15. The Devils Like to Play #2
Walking over to the tree that she’s indicated, I catch a glimpse of something sparkly wedged in the middle of the trunk and reach to touch it, finding some type of fabric.
Pulling on it, the material slips out from between some dark-stained bark, and it’s a blue gauze from a ball gown.
Fuck. Poseidon’s Grotto. A deep grumbling comes from the tree.
The bark slightly ripples from the ground up to where I found the blue gauze, and a gaping maw opens long enough to expel a quick and foul burp.
I stumble back as I realize this isn’t just decorative scenery in this ballroom, it’s a living, breathing nightmare tree. I turn around and face the pale-looking girls.
“Was this from her gown?” The girls nod and look at my hands holding the torn material. “It’s safe to assume the tree ate her. I-I’m sorry,” I tell them, and their wailing increases, bringing more spectators.
Looking at Murmur, I quickly hand him the material, give him a tight smile, and salute, saying, “They are all yours.” I do not need to be caught up in that drama tonight. I have enough of my own.
Weaving between the trees and being careful not to touch any of them, I dodge some students until I turn and slam into a brick wall, causing myself to bounce back and fall. Fortunately, before landing on my ass, the said wall reaches out and grabs my arm.
“Have I taught you nothing about being aware of your surroundings?” Astaroth’s voice trickles out of the shadows.
I can’t help the smile that pulls at my lips as I see him and Bez step out fully from behind the trees, allowing the eerie moonlight to highlight their profiles and chests.
Each of them is rocking their bare chest and jeans for this ho-down, and I’m sure they aren’t short on stroked egos at the moment.
They are definitely tapping into Lucy’s Pride essence while pulling off those delicious looks.
Bez’s dark Sepia skin is flawless except for the massive tattoo over his chest—two wings behind two skulls facing each other with a sword running between them, and underneath, L.A.M.B.
is spelled out. I swear it seems like his two black horns have grown from his bald head since I’ve seen him last, but the twin flames in his chocolate pupils are still the same.
My weapons trainer is just as I remember.
He’s as tall as Bez and looks as dangerous as a panther on the prowl.
His long, light-brown hair floats around his ram’s horns as his eyes seem to glow with a yellow flame encapsulated within his light-blue eyes.
His chiseled jaw is covered with a five o’clock shadow and highlights the only hair leading down to his bare chest. The muscles along his torso are lean and toned, tapering down into his jeans.
His red and black leathery wings are pulled tight against his bare back as his tail silently swishes behind him, but it could easily knock everyone in this room off their feet.
Without answering his question, I launch myself at Astaroth and hug him, but it doesn’t last long as I feel the air shift from the left and whip my glaive from my thigh, blocking his attack with his tail, and spin, blocking his left jab with my wrist guard.
“Ah, I see you have learned something,” he says with a nod.
“Now, can I have a hug?” I spit out. “I mean, I did survive the Trial of Worth for you guys. I think a hug is something I deserve at the very least.”
“Come here, kid,” Astaroth motions me over, squeezing me before he pulls back but doesn’t let go. “I’m glad to see the God’s Trumpet hasn’t affected you physically.”
My jaw drops as I point and try to ask, but my jaw just flaps in the air as he points to his head.
Oh yeah, I forgot the guys could speak mentally to each other if they found it convenient.
I shake my head and turn to Bez for a hug, but step back at the blazing inferno I see in his pitch-black eyes.
“Who?” he asks, simply.
I don’t know who I’m more scared for—me if I don’t tell him what he wants to know, or for my enemies, whom I know he will skin alive.
Bez takes a step toward me and leans down so he’s down at eye level, and a small, shiny golden ring on the handle of the machete on his back catches my eye.
My throat suddenly becomes dry as I see familiar earrings lining a new sheath of purple hide holding Bez’s favored weapon.
Hi, Trometh.
“Bez,” I hesitate. “I appreciate you wanting to serve swift vengeance for me, but I’d rather learn how to do it properly than have you carry it out.”
He stands up to his full height and looks out past me for a few moments, and I watch as the fire slowly dies in his eyes before he crosses his arms and looks down at me with an accepting nod.
“Here.” He reaches down the front of his black jeans—like a perv—and pulls out a small purple vial filled with a dark liquid in his palm.
Essence.
Ever wanted someone’s magic or at least the real chance of receiving their abilities?
Well, their essence is the only way to do it.
I mean, the only permanent way of gaining their abilities without harming the said host and being able to share one’s abilities at the level that they have.
Or so I’ve been told. And here is Bez, handing me a golden ticket. Wait a minute…
“That’s not from Tormeth, is it?”
Bez gives me a big, toothy grin at the mention of their former servant turned traitor.
“No, it’s mine. You want to learn Vengeance, and I can teach you,” he states simply.
His logic takes me aback, but my heart warms at his offer. I’m sure he doesn’t do this for everyone.
“You need to learn to ask questions after everyone is dead,” Bez says, slightly shaking the vial in front of me once again, catching my eye.