Chapter 6 #2
Baal himself looks rakish, having foregone a shirt entirely and just thrown a similar brocade jacket over his chiseled upper body. The foiled design gleams a seductive crimson, leaving me to wonder just what kind of powers he possesses.
The demon holds out his arm, which I graciously accept, and he moves us through the bodies skirting the dance floor, their attention stolen by our coupling.
“You seem to have created quite the commotion, little monster.”
“Apparently, I have a penchant for commotion,” I respond, dragging my gaze past Baal’s intense stare to a raised dais on the far side of the room.
Two thrones sit side by side, the one on the left considerably larger and decorated with gilded skulls.
Sapphires, rubies, and emeralds sparkle from the eye sockets, drawing covetous glances, yet the throne sits vacant.
The throne’s smaller companion, however, has a stunning woman perched upon it. Immediately, my chest seizes, my heart knowing exactly who she is due to her seated position to the left of the King.
Isadora. The future Queen of Hell. Nick’s betrothed.
“Beautiful, isn’t she?” Baal follows my attention, an odd hint of teasing in his tone.
“The King chose well,” I say, keeping my voice as neutral as possible despite the shattering of my heart.
Baal turns to me. “And what about you? Did you leave a lover behind for your quest, promising to return to him?”
I know what he’s doing. He’s fishing for information under the guise of making small talk.
“Something like that,” is all I offer. “Where is the King?”
“I am wondering about that myself,” Baal mutters, glancing at the empty throne beside Isadora.
I track his gaze, assessing the woman who is to be Nick’s wife.
Baal is partially correct. Isadora is more than beautiful.
Pale gold hair spills to her waist, curling softly at the ends.
Porcelain skin contrasts sharply with her black strapless gown, glistening beneath the ballroom’s chandeliers.
Matching black eyes scan the room, never quite settling on something particular, and it’s then I realize she is looking for someone—Nick, most likely.
Yet, her body language remains poised and refined, her posture the textbook definition of royal etiquette.
“Before I leave you,” Baal’s voice pulls me from my appraisal, “the King wanted me to gift you this.”
In his right palm, he holds a silver dagger, the blade adorned with scintillating sapphires. The blade itself sparkles viciously, alluring in its lethality.
I gingerly take the dagger from his palm, and Baal’s shoulders sag with what appears to be relief, as though he is glad to be rid of it. Sheathing the blade within the small sash around my waist, I ask Baal, “To what do I owe such a generous gift?”
Before he replies, another demon sidles up to us, his smug demeanor immediately putting me on alert. However, my Scylla is quiet, so he must not be dangerous.
Just an asshole.
“Pardon me, Lord Baal, but I would like to dance with our esteemed guest.”
Bal raises a brow. “Shouldn’t you be directing a question to her then?”
A muscle ticks in the demon’s jaw. Evidently, he’s a fan of ‘take first, ask later.’ Or not asking at all.
He faces me, a fake smile plastered on his face. Dark blonde hair falls into a set of black eyes, and in another life, he’d be handsome.
But still probably an asshole.
“I’d like to dance with you.”
“Still not a question,” Baal says through gritted teeth. I have to keep from laughing at the frustration blooming on the other demon’s face, his cheeks reddening. With a pained expression, he finally says, “Would you like to dance with me?”
Like Baal did earlier, he holds out his arm. I toy with the idea of refusing, but it wouldn’t be wise to make an enemy when this room is already full of them.
“Of course,” I say with a demure smile.
Just as I take the demon’s arm, Baal clasps his shoulder. “Nice knowing you.”
The demon squints in confusion at Baal’s parting words, and I, myself, wonder what he could possibly mean.
I’m swept into the arms of this stranger, forced to endure his leering at an uncomfortably close distance.
Even the melody of music turns solemn and forlorn, like it shares my distaste.
His long fingers snake toward the small of my back, brushing the top of my ass as he presses his body intrusively against mine.
I hate that I can fill every hard inch of him, including something else I’d rather not think about.
Even placing my own hand upon his shoulder has bile crawling up my throat. I contemplate eating him later.
“You’re a pretty little thing,” he says, blowing hot, rancid breath in my ear.
I squirm, drawing back, and force my own ingenuine smile. “Thank you.”
“And quite the talk of our Court.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“Has anyone claimed you?”
I rear back, staring up at him in bewilderment. Gods, do I wish I could claw the lascivious smirk off his face. “I beg your pardon?”
The smile widens. “I’m going to take that as a no.”
My Scylla has awoken, antagonized by this handsy prick and the fact that he now leans down, his firm grip on my body preventing me from pulling away.
Exerting any kind of strength to shrug him off might alert this crowd that I am so much more than Hades’ emissary, so instead I push against his chest with my normal human strength, turning my face he gets the hint.
Instead, he roughly grabs my face with one hand, holding me in place even as I beat my fists frantically against his chest. I swivel my gaze, pleading with someone, anyone, to help me, lest I’m forced to rip out this demon’s tongue and blow my cover.
His lips are a breath away from mine. My fangs descend just as the flavor of almonds floods my mouth.
I nearly smile, welcoming my monstrous attributes.
The demon’s eyes flutter close, but just as I’m prepared to tear his tongue to shreds, his black eyes wrench open.
Surprise is the first emotion glistening in those black orbs.
Terror immediately follows. His grip on my chin and waist slackens, and he glances down.
On the left side of his chest is a crude, gaping hole, dripping with black blood.
The demon’s mouth parts in shock before he collapses to the floor in an unceremonious lump.
The fallen body reveals a man standing before me, holding the heart of my perpetrator in his right fist. His eyes blaze with gilded fury, a luminous, pure gold unblemished by any trace of mortality. He is now a god… The King of Hell…
Nick.