by Ivy Asher
“Stop it,” Ire hisses, shaking me slightly even as he continues dancing, pulling me along with him.
“Stop what?” I reply, monotone.
He curses under his breath, and then before I know it, he’s pulling me toward the staircase of the balcony. Yes! Right where I need to be.
But as soon as we go up the first few steps, he yanks me into a hidden alcove right there on the staircase, hidden by a thick drapery hanging over it. Ire shoves the tapestry aside and then shoves me inside until we’re both standing in this secret little niche that’s meant for the servants, based on the shelves full of extra wine bottles from floor to ceiling.
I barely have time to whirl around before Ire is caging me in, his arms braced on either side of my head, his hands clasping the half-empty shelves at my back.
Frozen between the tailored sleeves of his pristine black suit, my breaths come way too fast and loud for this intimate little hideaway, our bodies shadowed from the light. And what’s the first reaction I have as he’s bearing down on me? It’s not to shove him away or demand to know what the hell he’s doing. Nope, my body responds completely wrong for some stupid reason. My breath catches, my core warms, and my lips part, like I’m secretly hoping he dragged me back here to have his wicked way with me.
What the hell is wrong with me?
I try to find my irritation, but it’s lost behind all the heat coursing through my veins. I blame my beacon-beckoning anger. She’s obviously a floozy and can’t be trusted when it comes to this male. She’s just calling out to him all needy and desperate all the time like we have no shame.
Ire stares down at me, those baby blue orbs so bright they nearly glow in the dim lighting. “You have one minute to tell me what’s going on and why you fucking lied to me, Snarls,” he says, his voice low and menacing. That voice. Damn that silky smooth voice. I shouldn’t like it so much. Especially not when his tone is angry. But just the sound of it makes my body respond. I curl my hands into fists to keep from touching him, reminding my body to keep hold of my anger.
“I didn’t lie to you,” I tell him, fed up with him lobbing that accusation at me.
“Is that right?” he clips back, dipping his face even closer to mine. “Because the last time we spoke in that pretty little head of yours, you told me that the Ophidian was holding you captive and that you had no idea where you were. So explain to me how you’re here in Nihil, at a Sin party, wearing the Wrong. Fucking. Face.”
The last three words he speaks are nothing more than gnashed growls of contention, as if me having a different face than the one he saw in my dream state is personally offensive to him. His gaze skates down my borrowed body with disdain, his hot breath coming in puffs against my cheek. “Tick tock, Snarls. Your time is slipping.”
I clench my teeth before blowing out a sigh. “Fine, but shut up and pay attention because I’m only going to explain this once,” I snap, keeping my tone even but quick. Because the fact of the matter is, he’s right. I don’t have time to waste. I might as well take advantage of the fact that we’re hidden away from watchful eyes.
His lips press into a hard line at my snarky words, his temper flaring, but I don’t give him a chance to speak. “I never lied,” I quickly say. “I really was being held captive by the Ophidian. And I still am.”
Ire blinks at me, his severe eyebrows dropping into a frown and tugging the scar just above his left eye. “What are you talking about?” he demands.
“He’s here. The Ophidian is here.”
Ire’s eyes go wide.
“He forced my sister Medley to kidnap Delta, and now he’s brought all three of us here,” I explain, my stomach clenching from the anxiety my words call forth.
To his credit, he doesn’t scoff. He doesn’t call me a liar, even though I expect him to.
His eyes flick back and forth from mine. “Why?”
I don’t know if he believes me or not, but I’m buoyed by the fact that he’s even willing to listen. I dive in, explaining as concisely as I can. “He plans on taking over Hell and Heaven. Tonight. He wants to overturn Lucifer’s reign. He stole the three of us because he needs us to scythe the Seven Sins and take them out. He has a whole group of followers here with him tonight, ready to take out the rest of the party, just as soon as my sisters and I get to scything.”
Varying emotions flit across his face, and his gaze turns calculating. “Okay, but that doesn’t make sense. The Seven Sins can’t be killed, just like Lucifer. And that still doesn’t explain why Morax needs you and your sisters.”
Confusion wells up in my mind at his question. “My sisters and I are Annuli. With our scythes, we can reset or annihilate souls. Even the Seven Sins,” I tell him. I can tell from the pure shock that flashes in his blue eyes that all of this is news to him.
Silence grows deafening between us as Ire watches me. I can’t read the look in his eyes. I can’t tell if he believes me or still thinks I’m playing some messed up game.
He tilts his head, making my eyes flick up to his short horns before falling back down to his face. “And are you?” he finally asks, his voice deceivingly calm.
I don’t trust it for a second. Ire is many things. Calm isn’t one of them.
“Am I what?” I ask, my voice betraying my nervousness.
One hand moves from the shelf behind me to come up and grip my face. He cradles my entire jaw in his hand, tilting my head up, making my neck strain.
It’s demanding. Possessive. Angry.
Which is why it’s so ridiculous that my nipples pebble and my thighs have to press together for the friction. We’re hidden in a tiny space, with nothing but a glorified curtain blocking us from the world, and Ire is like a stick of temperamental dynamite. And yet, when he presses against my body, forcing our chests together, his fingers digging in as he secures his hold on my face, I’m so turned on that the intensity of it scares me.
“Are you planning on scything the Seven Sins?” he asks slowly without blinking, his voice barely more than a whisper, but no less deadly.
I swallow hard, and I know the edges of his fingers can feel my throat as it bobs. “No.”
I look back at him, knowing I can’t break eye contact, or he’ll think I’m lying. The tension between us is as thick as the length I feel pressed against my stomach, and I have to lock my hips in place to keep from moving against him. Dangerous. Ire is so, so dangerous.
He keeps me like that for the longest moment, completely at his mercy, sharing air, our bodies touching, his unabashed erection trapped between us as much as he has me trapped against these shelves. This crazy attraction simmers inside of me, but I see it burning in him too, the blue of his eyes like a fueled flame.
I should fear him. I should be shoving out of his hold and running as far away from him as I can. Fear would be a logical reaction. He’s a powerful demon after all. Even I can sense that. But...I don’t think he’ll hurt me, at least not in any kind of way that I wouldn’t enjoy. That thought surprises the heck out of me, but I don’t have time to analyze it before Ire’s voice is pulling at my attention again.
“And your facade?” he asks, his gaze skimming over my body from head to toe.
“Courtesy of a demon named Shateel.”
“So the way you really look…?”
“How I was in the dream but usually much cleaner,” I tell him lightly, trying to thin out the thick sexual tension. “Though I wouldn’t have worn a dress like this in my old life, that’s for sure.”
Another moment passes, and I force myself to wait patiently, even though I know time is running out. For some reason, I feel like it’s imperative that I get Ire on my side.
Finally, as if he just made up his mind about me, his hand suddenly drops, and he straightens up. “Alright, Snarls. I believe you.”
Relief whooshes through me, and I sag against the shelves. “Thank you.”
“It’s a good thing I can tell when you’re lying,” he replies.
I cock my head
. “You can? How?”
“Because,” he begins, a mischievous glint in his eye. “I’m in here,” he tells me, tapping on my forehead. “I’m deep, deep inside of you, Sable,” he purrs.
I nearly choke at the implication. “Noted.”
He nods and looks me over again, though his lip curls up into a sneer. “For the record, I don’t like you like this,” he says, clear contempt in his expression.
“What? You decide you have a thing for Cinderella?” I say mockingly, throwing the name he used earlier in with the dig he made during our dream meeting at my filthy state while in the dungeon.
“No, not Cinderella. Just you,” he tells me casually, like it’s an everyday, no big deal kind of confession. Ire steps back from me and reaches down and grabs my hand. I’m too startled to wrench it back, my fingers curling instinctively around his palm.
“So, what now?” I ask, trepidation rolling through me as he reaches for the curtain. I know we don’t have time to waste, but I don’t feel ready to leave the safe seclusion of this space.
Everything has been so crazy since I was taken. Concealed away in this little alcove is the safest I’ve felt in a while. Maybe that’s stupid, because I know Morax and his minions are right outside, but I feel like I just found a moment of respite, and I didn’t even realize how desperately I needed it. I know as soon as we walk out of here, it’s game on, and part of me wishes I could hide away a little longer.
But my sisters’ faces pop up in my mind, and all at once I remember the feel of Toreon’s lips against mine before the compulsion forced him away. An image of Vudu waiting by the tunnel, guarding Shateel so we have a chance against Morax settles my resolve, and I push my thoughts of safety and peace away. I still have work to do.
Ire pauses and reaches up to cup my face, gentle this time, his blue eyes filled with a surprising amount of empathy and understanding.
“Now, we stop Morax,” he tells me in answer to my question. “And don’t worry, Sable. I’ve got you now.”
30
Ire doesn’t give me any time to respond to his tender reassurance before he pulls me from our hiding spot and starts to guide me upstairs.
His hand grips mine, and I can’t help but feel like it’s exactly the tether I need to get through this. We climb the last of the steps that lead to the second story balcony, and before we’ve even spilled out into the room, I’m searching for Tazreel, my mind once again completely focused on the task at hand. I need to get to him, explain the situation, and hope somehow he can help us figure out how to best Morax. The room is basically just a large, open indoor balcony, with windows at the back wall. Marble pillars, food tables, chairs, and their very own alcohol fountain take up the space where the select few Abdicated are mingling.
I immediately spot the blond Sin of Pride to my right. Something in me just knows that’s him. That’s my father. Taking a steeled breath, I move to go to him, but I’m yanked back when Ire doesn’t let go of my hand. Instead, he uses our threaded fingers to pull me back against him, his grip vise-like around my hand.
“Where are you going?” he asks with confusion and a tinge of suspicion in his tone, his body aimed in the opposite direction as I’m trying to go.
“I need to speak with Pride,” I explain, turning back toward where Tazreel is and trying once again to move in his direction and shake off Ire’s hold.
But I’m yanked back. Again. I turn to Ire with exasperation. “What the hell?”
“Pride clearly can’t protect you the way he should. If he was doing his job as your Sire, you would’ve never been taken in the first place,” Ire announces cockily. “Wrath is who we need. My Matron will protect you. She will dole out punishment to anyone who dares hurt the mate of her progeny,” he declares, treating me like I’m a rubber band as he starts pulling me in a different direction.
I try to yank my hand away again, but that just earns me a glare. “You’re my mate, Sable. You will listen to me when it comes to your protection,” he announces, as if whatever he says goes. “If you’re what you say you are, we cannot risk you falling into Morax’s hands again.”
My temper flares, and the softness I was just feeling for Ire’s understanding and support is incinerated in the heat of my annoyance. He likes playing that mate card when it’s convenient for him. But what really is getting my goat is his use of if.
If you are what you say you are.
What is that supposed to mean? Does he not actually believe me? I try to rip his fingers off my hand, but his hold is firm. He acts like I’m trying to steal something that belongs to him when the damn thing is attached to my arm.
“Finally, you’re here,” a servant girl announces monotonically as she moves closer to me. It takes me a moment to snap out of the argument I’m having with Ire and realize the servant girl is Delta in her disguise.
How’d she get up here so quick?
“Who are you to speak so freely?” Ire snaps at her, and I roll my eyes. Looks like the petulant prick side is rearing its ugly head all too soon.
“Stop it, that’s my sister,” I hiss.
Her expression flickers with surprise that I just admitted who she really is, but she quickly rolls with it. “Yeah. I’m her sister, asshole. Who the hell are you?” she demands right back.
He narrows his eyes on her. “I’m Ire, progeny of the Sin Wrath, and I happen to be Sable’s mate,” he announces, his chest puffing up in a way that shouldn’t do things for me, especially not now when he’s being such an irritating bastard.
“Another one?” Delta asks, looking over at me curiously, her lips quirking up.
“You have four,” I defend, and she gives me a look that says touché and shrugs her shoulders.
“Wait. What the hell do you mean, another one?” Ire asks, but Delta has already grabbed my free hand and has started pulling me in the direction of Tazreel again. In Ire’s confusion, he must loosen his grip, because my hand finally slips from his, and now Delta and I are moving toward Pride.
I tell myself not to look over my shoulder, not to check and see what emotion is written on Ire’s face, because I don’t have time to deal with it right now. Following Delta, I surreptitiously look around and try to seek out anyone in here who could be spying for Morax. We need to talk to Tazreel, but we need to be discreet about it.
All at once, I realize what it might look like to have a servant pulling someone who’s supposed to be an Abdicated toward a Sin. That’s probably not normal, judging by the way Ire just treated someone he thought was the help. So it might be too late for discretion.
“Did you see Medley down there?” Delta asks me, yanking my focus from Morax and training it back on what we’re supposed to be doing.
“She’s not up here with you?” I ask, immediately diving into my chest to check on our connections. Medley feels fine though, determination and calm is radiating off our connection, and I pull away, feeling reassured as we get closer to our father.
“Will your weird phrase work so he’ll really know it’s us?” I whisper.
“Don’t worry,” Delta says with a smirk. “He’ll know.”
“We need to get on with it, Ace. I’m not here to drink and wet my cock. I have things to do. Or are you forgetting that my progeny are missing?” Tazreel snaps at a male with ash gray hair and wings. I immediately flick through Delta’s descriptions, realizing he’s the Sin Acedia.
“Relax, Taz. You know how these things go. Take a moment to put your feet up. You’ve been going relentlessly since you found out about your first. You’ll find them. No one can hide from Hell forever, and that includes Morax,” Acedia tells Tazreel evenly.
“This is what I get for asking Sloth to pick up the pace,” Tazreel grumbles, and Acedia narrows his eyes.
“Name calling? Really, Pride? You’re better than that,” he says with a yawn.
Tazreel huffs out an exasperated breath, and my heart aches a little for the stress and worry I see etched in his face. I know Delta said he
errs on the side of insufferable, but I can see and hear that he cares.
Delta clears her throat as we step up to them, and the two Sins look over at us. Tazreel holds out his glass expectantly, the look in his gray eyes bored as he takes me in. My heart skips a beat as his eyes connect with mine, but just as quickly as he acknowledges me with his gaze, he dismisses me and returns his stare to the party.
I’m not sure what I was expecting, especially when I don’t look at all like I should, but his disregard tugs at me, and there’s no denying that I was hoping for some kind of recognition or, I don’t know, kindness maybe?
Instead of taking his wine glass, Delta drops my hand and places her hands on her hips. Taz’s head swings over, and a scowl crosses his face. No doubt the social slight would really irritate someone whose entire being is prideful.
“Get me a drink, servant,” he orders haughtily while Sloth—Ace—looks on, stretching out into his chair listlessly.
“Sorry, you’re going to have to get it yourself,” Delta tells him.
“Excuse me?” he snarls. “Have you fucking lost your mind?”
“Speaking of fucking,” Delta says without missing a beat. “You know, Taz, word on the street is that you fucked a pixie,” she says with a pointed look.
“What?” Tazreel snaps, his gray-gold eyes going fiery, while I watch on nervously.
But Delta doesn’t look worried. If anything, she seems to be enjoying herself. “Oh, right, my bad. She was one third pixie, wasn’t she?” Delta says with a smirk, but from the look on Tazreel’s face, he’s not getting the code phrase, because he doesn’t look relieved that his long-lost daughter is back. He looks pissed.
I force myself not to take a step back as he straightens up with anger and pushes up from the chair he’s currently perched in.
