Chapter 5
RAPHAEL
“Did you say Hell Beasts?” I shoot Baal an incredulous stare. “As in plural?”
“Two were following her when she arrived at the Bridge. They seemed…reluctant to part with her.”
I anxiously pace the length of my bed. Hell Beasts are loyal to me and only me. Even if this sorceress were able to somehow summon one, that still does not explain why there are two of them following her around like docile lap dogs, according to Baal.
My friend watches me with that knowing smirk, sitting leisurely in one of the massive oak chairs near the fireplace. He sips on another drink, this one closer to whiskey in color, his eyes dancing at my evident frustration.
“Do you want to know her name?” he asks with feigned innocence.
I meet his stare. Of course, I want to know her name. The idea of her has been haunting me since I woke in the early hours of the morning, feeling as though my heart was torn from my chest.
“No,” I tell him, surprising both him and myself. “I’ll ask her myself this evening.”
Baal chokes on drink. “You mean you finally deign to grace us with your presence this evening?”
“Of course. I am the King.”
“You haven’t attended a single ball since you arrived ass-naked three months ago,” Baal argues. His lips quirk at the corners. “Isadora will be pleased.”
Isadora is the absolute last person I am thinking of right now. An illicit anticipation grows at the thought of facing this mystical wraith. Getting beneath her skin. Getting her beneath me…
Shaking my head, I glance up to find Baal again bestowing me with a concerned look. Fuck. If this keeps happening, he’ll have no choice but to involve my father, and since I’m finally rid of the bastard, I am in no rush to have him return.
“I’m sure she’ll reward me,” I say with a salacious grin.
Baal seemingly accepts it, and I turn to stare out to the open balcony. The alluring sound of waves crash in the distance, calming my tumultuous insides. I don’t even know what this emissary of Hades’ looks like, yet I had just imagined her body beneath mine, writhing, moaning.
I shake off the vague image and face Baal. “What else were you able to ascertain from your brief encounter?”
He pretends to ponder, which is nothing but an act. Baal can recount information faster than lightning sweeps the sky.
“Judas and Brutus hit her with the paradox. She solved it.”
My brows shoot to my forehead, and unease slithers up my spine. “You didn’t coach her?”
“I didn’t say a word.”
“Even though I asked she not be harmed?”
Baal sighs. “I offered her a choice. She chose to answer the riddle.”
I press my lips together. Underestimating this…she-devil wouldn’t be wise on my part. Judas and Brutus only offer the riddle to the most dangerous and cunning of my guests. No one has ever answered it correctly.
Until now.
“Anything else?” I ask through gritted teeth.
“She’s beautiful,” he answers immediately, pushing my growing annoyance into chaos.
Huffing a laugh, I reach to my belt and withdraw a jewel-encrusted dagger.
Sapphires glisten like blue-speckled stars on the silver hilt, and I admire the beauty in something so dangerous.
“Beautiful and deadly.” I glance at Baal, twirling the tip of the knife on the pad of my middle finger “Sounds like quite a woman.”
Seemingly lost in thought, Baal nods. “Tastes divine too.”
Unsurmountable anger overcomes me at his words.
I’ve heard the phrase ‘seeing red’ when referring to rage, but that is not the color I’m familiar with.
My rage is black, a depthless void that swallows every rational thought.
Never mind that I have no fucking clue who this woman truly is or what she fucking looks like.
She could very well be infiltrating my Court at Hades’ behest to destroy it from the inside—which is the likely scenario.
So the idea Baal somehow knows the flavor of her skin should have no bearing on me whatsoever.
Except the inexplicable desire to claim this woman has usurped every sensible thought taking residence in my brain, and now, my rage devours me, imagining that handsome, smug prick’s mouth on her porcelain skin.
“How do you know what she tastes like?” My voice carries a lethal calm I know Baal senses. He shifts in the chair, his body now upright and shoulders drawn back. More alert. Defensive.
Good.
“My lips skimmed the knuckles of her hand in farewell.” Baal shrugs nonchalantly. “An action expected of any gentleman.”
“Ah.” I smile deviously. “But you are no a gentleman. You are a Demon.” And one of the worst ones, at that. The Debauchery Demon, whose sole purpose is extracting and indulging in the most depraved sexual pleasures.
Baal’s mollified smile fades. “Is there anything else you need from me, Raph?”
He’s using my nickname in an attempt to pacify me. Cute. “No. I’ll see you in an hour or so at the ball.”
Baal rises from the chair and regards me warily before he gives me his back, each step toward the door heavy with trepidation. I wait until he’s at just about the threshold and opens the door before I call his name. The Demon turns with one brow raised and places his left hand on the door frame.
Perfect.
In between one blink and the next, the dagger leaves my palm with viperine swiftness and embeds itself in the flesh of Baal’s palm. My friend roars, the pain in his voice bringing a sadistic smile to my face.
“Gift our deadly guest with my dagger as a welcoming gesture. I want to make sure this is a fair fight.”
Baal bares his teeth and yanks the dagger from his hand, shaking the extremity. His virile Demon blood will have him healing in seconds, but glimpsing the agony on his face for those moments was worth it.
“What the fuck was that for?” Baal growls as he pockets the dagger, flexing his injured hand.
The smile drops from my face. I can almost feel my eyes blazing with golden fury as I say, “For touching what’s mine.”
Not mine, a nasty voice corrects.
Not yet.