The silence in the room was oppressive, weighing down on us until Mrs. Whittle, true to form, cut right through it. With a movement far quicker than I’d have thought possible, she stood up, knocking her seat over, and applauded Zen’s sentiment, which seemed ironic, given how she loved to remind me of a female’s role in society and my need for a man. But those words, spoken by her beloved Mr. Henderson, had apparently reached down deep and awakened a part of her that even she likely hadn’t known she possessed.
Perhaps all women did until it was beaten out of them by parents and priests and politicians that did little but place us under a man’s thumb.
“I appreciate your show of support, Mrs. Whittle, but I’m quite fine. Please sit and enjoy your dinner,” I said.
“We were just teasing,” Thomas said, feigning innocence as poorly as he flirted.
“And I’ll say this only once for poor Mrs. Whittle’s sake, because I gave her a fright the last time I had to threaten someone: I’m not here to entertain you, and I don’t need an escort to my event this evening, is that clear?” The brothers stared at me with anger in their eyes until I pulled a small blade from the waistband of my pants and twirled it in my hand. “As I said, I don’t wish to frighten Mrs. Whittle, so if you need me to explain in greater detail, feel free to step outside.” Instead of stabbing the knife into the table, I set it down next to my bowl. “Could you please pass the bread, Mrs. Whittle?”
She looked at me with wide eyes and nodded, then did as I’d asked.
Zen, unable to contain his amusement, burst out laughing. Some of the others joined in nervously, until everyone at the table was roaring, except for the brothers. “I must say, Miss Nightshade, you have such a way about you that it makes me want to ask you to do me the honor of attending the party with me, but I don’t dare after that display. I, unlike the boys here, enjoy my life far too much to endanger it with such a request.”
“Perhaps you should have her escort you to keep you safe,” Mrs. Whittle said, not even cracking a smile.
“Why Mrs. Whittle, did you just make a joke?”
The old woman turned to Zen and beamed. “I believe I did!”
More raucous laughter broke out and continued off and on throughout the meal. The brothers left early, citing a desperately important task they’d forgotten about earlier, but the rest of the boarders sat around long past mealtime and enjoyed one another’s company. I, however, had a gown to stuff myself into in preparation for the auction.
I excused myself and made my way upstairs, hoping that Zen would follow at an inconspicuous time. My room was unlocked, so I pushed open the door to find a most distressing sight. Yards and yards of midnight blue silk sprawled across my bed and pooled on the floor. On my pillow was a pile of what I could only assume were undergarments, some of which I couldn’t even begin to name—a perk (or consequence) of only wearing pants.
“What in the hell is this monstrosity?” I wondered aloud as I stared at the gown. The longer I looked, the more horrified I became. Black lace trim and beading wound around every conceivable edge and pleated detail, masking the fabric. The sleeves were long and fitted to the elbow where they cinched, then flowed out, complete with more lace and beadwork. From the sheer volume of fabric adorning my bed, I could only imagine the size of the skirt. And the neckline…
There was no way on Earth that Mrs. Whittle would allow me to set foot outside with such a scandalous amount of bosom on display.
While I stared at what I could only hope was a terrible joke, Zen slipped into my room and closed the door behind him, the click of the latch alerting me to his presence. “Stunning, isn’t it?” he asked.
“Tell me I’m sleeping or in a trance—”
“Andy my dear, you are wide awake and about to stop your nemesis. All you have to do is put on that gown, fix your hair, and we’ll be off.”
I eyed the corset and the row of tiny hooks along the bodice and shuddered. “As if that’s an easy task…”
“I have every confidence you can manage,” he said as he walked over to the pile of undergarments. He held up a chemise so thin I could practically see him through the muslin and smiled. “You do remember how to wear these, do you not?” I shook my head. His smile faltered. “You have worn them before, no?” Another head shake. He cursed under his breath. “I thought this endearing leather-pants-and-fitted-menswear habit was a side effect of your return, not an ingrained behavior.”
“My mother was very close to the natives where I grew up. It was rare for me to wear a dress. And those,” I said, waving at the flimsy undergarments, “were never part of the ensemble.”
“Well, they will be tonight, so there’s no point in grousing about it.” He threw me a pair of bloomers to put on, which would require me to remove my pants. While I inspected the item, he continued tossing me the rest.
“Wait!” I shouted, holding out the bloomers in an accusatory fashion. “What’s this?” I pointed to the intersection of the legs, where a seam should have been. Instead, there was a gaping hole where my private bits would be. “Where’s the rest of them?”
Zen once again found his smile. “These are all the rage now. It’s so you can—”
“I know what it’s for.”
“I thought it might be helpful.”
“Because I might need to relieve myself in the middle of the auction and you don’t want me to be gone too long?”
“The young woman who sold them to me was insistent that you would be pleased that I chose them.”
My expression devolved further. “Do I look pleased to you?”
“No, not particularly—”
“I’m not wearing these.”
“You could just wear stockings—”
“Stockings?” The shrill sound of my voice adequately portrayed my horror. I hadn’t seen stockings in the pile of items, but I loathed them beyond comprehension. There was no way I was wearing them, either.
“If you prefer to wear nothing at all under your dress, I would wholeheartedly support that choice, if not encourage it—”
I let loose a growl of frustration, cutting him off. “Get out. Just get out. I can’t think with you nattering at me about undergarments.”
“But we haven’t even gotten to the corset—”
“Get. Out.”
He stood there, decidedly unmoving, and stared at me, as though contemplating his next move. Was my behavior slightly irrational? Yes, but it was warranted. In a matter of hours, I would be facing the demon who thought he’d killed me (again) and doing all I could to stop him from procuring the opal he needed to become king, and more powerful than any demon should be. Zen and I would have to work together to destroy him somehow—the details of which Zen had yet to divulge.
Perhaps kicking him out wasn’t the best plan.
“Andy, I understand that what we’re about to do might be off-putting, but—”
“What exactly are we going to do tonight?” I asked, tossing the crotchless bloomers onto the bed. “You haven’t told me anything useful because you’re too busy harassing me about what to put under my gown and getting on my nerves to bother.”
A flare of fire roared in the depths of his eyes, then disappeared. “The plan is unchanged: we get the Demonheart Opal at any cost.”
“And if we can’t? If something goes wrong?”
He took a step closer, his eyes fixed on mine. “We get the opal…at any cost.”
Though his meaning was clear, it hadn’t fully settled in my mind. “Are you suggesting that we harm anyone in our path to get it? Kill people?”
“Well, I can't kill humans, so that’s out for me. But you could do that and more, if the situation warrants.”
“More?”
“Precisely.”
I hesitated, the full implications of his words finally settling in. “And if my sisters stand between the opal and us?”
The severity of his expression fell a bit. “Let us hope they don’t.”
“I w
on’t hurt them,” I said, stepping closer, “and I won’t let you hurt them, either.”
He met my advance with a step of his own. We stood a foot apart, assessing one another. Seeing whose resolve would crumble first.
“You would kill me, and therefore yourself, to spare their lives?” he asked. I said nothing as he stared into my deep brown eyes, searching for the answer I felt was too plain to speak. “I must say, Andy, you are quite the enigma at times. You love your sisters fiercely, and yet you do not trust them—not fully. I can’t help but wonder if this potential issue could have been avoided if you’d heeded my suggestion and told them about us.”
“Maybe it wouldn’t have changed a thing,” I argued, holding my ground as he loomed over me.
“If it helps set you at ease, I have no intention of harming anyone other than Xandros and his demonic minions, especially not your precious Lilies.”
“Intention does not imply that you’ll do all you can not to harm them.”
“No,” he said, leaning in closer, “it does not. But if you are desperate for assurance, I will agree to this: I will only use force against your sisters if they throw the first punch, so to speak. And I will contain my power so as not to do more harm than they intended me.” His lips were at my ear, and I did all I could not to react to his proximity. “Don’t forget, Andy my dear, your fate is tied to mine now. If your sisters attack me, they attack you, too.” He pulled away to look at me. “I am not a barbarian, nor am I Xandros, which I feel bears repeating. I do not relish harming others as he does, but I will not stand by and do nothing if they come for us.” With nothing to say, I remained silent and stared up at him as I processed his words. He was right; I had made the bed we were about to lie in, and there was no escaping that fact. Had I told my sisters—my family—we wouldn’t be facing this complication. All I could hope for now was that it wouldn’t come to a standoff between us. But there was no guarantee. “Do you accept this compromise?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Just ‘yes’? No arguments? No counterpoints?”
“I accept, and I would stop talking if I were you, or I might reconsider.”
His smile returned. “I’m tempted to turn down your acceptance just to enjoy the show. I do love it when your fire comes out to play—oh! That reminds me.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the shiny black ring he’d tried to give me the night before. “You will need this if we are to succeed this evening. And though I know you originally balked at the idea, I beg you to consider the alternative. What if one of your precious sisters is under attack and you can’t help her because you don’t have that extra power? You would never forgive yourself, just like you don’t forgive your inability to stop Xandros from killing your mother—”
“How did you—”
“Word of the events surrounding your abduction spread like fire in my realm,” he said, his expression uncharacteristically guarded. “There was no reason not to believe the stories.”
I felt the blood drain from my face and my knees go weak. But I remained standing. “What did you hear?” I asked. My voice was hoarse with emotion, but my back was stiff and straight as a steel rod. “Tell me what you know.”
“I’m not sure this is the best time for—”
“Tell me…I need to know.”
Zen’s pity bled through, and a rare softness graced his sharp features. It was in that moment that I knew he’d heard the truth. About the young Daughter of Fire, jaded and guarded but desperate for love, who’d fallen for a wolf in sheep’s clothing—for the striking demon who’d wandered into her life and swept her off her feet. The one who’d systematically isolated her from her mother. The one who’d slaughtered that mother when she’d tried to save the young witch from his clutches. The one who’d dragged her away to the demon realm to steal her soul for his own evil purpose.
In the end, Xandros’ insidious plan to gain my trust, then destroy my life had been successful.
And that single look from Zen told me he knew it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“You must think I’m a fool,” I said, anger rising to tamp down the embarrassment and self-loathing I felt. The guilt and pain.
“I think you did what every young woman targeted by a demon does: falls into their beautiful trap.”
His honesty was as brutal as it was shocking, and it cut like a knife. He was a weapon—a handsome, charming weapon designed for one purpose only—and I wondered how many women had fallen by his hand.
“Is that how you lured your souls, then?” I asked, my acerbic tone thick. “Did you flash your rogue smile and whisper sweet nothings to woo young women, only to turn their dream into a torturous nightmare?”
His jaw clenched, cutting a harsh line through his cheek. “Would you believe me if I said no?”
“Probably not.”
“Then there’s no point in answering, if you’ve already made up your mind.”
“But you’ve killed,” I said, edging closer to him. “You’ve taken souls to build your power—you wouldn’t think of challenging Xandros if you hadn’t. So how did you do it? How did you lure your victims, then steal them away to hell and the death that awaited them there, if not through your charms?”
“I selected them carefully, then did whatever was necessary to bring them to my realm.”
“‘Selected them carefully’…is that a euphemism for ‘hunted the weak’?”
He inhaled deeply, as if doing all he could to keep his temper in check. “You and I have much more in common than you will ever understand, Andy, including our victims. I, too, kill the very worst of humanity, but the key difference between us is that my kills fuel my very being—my power—while yours fuel only your rage,” he said, eyes glowing red as fire smoldered in their depths. “So tell me, which of us is truly the monster?”
His truth impaled me like a stake to the heart, but I didn’t falter under his judgment. Having a conscience didn’t make him any less a demon—a monster by default. “Answer me this,” I said. “If getting me to help you had required the same tactics Xandros used, would you have employed them?”
Again, his jaw flexed as he clenched his teeth. Whether that was to withhold his anger, a lie, or possibly the truth, I didn’t know. Because he never answered.
Not exactly.
“If you’re asking me if I would have seduced you to gain your trust—to get you to join me—the answer is yes. But you and I both know that wouldn’t have worked; not after you escaped the demon realm. Xandros ruined that tactic,” he said, eyeing me tightly, “though I can’t say I wouldn’t have loved to try.”
His tentative smile—no doubt a ploy to see just how angry his response had made me—was sly and seductive, and it reminded me just how quickly Zen’s pendulum could swing from anger to flirtation. How unscrupulous he was when it came to what he wanted.
I envied that trait.
“You would have failed regardless.”
“Is that so?” he replied, eyes alight with the thought of a challenge.
“It is.”
“And why, pray tell, are you so confident in that matter?”
“Because I would never trust a male as handsome as you.” He canted his head, and for the first time since we’d been bound, he looked at me as though I’d said something that truly confused him.
“How very unfortunate.”
“That I learned from my mistake? Yes, a tragedy to be sure.”
“It is for all the handsome men of this city,” he countered.
“The men of this city will be fine without the affection of Oleander Nightshade,” I said dryly.
“But will I, I wonder?” He inched closer to me, hooded eyes fixed on mine. “Because I am starting to think I might not—”
“You’ll survive.”
“And if I don’t?” he asked, a playful smile tugging at his lips. “Would you miss me?”
Something stirred in my belly as he pressed closer. “No—”
�
�I think you would.” His finger trailed down my neck to the ruffled edge of my collar, then lower still until it lingered against my chest, heat spreading all around his touch. “I think you wonder what it would be like to kiss me—to lay with me—”
A mirthless laugh escaped me, cutting him off. “I have not lain with a man since I returned from your realm. I don’t plan to make you the first.”
“Why ever not?” he asked, genuine shock twisting his features. “How else do you have fun in this world if not for a naked roll-around?”
“I kill bad men, that’s how.”
He smiled wickedly at me. “One of the many things I’ve come to adore about you, Andy.” With a gentle movement, he brushed the fabric aside just enough to reveal the tips of my scars peeking out on the outer edges of my breasts. Anger quickly tainted his stunning face, and he took a step back to examine them further. Insecurity surged through me, and I fought hard not to pull away to avoid his scrutiny.
“They’re not just there,” I said, my voice like steel. I snatched his hand, but it didn’t move. It was rooted against my skin, his eyes fixed on the marred flesh I’d received courtesy of his kind.
“These are from Xandros and his lackeys?” he asked, though it was clear in his tone that he already knew the answer—and that it displeased him.
“Yes.”
Those nearly black eyes met mine, and in their depths I saw fire and pain. “Is this why you have not lain with a man since you returned? For fear he would jilt you because of your scars?”
“I don’t fear their reactions—”
“But you avoid them all the same.”
There was true disbelief in his tone, and it breached my well-forged defenses for a moment, but I held my anger tight to keep from letting the painful truth in his words show through. I’d survived the demon realm, but not unscathed, emotionally or physically. Both drove my self-sabotaging behaviors, which fueled my need for vengeance, but left me empty and alone. What I would have given to feel anything other than pain and sadness in the quiet of my room at night. How I would have loved to go a day without seeing the reminders of the chapter of my life that had nearly ruined me.
A Curse of Nightshade (Witches of the Gilded Lilies Book 1) Page 17
