Chapter 13 #2
Sweat drips down the two sculpted chests in thin rivulets, their bodies glistening beneath the suns’ rays.
Sure enough, it’s Nick who fights Baal, the tattoo of Scylla he got for me on display.
It engulfs the left-side of his chest, Scylla’s claws embedded in the skin covering his heart, the rest of her monstrous body wrapping around his shoulder and slinking down his bicep.
Somehow, he appears more toned and defined than I’d last seen him, which I suppose shouldn’t be a shock, considering the passage of time and that this has been his pastime.
Nick had always been broad shouldered, but he commands an even more imposing presence now, his biceps protruding and the veins in his forearms bulging with every swing and cut of the sword.
His impressive abdomen seems sculpted from marble, the ridges sharper, with that clear cut ‘v’ shape that disappears into his low slung black breeches.
My mouth waters at the scene. It’s bad enough I know exactly what lies beneath those breeches, how well he can fucking use it.
But the sight before me, these two sweat-slicked men engaging in a display of strength, grunting and panting, I have never wanted to be in the middle of something more than…
“I bet the King fucks like a Hell Beast.”
The unexpected comment pulls me from my fantasy, and I catch Caliste glancing at me with a smirk. “I suppose you would know.” She then tosses her gaze up to Isadora. “You too.”
Isadora shifts uncomfortably, her fair skin reddening at an alarming pace.
Odd—I don’t harbor the same sense of embarrassment she feels at the speculation of being fucked by him.
But maybe Isadora is more of a docile demoness, and I’m just a monster.
I sure feel like one as I hold Isadora’s stare and say, “He does.”
Caliste’s eyes spark with intrigue, her gaze swiveling again towards Nick’s betrothed, awaiting her retort. I sure as hell am, so color me surprised when she raises her chin and ignores me completely, her attention fixed on the two men in the arena.
Guilt slithers up my spine. What the fuck am I doing?
Whatever goes on between her and Nick is no fault of hers, something I’d told myself the night I saw her enter his room.
She is only doing what is expected of her, her duty as a woman and future Queen.
I’m the one who is in the wrong. The mistress.
The whore. It doesn’t matter my reasons for being here, or what Nick and I mean to each other, because right now, I am the only one who knows.
For all intents and purposes, I am exactly the conniving, man-stealing bitch Isadora thinks I am, and she is wholly correct.
Reality sucker punches me, and I’m reminded why I made Caliste bring me here in the first place. Gathering my dress, I stand and carefully make my way down towards the arena.
“Where are you going?” Caliste hisses.
Ignoring her, I stand at the foot of the arena, ground-level with Nick and Baal. Their swift movements kick up dirt, a cloud of dust surrounding them as they move. They continue their swordfight, both oblivious to my presence.
Perfect.
I glance at the ground and find exactly what I’m looking for: a rock, larger than a pebble but small enough not to cause harm, though its edges are a bit jagged. I wait until Nick’s back is to me, and then, I hurl the stone towards him, using the full force of my Scylla.
The stone hits its mark, landing between his shoulder blades with a loud thwack, and Nick immediately stills.
The stone probably felt akin to no more than feather against the hard, rippling muscles of his back, yet a rigidness settles upon his shoulders, and the entire arena falls eerily silent.
The only sound I can make out is the chaotic thrumming of my pulse as I await my punishment.
Baal notices me first, his black eyes darting behind Nick before resting on his face. From the way the Demon of Debauchery’s countenance morphs into an ‘oh shit’ expression, I have a feeling I’m fucked, and not in a good way.
No one utters a word as Nick turns painfully slow to face me. I’m met with twin flames of fury burning so ferociously, they could give the suns above a run for their money.
And gods, I should shrink away from that look, one that could decimate an army with a single glance.
But the sight of him is so astounding to behold.
The face I’ve held in his dying moments.
The eyes I’ve looked into as I came undone in pleasure.
It’s so discerning to stare into that face, one my soul has known for a lifetime, to see such ire directed at me, and yet, I can’t tear my eyes from him.
I can’t stop the heat blossoming low in my core or the insatiable ache between my legs that has existed since his departure.
Nick smiles, showing off a mouthful of sharp teeth, and pleasure zips through me as I remember how they pierced my flesh last night.
“Is there a problem, sorceress?” The low of his baritone voice is laced with honeyed venom.
I march toward him, finger pointed right in his face. “I will not be your whore.”
Startled gasps erupt from the benches. Nick narrows his eyes.
“Everyone out.” The command is accompanied by a menacing growl, and he never once takes his eyes from me.
The crowd disperses quickly, with only Isadora and Baal remaining.
“You too, Isa,” Nick says, still holding me hostage with the wrath in his gaze.
I don’t dare look away myself, but I hear Isa’s grumbling at being dismissed.
“Lower your finger, sorceress, unless you want me to take it into my mouth.”
Though the idea doesn’t at all repulse me—quite the opposite, actually. I slowly lower my finger, drawing a slow smile from Nick.
“Baal,” Nick holds his hand outstretched. “Give me your sword.”
Baal slowly walks toward Nick, eyes dancing between the two of us. “Raph, are you sure about this…”
Nick’s palm grasps the hilt of Baal’s sword, and he draws it towards him, his former grin now laced with malevolence. “If the sorceress wishes to challenge her King, she should do so properly.”
“You want me to fight you?” I ask incredulously.
“Isn’t that what you’ve been doing this whole time?”
I raise my chin and eye him coolly before I hold out my hand. “Fine. Give me the sword.”
Nick starts to pass me the sword then appears to think better of it. “How about we make a little Faustian bargain?”
I can’t deny that I’m intrigued. “What do you have in mind?”
“If you win, I’ll aid you in your quest to find your lover. You will have my knowledge at your disposal.”
“And if you win?” I counter.
His malevolent smile grows more nefarious. “If I win, you will be mine.”
I’ve only ever been yours. The words are there, itching to be let loose, but I refrain.
The bargain is a no brainer. If I lose—and that is likely, considering Nick is the master at fencing—submitting to him offers the chance I will spend more time in his presence.
Obviously, given what happened last evening, he’s going to expect me to fuck him, and even though Persephone implied I should, I can’t sleep with him knowing some nights, Isadora will be in his bed.
Still, I don’t have much of a choice.
“Deal.”
Nick hands me the sword just as Baal releases an aggrieved sigh and stands off to the side.
“I’m surprised you took the bargain,” Nick says as I follow him to the middle of the arena.
“Why is that?”
He turns to face me, that malicious grin still plastered on his face, and puts a few paces between us.
“Do you know what they say about making deals with the Devil?”
I shake my head, adjusting to the weight of the sword in my left hand and ready my stance.
The suns have hit the highest point in the sky, blazing down on us without mercy.
Perspiration drips down my back and in between my breasts, yet I’d be lying if I said the heat is the sole reason for my excessive warmth.
Golden eyes flare, radiant against his bronzed skin. “It can be Hell.”