with demons, of being tortured by sick creatures, and he was not especially looking forward to. More importantly, he still had unfinished business on earth. He thought of Caitlin, of Caleb, of Sam, of how much he hated them all, and of how he just couldn’t leave without tearing each one of them to pieces, making them suffer as he had suffered—and it gave him a whole new deter