Chapter 7
RAPHAEL
The bloodied, black heart still beats in my hand. Thump, thump. Thump…thump…thu...mp…t…h…um…p. It takes one final, quivering pulse before I crush it to a pulp within my fingers, my hand a mess of black tendons and shredded muscle.
The body of the demon slumps to the ground, revealing the stunning enchantress responsible for my impulsive action.
I had never known rage quite as volatile as when the no-named Baron asked for her hand to dance, and my wrath crested like a storm-ravaged wave when he tried to put his lips upon her skin.
The woman’s strange-colored eyes are wide—not with fear, as I assumed, but with something that appears oddly close to recognition, a notion I quickly discard. Inconceivable. I’ve never seen her before in my life, and a woman this astoundingly beautiful surely would be impossible to forget.
Still, a strange pull tugs at my abdomen…
The woman blinks, and sure enough, the recognition vanishes.
I step over the body and hold out my bloodied hand.
Two nameless servants rush over with cloths, returning my onyx-stained flesh to its bronzed hue.
She, however, doesn’t bother wiping the blood from her face.
On the contrary, her striking eyes never leave mine, bold in the way they hold a king’s stare as though she commands the same arresting presence I do.
Then again, with the way I can’t take my eyes from her, perhaps she does.
Finally remembering her place, the seductress lowers her gaze and begins to bow before me, but I capture her chin with my thumb and forefinger, demanding her attention.
“What is your name?”
She warily swivels her gaze, and it’s then I realize the entire ballroom has ceased their chatter and dancing, focusing solely on their King and my exchange with this stranger.
I wave my hand dismissively. “Carry on.”
The music and dancing start almost immediately, as if neither stopped in the first place—though I’d be a fool to think we aren’t still being closely watched.
My fingers still on her chin, I ask again: “Your name?”
“My name is Liv, your Grace.”
A sour taste fills my mouth. For some inexplicable reason, the moniker doesn’t sit right with me.
I lower my fingers and cock my head, taking a lengthy perusal of her body as I assess through her steady heartbeat and even pulse whether or not she is lying.
My gaze first snags on the peculiar pendant that sits comfortably at the hollow of her throat, and a strange jolt of familiarity rockets though me.
I shake it off as I drop my assessment lower, lingering on her full, round breasts peeking through the obscene plunge exposing her cleavage, on the way her hips flare through the edges of the crimson dress.
My thoughts come unbidden as I imagine my hands fitting perfectly in those curves, of how she might tremble beneath my touch, and that odd sense of familiarity rushes through me.
“Your Majesty?” Her soothing voice draws me back to the present.
I narrow my eyes, unease crawling about my skin at how easily I became lost in her, at how she is the first woman to ensnare me this way. Enchantress, indeed.
“That name doesn’t suit you.”
She grants me a demure, devastating smile. “Do you wish to call me something else?”
Mine. The word roars to life in my head, coupled with a primal, savage urge to take her right here, bent over my throne, so every demon and demoness in this Court knows who the fuck she belongs to.
I force myself to quell the irrational sensation and bristle at her tone, in the way it appears she is mocking me. Yet, I’m intrigued, mostly by her beauty but also because in a world where everyone has been indoctrinated by fear, this woman has none. And I am her better. Her King.
I brush my thumb across her cheek, wiping away the demon’s blood marring her flawless skin. Liv subtly eases into my touch, her eyes snapping to mine. Not the reaction I hoped for, but still a curious one. It’s almost as though she feels safe with me. A stranger. A monster.
The Devil.
Bowing at the waist, I extend that same hand.
Whispers and startled gasps erupt around us, my Court positively baffled at what unfolds before them, and rightfully so.
I have never invited another to dance, not even Isa, my betrothed, who undoubtedly is watching this encounter and plotting my demise.
“Dance with me.” Though my gesture is gentlemanly, my command is not.
Liv lowers her lashes and gently nods. “Of course, your Grace.”
She places her gloved hand in mind, and I’m again bombarded with thoughts of touching her bare skin. Her left hand perches on my shoulder, and mine settles perfectly in the curve of her waist.
Just as I thought.
I sweep us across the floor to a melancholy symphony of stringed instruments. She matches my steps stride for stride, her gaze resting comfortably on my face, as though she could stare at it for eternity.
An unwelcome thought surfaces of how much I would like that, so I remind myself she is likely a deceitful sorceress who has come for my power or throne. Probably both.
“What business of Hades brings you to my Court?”
“He is looking for someone,” she replies instantly, eyes like clashing waves.
The answer is too simple, rehearsed. Though it’s common for mortals to bargain their souls for the opportunity to traipse Hell and retrieve their loved ones, there is absolutely no one Hades values more than Persephone, and I would know if she was in my realm.
I click my tongue. “Try again.” I squeeze her hand a bit for emphasis as I draw my mouth to her ear. “And if I decide you are lying to me, I will have your tongue.”
To my surprise, she laughs. I draw back, making no attempt to hide my shock and subsequent anger.
“Just my tongue?” She laces each syllable with such a wicked timbre, blood rushes straight to my cock.
I rise to the challenge. “What else are you offering?”
“What else would you have of me?”
Fuck. She’s serving herself up on a platter, yet I feel like I’m eating from the palm of her hand. My hand tightening around her waist, I yank her towards me. The small, heady gasp she emits at the feel of my hard length against her stomach has my mouth curl salaciously.
“I would have your lips, to start.”
“And what would you do with my lips?” Her own curve in a decidedly devious slant, enough to make me want to claim them right now.
Against my better judgment, I heed the siren’s call, moving my mouth towards hers. Her eyes flutter closed and my lips ghost across her own just as a searing bolt of recognition rockets through my blood.
I wrench myself away before I can so much as taste her, but the acrid flavor of regret is smothered by fury. Liv stares up at me in confusion as we continue to drift effortlessly across the ballroom floor, her mystification so genuine, it almost has me reconsider.
Almost.
The music ends, and I swiftly bow before turning from her.
My body nearly screams in protest as I place considerable distance between myself and the sorceress—all the more reason to do so.
I have never reacted this way toward a single demoness in this realm, and though none can hold a candle to Liv’s unearthly beauty, the physical attraction is the least of what worries me.
It’s the feelings, the sensations that bombard me when I look at her. My body responds to hers instinctively, as though every dip, slope, and curve is something it has been denied and hungers for once again.
I ignore the curious glances cast in my direction, the incoherent mumblings of ‘my King’ whispered from the trembling lips of bowing nobles as I pass.
The balmy ocean breeze glides through the arched windows as I make my way to my chambers, sprinkling the air with hints of salt and sea.
The crashing waves echo through the castle, and when I close my eyes, hers are the first thing I see.
Frustration blooms like an unwanted weed, and I wrench my door open, cursing as I slam it closed. My cock springs to life at the mere thought of her, and I groan as my hand finds the bulge in my pants, stroking the material over my rigid length.
I could summon Liv here, right now, to satiate this urge. It could be her hands stroking my cock until I come all over her pretty face. Or, better yet, her lips.
And what would you do with my lips? Her sultry voice replays my mind, and images of her on her knees with that wicked mouth wrapped around my cock have me unlacing the ties of my breeches.
My senses alert me to a whisper of breath. With lightning speed, my hands find the throat of the perpetrator, whom I shove violently against the wall.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Isa?”
The demoness winces before her black eyes open, and her hands fly to my wrist. “I came to offer my services…” She trails off, eyes flicking to the head of my cock protruding from my breeches before gasping for air as I tighten my fingers around her neck.
“As I have repeatedly told you, I have no need of your services. Now,” I lean down menacingly, “why are you here?”
“You made us…” she sputters. “...look like…fools.”
I arch a brow, squeezing her throat even harder. “Us?”
She claws at my wrist. “You’re hurting me.”
“Am I?” My mouth skirts along her jaw until I reach the shell of her ear. “Did you not offer, as part of your services, that I can fuck you any way I desire?” I meet her wide, pleading eyes. “Perhaps this is what I desire, to crush your throat beneath my hands and end your scheming machinations.”
Isa’s mouth parts as her face reddens, and she releases the smallest squeak. I wait for the trepidation in her eyes to morph into full blown fear at the thought of dying before I splay my fingers wide. Isa drops to the floor with an unceremonious thud, drawing in mouthfuls of air.
I turn from her and tuck myself back into my pants before I walk out onto the stone balcony overlooking a churning, black sea.
Without the moon or stars to illuminate the night sky, the ocean looks no more than a blanket of darkness stretching toward the horizon.
Its true colors, however, are a stunning collide of green and blue, each one warring for dominance, and I am again reminded of her.
Dropping my chin to my chest, I sigh and spread my arms along the stone railing, gripping the edge with each hand. Isa creeps up behind me on quiet footsteps.
“You made me look like a fool.” Her voice is raw.
“Hardly. Even if you and I were married, and you carried the title of Queen, it would shock no one that I have a mistress. It is to be expected. You know that.”
Isa marches to my side, though I don’t meet her undoubtedly withering stare. “You danced with her!”
At that, I turn, lifting my brow. “So?”
“I would have rather you fucked her in front of our whole court! At least then, everyone would have seen her as just that—a mistress. But you danced with her!” she repeats, the volume of her voice rising with each word spoken.
“Countless balls have been given in your honor since you arrived nearly a full moon cycle ago, yet you have barely glanced at any one, let alone invited them to dance.”
“For fuck’s sake, it was just a dance.”
“It was more than that, and you know it. And it wasn’t just the dance.” Isa’s voice dips lower, and she averts her gaze. “It was the way you stared at her as though you…” Her voice trails off then, shaking.
“As though, what, Isa?” I say through gritted teeth.
Hey eyes finally meet mine. “As though you love her.”
I scoff. “Preposterous. I don’t even know her.” I return my attention back to the onyx sea, an unsettling sensation worming its way into my gut.
“Who is she?” Isa asks, suspicion lacing her tone, as though my last statement was bullshit.
My eyes dance along the inky horizon until I finally face Isa. “That is what I want you to find out. She claims she is here at the behest of Hades, searching for someone, yet she didn’t say whom. Find out who she is looking for and what she really wants.”
Isa’s eyes widen. “But—”
“You are my spy, are you not?” I run my knuckle along her cheek, and she leans into the touch. The action feels inherently wrong after the feel of Liv’s cheek against my palm, so I wrench it away, leaving Isa’s dark eyes glassy.
My gaze flits to the crude markings on her neck, red and purple brands in the shape of my fingers. I wave my hand, and the welts disappear.
Isa caresses her throat. “You should have left them. At least then, there would have been evidence you actually touched me.”
I raise a brow. “Lord Argos would not be alarmed of his daughter’s mistreatment?”
She huffs a mirthless laugh. “Lord Argos would gladly mistreat me himself.”
I frown but remain silent, and Isa retreats, making her way toward the door.
Pressing my lips together, I grind out, “Isa, wait.”
She pauses with her fingers on the handle, brow quirked in interest.
“Did anyone see you enter?”
“There were a few drunken stragglers in the halls,” she says hesitantly.
“Stay.” Alarm washes over her features before it melts into something warm.
“If only to keep up appearances and keep your father from harming you,” I clarify, making a mental note to seek out Lord Argos.
I had thought once our arrangement was in place, the insufferable demon Lord would be placated and no longer threaten his own daughter.
It appears, however, that I am horribly wrong.
Isa nods, gratitude reflected in her eyes.
“I will send word to your ladies that they should bring your nightgown to my chambers, as well as a dress for morning.”
“Thank you,” she says, backing away from the door. I catch a hint of smile on her face before she sits on my bed, running her hand over the plush velvet bedspread.
“Isa,” I call sternly. The smile falls from her face when she notices my no-nonsense expression. “You are not my lover, my mistress, or my queen. You are my spy, and you will do as I ask.”
Isa swallows before nodding. “As you wish, my King.”