Chapter 9
RHI
“I apologize for that ruckus earlier,” Isadora says, smoothing her palms down her dress.
“You have nothing to apologize for,” I reply, adding what I hope is a sugar cube to my coffee. I glance up at Aurelia and Mira, and since neither seem perturbed by the small black square within the prongs, I drop it into my cup.
Breakfast in Hell is eerily similar to afternoon tea at the Plaza Hotel in New York City, with white table clothes ladened with tiered trays of tiny sandwiches and colorful sweets.
My plate is flanked on either side by one too many spoons and forks.
One year for my birthday, my mother took me for afternoon tea, and I begged her to never return.
Dainty sandwiches with the crusts cut off are just not my cup of tea—no pun intended. I need grease. Bacon. Eggs. Homefries…
The stirrer I’d been using clatters to the saucer as memories of Nick and me at The Odyssey diner make themselves known.
“Does something trouble you?” Isadora asks, those odd, wholly black eyes wide.
“No,” I answer quickly and sip my coffee.
Isadora gently places her stirrer beside her saucer, her posture perfect and poised as she brings the tea cup to her lips.
“Despite this being Hell, we aren’t barbaric. I would just hate for you to think that of Raphael’s kingdom.”
I fight a grimace at her use of that name. That’s not his fucking name, I want to snap, yet I swallow it down and address her rather asinine comment.
“After what I just witnessed, your biggest concern is that it made you look bad?”
Isadora stiffens, narrowing her eyes. “Where I am from, subjects do not speak to their Queen that way.”
“Seeing as you aren’t yet married, I think the actual title is royal consort.” I lean into her. “And where I’m from, fathers don’t speak to their daughters that way.”
She bristles as I straighten in my seat, guilt sludging through my abdomen. I hadn’t meant to make her feel uncomfortable, but her reference to Nick as Raphael set a sliver of fury loose.
“Thank you,” she says quietly.
When I face her, Isadora is staring into her lap, fiddling with her thumbs. It’s then I realize she’s tearing the skin from her fingers. I place my hand over hers, stilling her movements.
“You don’t have to thank me.”
Isadora looks up at that. “Oh, but I do.” Her dark eyes narrow. “Altruism does not exist in this realm. So,” she sits back and places her palms flat on the table before again picking up her tea cup, “what is it you want?”
My own eyes crease in suspicion as the reason for this breakfast comes to light. This is to be an inquisition, likely at the behest of Nick.
“The King knows what I want, and if he would like more information, he can ask me himself.”
With that, I excuse myself, much to the chagrin of my ladies’ maids, whose mouths hang agape. I hasten my footsteps, tapping into my monster just a bit to gain speed and hopefully lose them. I don’t need them hovering over me every fucking second.
The castle doesn’t change much in appearance as I continue to wind around corners and duck into unfamiliar corridors.
At this point, I’m confident I’ve lost my ladies’ maids, but I slow my steps just as I come across another open corridor, where the windows are once again arched.
This view doesn’t boast an extraordinary scene of the ocean, but rather acres of the lush meadow I travelled across from the Black Woods, sweeping the landscape in stunning emerald hues.
My eyes follow the stretch of gem-colored land into the far distance, where mountains loom tall and mighty against a sparkling azure sky.
I suck in a breath at the captivating beauty of it all. For all the legends of fire and brimstone, Hell is breathtaking. Its true elegance is overshadowed and misrepresented by the myths and tales of pop culture.
Much like me and my fellow monsters.
My mouth waters as a savory scent wafts across my nostrils.
Familiar. Salt and smoke and a rich, decadent sweetness.
My stomach rumbles, and I find myself seeking out the source of such an enticing smell.
I follow the corridor to its end, spotting a large door slightly ajar.
I tap into the Scylla, listening for evidence of another person in the room, and when I’m satisfied the room is empty, I push open the door.
A feast of epic proportions lies directly in front of me, on a long, dark wooden table laden with everything from smoked ham to stacks of pancakes and poached eggs. Now, this is breakfast, not those dainty sandwiches with the crusts cut off.
I take one more cursory glance about the room, and before I can talk myself out of it, I dig in.
I find a heavy silver plate and stack it to the brim, leaving no hint of the argent hue beneath a mountain of food.
Furiously stabbing the plate, I gather almost every different food variety on my fork and shove it into my mouth with a pleasurable sigh.
Sinking back in the chair, I close my eyes and release an intense moan that could easily be misconstrued.
A dark chuckle wrenches my eyes open, and I nearly choke.
“That’s a sound I could get used to hearing.”
My attention snaps to him immediately, and my heart stutters at the expression of primal lust on his face.
Nick leans against the left wall with a lazy indulgence, his arms folded across his broad chest. His searing golden eyes watch every smack of my lips as I swallow.
My tongue sweeps across my lips to clean the sticky sweet remnants of syrup, and my breath stalls in my lungs at the way his gaze turns ravenous.
Nick drops his arms to his sides, gaze never leaving mine.
The black jacket from earlier is nowhere to be seen, and the white shirt beneath exposes his bronzed chest through the open laces.
The form fitting breeches do nothing to hide his impressive erection, which Nick himself doesn’t seem to mind being on display.
In fact, his mouth curls in a sinful smile when he follows the path of my own gaze, his smiling widening when my traitorous eyes drop to that exact spot.
I clear my throat, letting the fork clatter to the plate. “I’m sorry, I—”
“Don’t.”
Nick pushes from the wall and saunters over to me, his movements both alluring and completely predatory. He drops into the chair at the head of the table, right next to where I sit, cocking his head and shooting me an appraising glare.
“I suppose you’re hungry because you so rudely ran out of Isadora’s breakfast.”
I shift so I fully face him and eye him coolly. “That wasn’t breakfast. That was an inquisition.”
Nick leans forward, a sinister sheen washing his features. The dimly lit room casts eerie shadows upon the walls and floor, and for the first time, I realize the room lacks windows.
“That was nothing,” he says, his tongue poking at the sharp fangs descending from his mouth. “Consider yourself fortunate it was Isadora who questioned you and not me.”
I arch a brow at his veiled threat. It would carry more weight if not for the sensual undertone. “You’re here now. What’s stopping you?”
Nick narrows his eyes, undoubtedly at my audacity. I’d dropped the royal titles since we are no longer in public, though he doesn’t seem to mind.
Silence ensues in the space between us. Nick studies me, eyes creasing and brightening every so often. It’s clear the cogs in his brain are turning, but what, exactly, he’s mulling over, I can’t discern. When it appears Nick isn’t inclined to answer my question, I stand.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he asks with a low growl.
“I’m leaving. Perhaps I'll apologize to your wife.” In my frustration, the word slips out, tasting acrid on my tongue. I bite down just as Nick grabs my wrist.
“My betrothed,” he says, his voice low and dangerous. “Not my wife.”
The warmth of his fingers around my wrists seeps into my bones and settles right between my legs. How long has it been since he touched me? Since I felt his skin upon mine? Last night, there were only mere brushes of his fingertips across my cheek, and everywhere else he touched me was clothed.
I swallow roughly. “I’m not sure that matters.”
Blazing, golden eyes meet mine. “It does.”
I tremble beneath his punishing gaze, remembering all too well the numerous times I’d been captivated by those eyes, the way they ravaged me without him so much as laying a finger on my flesh.
That sensual mouth of his pulls into a smirk, his keen senses undoubtedly noticing the way my skin pebbles beneath his touch.
I attempt to pull from his grasp. “Let me go.”
“No.” His gaze flits to my unfinished plate before it once again holds me hostage. “Finish your meal.”
“I’m no longer hungry.” I turn and try to wrench myself away once more, but Nick whirls me to face him.
“And I don’t give a fuck.” With one tug, I end up on his lap. “Sit.”
Nick wraps a strong arm around my waist, his clawed fingers digging into my hip.
I bite my lip to keep from gasping, shifting so can I face him and tell him to fuck off.
The slit in my dress falls on either side of my leg, exposing much of my upper thigh.
Nick’s eyes track the movement, his breath hitching slightly at the sight of my bare skin.
Lifting his gaze, he holds my stare, daring me to object as his free hand drifts indolently up the exposed flesh.
“Now,” Nick says, his tone dark and sinful, “let’s start our inquisition, shall we?”