Then my glass was gone and I was pulled into another dance.
I wanted to stay here for eternity, lost to these good feelings. And it felt like I had. Here I didn’t have to feel grief. I didn’t have to mourn. Here I could simply live.
Minutes passed, maybe hours or days; time had no meaning. I moved and swayed, closed my eyes and listened to the enchanting sounds of the water, the murmurs of voices that belonged to people I couldn’t see. Those invisible hands from earlier became bold explorers, mapping the uncharted territory that was my body. They slid down, lower…
“Remember.” A strange voice whispered to me. “Inferus sicut superus.”
As above, so below. There was a memory buried there, skirting the outside of my mind.
Something piercing in my arm, cold and sharp, jolted me from my trance. My eyes flew open. Fear reached icy tendrils out to me again, but just as quickly as it happened, it was gone. Replaced with pleasure. Rapture. Complete and total freedom from all thought. I liked it there, deep in a cocoon of oblivion. Then I saw him.
He cut through the crowded beach like a blade, his anger setting the peaceful joy ablaze. My invisible dance partner vanished, but I hardly noticed. There was a much more interesting creature stalking closer. The most terrifying and feral. Vaguely, I felt I should run in the other direction. That he was a carnivorous beast and I was a lamb, stumbling ever closer to danger. Amidst a group of shadowy figures, he burned brightly—the only form that wasn’t hidden.
I thought about fire, about plumes of smoke and flames licking the air. Which made me think about dragging my tongue over him, seeing if he was as hot as the energy steaming off him. Drums beat. My heart pounded. I wanted to experience pleasure on all levels.
I wanted a spell to bottle this feeling and sip from it whenever I desired.
Magic was life and life was made by making love and feeling good and our bodies constantly tried to remind us to live. I’d spent the last several weeks consumed by death and destruction—I needed balance. I deserved it. As above, so below.
He stopped before me, his expression wary. “Time to go, witch.”
Hardly. I twirled away, but he grabbed my hand, spinning me back until I crashed against his body. Heat poured off him, enveloped me. I had the strangest feeling I should hate it. “Hello, demon. Let’s dance.”
“You need to get out of here. Immediately.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re tearing your clothes off and looking at me like mine are next.”
I glanced down and laughed in surprise. I was trying to undo the stays of my bodice, but he thwarted my efforts. His tattooed hand covered mine. I looked up at him, my brow crinkled. “Don’t you want to see me naked?”
“I have.”
“And?”
“If you still want to rip your clothes off when we get home, we can discuss it then.”
A blast of ice on my arm doused flames of desire. Then they were back with a vengeance. I gave up trying to remove my dress and focused on him. I went for the button on his trousers, and he deftly moved back. He was a difficult creature. I placed my hands on his chest and dragged them down instead. Power thrummed beneath my touch. Responded to me. It was intoxicating.
“For the living embodiment of sin, you aren’t very sinful.”
I tugged him close. Drums beat. Passion stirred. He closed his eyes. I pressed closer, and he didn’t stop me this time. The music grew sultry. I swayed automatically against him. I wanted him to swing me up into his arms, and dance us across the sky.
The stubborn demon didn’t move.
“Why won’t you touch me?” I ran my thumb across the seam of his lips and he gently bit down, holding my finger in place. If he meant it as a deterrent, it wasn’t working. He opened his eyes and I was struck by the beauty of them. “Is it because I’m a witch?”
He trailed big hands down my arms. I leaned in, waiting for him to crush his lips against mine. In the far reaches of my mind, I recalled him saying one day I’d beg him to kiss me. That I’d love it or loathe it, but still crave it. He hadn’t been wrong. I hated him… for denying me. The anticipation was building to a point that was almost painful. When he finally dragged his hands to my wrists, instead of pulling me closer, he gently pushed me back, holding me at arm’s length.
“There are many reasons. One of which is because you’re under my brother’s influence.” He glanced over my shoulder, his expression forbidding. “Lust.”
Intrigued, I slowly turned. Desire scorched every last sentient thought I had. The Prince of Lust was golden skinned, dark haired, and had a body Michelangelo probably used as inspiration for his sculptures. I didn’t just want him, I needed him. I craved his attention as much as I longed for his touch.
“Hello, Signorina di Carlo. You’re absolutely delicious, aren’t you?”
His voice was unearthly. Pleasure mixed with pain. I was enraptured and terrified. Ice prickled my arm. The same insistent feeling that kept haunting me. It dulled my emotions long enough for me to fully grasp the horror of what was happening. What he was doing.
Lust was using his influence on me. And it was worse than Envy by far. He made me feel so good, so happy, I forgot who I was. What I wanted. And what I hated above all. Or maybe I didn’t entirely forget my hatred, but I certainly didn’t care. Passionate flames razed my conscious thought, and I was once again gripped by pure animalistic need. I had a lust for life, for fun, for…
The demon prince circled me. He wore an unbuttoned, silver suit jacket—without a shirt—and matching trousers that hung so low on his hips, I could die. A circlet of flames sat on his head. His eyes were charcoal. Penetrating. In them I saw a bottomless pool of desire. I wanted to tear off my clothes and dive in.
I started moving toward him, but someone grabbed me around the waist. I stopped trying to escape, focusing instead on the warmth behind me. The solid frame. The power. I’d almost forgotten how much I wanted him.
Lust must have sensed my shifting emotions. He looked from me to his brother, his expression indescribable. He started speaking, but I was distracted by too many sensations. His voice, the warm breeze, the scent of Wrath, and the friction of his strong arms as he held me in place. Lust kept talking. My mind tried to focus on his words, not the shape of his lips.
He stepped close to where we stood. Wrath’s arms were bands of steel around me. “Do you know what that means, witch?” I drew my brows together. His smile was crafted of beautiful nightmares. “Go, dance. Enjoy the party. This is a practice round before the Feast of the Wolf.”
A familiar scent wafted toward me, beckoning. Lavender and white sage. Vittoria! She was here… if I left to go dancing I’d find—
Stop, the same voice whispered in the back of my head. It was a trick. Vittoria was dead.
“No.”
I was as startled by my refusal as Lust was. His expression turned from desire to fury.
He snapped his fingers and his influence over me vanished. My knees buckled. If Wrath wasn’t holding me, I would have fallen. All the happiness and bliss I’d felt were ripped away, leaving me hollow and trembling. Terror coursed through me. What he’d done… the things I’d felt. I wanted to claw my skin off. Or maybe I wanted to sink my nails into him, the creature who’d violated my emotions. Who made me forget and want things I should fear. The wine I’d had suddenly made a reappearance; I bent over, hurling everything up. Wrath didn’t let go.
“Why are you here?” Wrath’s voice was quiet, low. A chill slid down my spine.
“To deliver a message, dear brother. You’re needed at home. Immediately.” His gaze cut to me. “Don’t worry. I’ll watch over your little friend. I have much to tell her. Stories of demons and witches. Villains and heroes. Curses and a king’s vengeance.”
“No.” My fingers dug into Wrath’s forearm. “P-please.”
I don’t know if it was the way my voice broke, or if he’d been waiting for an opportunity for his own reasons, but one secon
d Wrath had me in his arms, and the next I was behind him and his blade was buried deep in Lust’s chest. Bones crunched. He twisted the dagger up, dark blood poured from the wound.
“Don’t come back here again. I’ll go home when I’m ready.” He yanked the dagger out, wiped it across his pants. And waited. “See you in Hell, brother.”
I wasn’t sure what disturbed me more—the cold indifference on Wrath’s face as he watched his brother die, or the brutal efficiency of the attack.
I knew he was dangerous, but seeing it…
Lust coughed, glanced down at his mortal wound. And was suddenly gone. As in, vanished completely from sight, like he’d never been here.
I collapsed on the beach, staring at the space the demonic prince once occupied. Tears streamed down my face. I heaved again and Wrath watched impassively. After I stopped retching, he knelt beside me. I couldn’t bring myself to look him in the eye. “Is he dead?”
“No. Being struck with a House blade only severs ties to this realm. He’s back in the kingdom, and won’t be able to use his powers for a while.”
A small blessing amidst the curse. “Good.”
Wrath handed me a cloth to wipe my face. I don’t know where he pulled it from, and I didn’t care. “Lust takes the pleasant emotions you have and inflates them. You might experience a void now. Picture it like a well—his influence rapidly depletes the supply. Where you were once blissfully happy, you’ll feel a sharp contrast. It is a hell in its own way. Giving someone ultimate pleasure, only to rip it from them before they fully grasp it. Done often enough, it drives mortals mad. You should be all right soon enough, though.”
“He wouldn’t have…” I fisted my hands at my side. “Made me…”
Wrath shook his head. “No.”
“But I felt—there were invisible hands.” I also didn’t forget how hard I’d been trying to take my clothes off in front of Wrath. Or how much I’d wanted him to touch me.
“Manifestations of your desire. They were a part of you, not anyone or anything else.”
There was little comfort in that. Lust might not have violated me physically, but the emotional manipulation was equally bad. He’d twisted goodness until it was cloaked in evil. Wrath was right. It did feel like I’d crashed—like I’d been soaring, and the wind abruptly stopped and I was plunged into the frigid sea depths below. A vast abyss of nothing swallowed me.
I wanted to curl up on the ground, and sleep for eternity. I didn’t care about the curse. Or the nagging feeling I’d learned something important. I no longer worried about my sister’s murder. Or vengeance. Nothing mattered anymore.
I must have said that last part out loud.
Wrath reached over and lightly brushed blood-smeared knuckles against the side of my neck. The exact place I thought he’d kissed me the night he’d saved me from the Viperidae. I shivered and he dropped his hand.
“Valeas.” Be strong. “It will again soon.”
THIRTY-FIVE
“Soon” turned into a week. I hardly noticed the passage of time. I stayed in bed, locked the sunlight out, and refused to bathe. I had little energy and less reason to care. I didn’t visit my family, or the restaurant. I didn’t look for my amulet, or think about the gates of Hell. I barely slept. When I did, I kept hearing a strange voice. When I awoke, the urgent message was forgotten.
I didn’t care. It didn’t matter.
The world felt like it was caving in around me, and sometimes I’d gasp for what felt like hours, unable to draw in enough breath. Life hurt. All pleasure was gone. Anything that once held meaning was long forgotten, buried deep in a void I couldn’t break through. My sister was a faraway memory. Vengeance was rooted in passion, and therefore I had nothing left of it, either.
If Wrath was angry or annoyed by my inability to shake off the last vestiges of his brother’s power, he didn’t let it show. At least not in the ways I expected.
He wasn’t always the most gracious or patient nursemaid. But he was never far, always prowling around near my borrowed room in the ruined palace. Sometimes, when I was in that foggy place between sleep and wakefulness, I saw him camped out in a chair beside my bed. His hair and clothing both rumpled. Once, I thought he held my hand. But when I roused myself from that near-impenetrable haziness, he was gone. He brought food three times a day and when I refused to eat, he’d sit there, glowering until I did. Fighting him took too much energy. So I ate.
Sometimes I’d stare at the careful lines of his tattoos. Up close, the metallic snake that started on his right hand and curled up and around to his shoulder was a masterpiece—each scale shimmered. It was more than gold, there were bits of silver and charcoal—shadows and light. I stared blankly at it while he brought my next meal. I wondered if our matching tattoos would evolve with intricate details over time. I stopped caring.
He held out more food.
Globes of plump red grapes. Hunks of hard cheese. Warmed milk sweetened with honey and spices. Cured meats and other things I stopped paying attention to. He was a mighty hunter bringing home spoils of war. I wondered when he’d give up and let me be.
“When you start doing it on your own.”
I didn’t think I’d asked aloud. I didn’t care if he read my mind. I pushed his handful of grapes away, rolled onto my side. And let the world around me fade.
Somewhere, in the distance, I thought I heard Wrath speaking. He was telling me a story about a witch. One day her heart had been ripped from her, not physically, but emotionally. The void was only filled when she went out hunting for vengeance, and even then her grief was never far. Then, when she’d been close to discovering some long-forgotten secret, she met a terrible prince. He delighted in taking what little pleasure she’d clung to, leaving her empty and vulnerable.
I tuned out the sound of Wrath’s voice. I didn’t care for this story. I knew the ending.
Vittoria was gone. I’d been fighting grief over her loss with all I had, gripping my pursuit of justice like it was my only tether to the world.
Now that my will to cling to it was gone, there was nothing left.
Two weeks was where his patience ended, apparently. One morning, or evening—I’d stopped paying attention—I was scooped from bed and unceremoniously dumped into a waiting bath, clothes and all. I bobbed up from the water, pushed tangles of hair from my face, and glared at the demon. He glared right back and a tiny spark of anger finally ignited.
“Have you completely lost your damn—”
My scolding died when I took in the peculiar scene around us.
Candles set in a circle on the floor dripped waxy tears, their flames offering a soft glow against the twilight streaming in. I couldn’t tell if it was dusk or dawn. The windows were thrown open, allowing fresh air to glide around the bathing room. At some point, during my convalescence, Wrath had hung window coverings. Beautiful gauze panels fluttered in the wind.
He hadn’t stopped redecorating there.
A line of sand circled the tub along with dozens of fragrant orange blossoms and plumeria. My favorite flowers. My gaze shot to him in accusation. “What is this?”
“Representations of each element.” He nodded to the items in question. “Earth, air, fire, and water. I take it I don’t need to explain further.”
He didn’t. I knew exactly what it meant. They were offerings for the goddesses to help guide a moon daughter back from darkness. I glanced around the chamber again, my pulse soothing. Adding orange blossoms and plumeria was a bit much—the sand would have done just fine for the earth portion of the ritual. I didn’t point that out, though. I was… surprised the demon even knew this much of our ways. I relaxed against the lip of the tub and closed my eyes, letting the magic of the elements seep into my soul. A drowsy peace settled deep within me.
I heard retreating footsteps and waited until he was almost gone. “Thank you.”
He must have heard me. I didn’t whisper and—even with the windows open—there were no other noises drifting
up from the streets. But the only reply he offered was the soft click of the door closing behind him. I inhaled the pleasing scent of orange blossoms and drifted off. Later, I’d pick some of them up and weave them into my hair. As I slipped deeper into the water, I finally understood why he’d brought the flowers. They weren’t meant for the ritual. They were for me.
Their fragrance was the first bit of true pleasure I felt after mine had been stolen away.
THIRTY-SIX
“There are victors and victims. Decide who you want to be. Or the choice will be made for you, witch. And I doubt you’ll like it.”
I threw my head back and groaned. “It’s a game of scopa, not a battle between life and death. Are you always this dramatic?”
Wrath scowled from behind his hand-painted cards. “Valuable lessons are often learned from games of strategy. Only fools discredit them.”
“And only an ornery creature from Hell gets this serious over a simple card game.”
I plucked another cannoli from the plate Wrath had set on my bed. When I’d come out of the bath wrapped in my new silky robe, he’d been waiting with the dessert and cards. He subtly watched as I devoured another one, seeming pleased he’d done an acceptable job at remembering the sort of human food I loved. I’d mistakenly assumed more relaxation was part of his master plan to restore me to optimum health and well-being.
I had no idea we’d be playing at war games. I suddenly longed for the bath again.
The elemental blessing worked wonders for my emotions. I was ready to get back out, and solve the mystery surrounding my sister’s murder. And find my missing amulet. At least in theory. In reality, I was petrified of running into another prince of Hell. Each one I’d met thus far had been worse than the last.
“How long does it take for a demon prince to restore themselves after they’re—”
Kingdom of the Wicked Page 23
