CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
S elene had one colour and that was military black.
Among a painter’s palette of bright dresses, she stood out like a shadow on a bright day. The bodice hung from her shoulders on slender beaded straps. Silk flowed like water around her legs, and a gold chain wrapped around her waist, adorned with small jewelled replicas of the Alleva sword and the great spear that impaled the Deathless God.
And across her back was the actual Alleva sword, resplendent in its ceremonial scabbard.
The mask she’d been given did little enough to disguise her any-way, but it was useless, armed as she was. Who but the Butcher of Rome would dare wear a blade before the empress? But right now, Selene didn’t give a damn for the rules. In fact, a good fight might work off some excess aggression.
Lady Yajin led the way down a flight of stone steps flanked by six-foot lions.
‘Why did you sneak in the back, Selene? Her Imperial Majesty wanted to speak to you and Eliot when you arrived.’
They’d arrived fashionably late, and Selene had ordered the driver to take them to the back—hoping to avoid the ceremonial entrance entirely. ‘I dislike a fuss.’
The woman smiled but said nothing more.
Selene paused, feeling a familiar presence. A tall figure stood in the shadows beyond one of the lion statues. The tip of his cigarette burned ember bright before fading away.
Of course. Sparrow would be here.
He casually matched his pace to theirs, finally joining her at the edge of a stone balustrade that had been set up as a weapons check. The demon cut a handsome figure. Too tall, almost inhumanly tall—nearly enough to make him stand out for the wrong reasons—broad in all the right places and narrow at the hips. His face was cut glass in the low light and his ruined eye only made his other features more startlingly perfect by comparison.
Behind the balustrade, an elderly valet glanced between them with a blandly polite expression. ‘She’s with you, sir?’
Sparrow leaned a casual hip against the stone, angled to watch her reaction. His eyes danced with amusement. ‘I wouldn’t say that.’
Selene set her sword on the weather-worn balustrade between them, leaving her hand on top.
The man’s expression sharpened when he saw the blade. He bowed at the waist.
Sparrow slid a gun across the balustrade and the man took it carefully, lifting it into a bank of heavy weapons lockers against the wall.
Sparrow leaned close, breathing against her ear. ‘I’ve always wanted to see you without your sword on.’
‘Shut up.’ Despite her mood, the words held no heat.
As the valet locked away Sparrow’s gun, Selene drew her sword an inch, taking a second to inspect the blade before slicing a tiny cut in her thumb. She pressed it against the Alleva family crest on the scabbard, leaving a smudged crimson thumbprint. A blood lock only she could release. And stealthy enough that neither man noticed.
‘Is your handsome friend here?’ Sparrow asked.
‘My fiancé?’
Sparrow smiled around his cigarette. ‘We both know he’s not that .’
She flicked her gaze to him, eyes narrowing in warning. Lady Yajin watched from a polite distance. Far enough not to be privy to their conversation, but it was still dangerous. When the valet returned, Selene shoved her sword at him.
‘Bye, Sparrow. This was fun.’
The valet cleared his throat.
Lady Yajin stepped forward. ‘Aren’t we done, Gilbert?’
‘Not quite, Lady Yajin.’
Selene scoffed.
Gilbert extended his hand again and after a beat Selene grudgingly set a dagger into it, followed by a slender holster with a pair of matte-black throwing knives.
‘That’s all.’
Sparrow shifted, crossing his arms over his chest, and raised a brow, letting his eyes slide down her body. ‘Nobody believes that.’
She plastered a false smile on her face. ‘Well, you’re wrong. Shocking .’
Gilbert didn’t move, that same painfully bland expression on his face as he waited. Apparently he and Sparrow were of one mind. Selene reached through the slit in her dress and undid her thigh holster, slapping it down on the balustrade. Turning her back on them, she drew a spoke-like stiletto from the inseam of her bodice and set that on top of the holster.
‘Now I’m done.’
Gilbert finally appeared satisfied.
Chuckling, Sparrow moved closer, fingering a line of gold embellishments along the edge of her plunge back, tugging until he withdrew a slender gold knife no larger than a letter opener. It swung between his fingers on a beaded thread that seamlessly matched the detailing on her dress. Then he let it drop and the point embedded itself a quarter-inch into the stone.
Selene shrugged. ‘Oops. Careful —’ she warned Gilbert before he could touch it. ‘I’d handle it with gloves.’
Sparrow extended his arm in a grand sweeping motion— lead on —and fell into step beside her.
‘You need to protect Jules,’ he said softly. ‘It’s important.’
Skin prickling with heat that could be jealousy, her lip curled as she answered. ‘Important for you, you mean? Oh, Sparrow, we’re not friends. The things you want are things I want to prevent. Kind of by definition.’
‘You care about him.’ He spoke past the cigarette held between his lips.
Her teeth creaked as she tightened her jaw. ‘ Don’t .’
She pressed her hand against her heart, trying to coax it to slow. Her ribs ached. Even hearing Jules’s name hurt. Seeing him— seeing him was exquisite torment. Each time she looked at him she had to remind herself that Jules was, in fact, a dangerous enemy. Behind that beautiful face, he was a monster. Whatever human blood ran in his veins bound him to this world so it was his just as much as it was hers, but in many ways he was more dangerous than a full-blooded demon. And being Jules, he was certainly more of a threat to her.
Sparrow stepped in front of her, blocking her way. ‘Did you see the mask they selected for him?’
She could barely breathe the reply. ‘Of course I saw.’
‘Something of a coincidence.’
‘One of the Twelve. It’s considered an honour.’
Sparrow laughed at that. ‘Ironic, isn’t it? In this society built on loathing demons, your most sophisticated Carnival Masquerade has one special feature: twelve masks in honour of the demon dukes.’
‘I always thought it was in bad taste. But … tradition .’
‘Ah, yes. See, that’s what I don’t get. Who started this tradition? When? How many years after we killed your god?’
‘Enough.’
Sparrow laughed bitterly.
She pressed circles against her temple with a fingertip. ‘They gave him the mask of briars. I saw. What of it, Sparrow? What are you getting at?’
‘I just think it’s a coincidence given Baliel’s in the city. And that Jules is …’ He trailed off. ‘Well, I’m sure you know.’
She tried not to react, but Sparrow saw through her anyway.
Selene carved her way through well-dressed guests, searching for Jules. When she spotted his familiar broad shoulders, she moved with renewed purpose, every nerve in her body attuned to him.
‘And who am I?’ The pain in his voice was so jagged it hurt to hear.
‘You are his son.’
In her single-minded focus on Jules, she made the mistake of getting too close. She felt the telltale tug on her senses and realization crept over her. Baliel . Dio , he was powerful. He kept himself so tightly bound inside his human shell that his power was indistinguishable from barely seven feet away.
She pressed her back to a column, heart clamouring somewhere in the vicinity of her throat. Did Jules know who he was speaking to? Betrayal was the iron tang of blood on her tongue. Pressing a shaking hand to her mouth, she drew back. If she’d had a single weapon on her, Baliel would already be bleeding … but unarmed, her magic locked beneath her skin, inside her blood and bones, she was helpless.
More now than ever.
She needed her sword. Had to alert the empress’s guard. Kill Baliel . Preferably with a minimum of collateral damage.
She forged through the crowd, heading for the stairs to the weapons lockers.
‘Selene!’
A hand caught her wrist, pulling her around as Jules tangled their fingers together. His touch burned and her ribs gave that terrible constricting ache.
She rounded on him, teeth bared, then the breath left her lungs in a gasp. She’d been expecting the mask of the Duke of Briars, like some cruel joke. But instead, it was a different face. Crueller still. A mask she’d never seen before.
A mask for the Deathless God .
‘I need to—’ Jules began breathlessly.
‘What—what’s that mask?’ she interrupted, feeling the heat drain from her cheeks. The world seemed to waver around her. ‘Jules, what are you wearing?’
His hand rose, touching it. ‘I don’t know.’
‘You look like … like the Deathless God.’
Jules tore the mask from his face and looked down at it. But Selene didn’t look away, searching his features. It really had looked like a stylized Deathless God. But … this mask was in the style of the twelve demon dukes. It was the face of a demon—a second pair of eyes angled beneath the first.
Heart thundering, Selene observed his dismay.
‘It … suited you. But it wasn’t much of a disguise.’ She stepped closer, taking the mask from his hand. ‘The moment I saw you it was like I was looking straight through the mask to you .’ She smoothed her fingers over the lines of the mask, a fleeting pain sliding between her ribs. What she said was true. And it made no sense. ‘Will I never escape?’ she said softly, addressing the mask.
‘Who?’ Jules asked as though he already knew.
‘ Dio Immortale .’
‘Why do you need to escape a captive God, Selene?’ His voice was so quiet it might have been her imagination.
Wanting to run, she took a half-step back and collided with someone. A flashbulb popped, making her vision dance with spots. Stepping between them, Jules protectively blocked the offending camera with his hand.
‘If it isn’t Rome’s most talked-about couple! Aurelio Sabatino, reporter. Smile for the birdie! You look beautiful, Miss Alleva.’
‘ Captain ,’ they said together and shared a look.
When a reluctant smile tipped her lips, it was impossible to ignore the flare of hope in his eyes.
Or , she thought cynically, I have residual shadows in my vision .
‘Whatever, stand together please.’ The reporter circled them, holding a press camera to his eye. ‘Our readers aren’t interested in … well, this —they want romance! Can’t you get a little closer?’
‘I’ll tell you what—’ Selene began, taking a threatening step toward the reporter, but Jules grabbed her around the waist and hauled her back.
‘Very good, Lieutenant D’Alessandro. Put your hand on her hip. Or kiss her?’
Selene scowled. ‘Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?’
The photographer shoved a champagne flute into her hand, ignoring her completely.
‘A toast for the happy couple! Do you have a ring?’
Jules blinked, totally lost. ‘I, er, yes?’
‘Hold her closer, pull her in a bit. Don’t tell me you’re scared of the Butcher of Rome, D’Alessandro? Have you been in Nice too long?’ The photographer lowered the camera, grinning. This upstart reporter couldn’t be older than she was. ‘That’s it, hold her tighter. You better do it or I will.’ He winked.
Selene could feel Jules’s irritation mount as he obediently tightened his arm around her waist, his other hand lightly holding her hip.
‘Great!’
The camera flashed sparks and Aurelio Sabatino disappeared—no doubt off to harass someone else—leaving them both a little stunned.
Selene swallowed, not turning to look at Jules. His breath stirred her hair, and her anger dissipated. Maybe like this, without looking at him, she could tell him the truth.
‘You asked—’ Dio , why was he so warm? His hands branded her waist, burning through her silk dress. His breath ghosted the back of her neck, lips grazing the point where her neck met her shoulder, so softly she might have imagined it. She refused to turn, drawing a fortifying breath that shuddered in her chest. ‘I’m afraid to tell you why I need to escape a captive God .’
‘Why?’ He murmured it against her ear.
‘What will you think of me? Once you know everything.’
Jules’s hand tightened on her waist, like he might turn her. She resisted and his hand grazed her ribs, his thumb sliding until he found skin instead of silk.
‘Not less.’ He swore, his voice gravelly. ‘Never less.’
He didn’t know what he was promising.