Chapter 19 #2
“You are absolutely right. I am jealous. I have been jealous for years. You have walked in my shadow, little monster, bodies trailing in your wake. Don’t tell me you don’t feel it?
You are revolted yet enchanted. It is because you do not fear death—you command it.
Why should his name be the one that falls reverently from your lips when you were crafted from my very essence? ”
I stare, fixated, at his ever-changing eyes, then his lips.
The urge to pull away has waned, usurped by his spellbinding explanation.
Understanding dawns on me—the bloodthirsty desire I’d always felt is not solely attributed to the monster within me, but the man before me.
Death. And yet it is he who devised the predicament I am in, keeping me from the man I love.
An ember of hatred sprouts alongside his enchantment, one I cannot seem to break. “And what name should I call you?”
His mouth curves, a whisper from my own. “You may call me Azrael, and I will call you mine.”
“Over my dead fucking body.”
Azrael is ripped from me by none other than Nick, who positions his body between us. His hand is locked in a vice grip on Azrael’s shoulder, keeping me far from Death’s reach.
“I warned you once, Reaper. Come near her again, and you’ll be begging for your god’s salvation by the time I am done with you. ”
Death’s answering smile is callous and cold. “She asked my name, Raphael. I only wish to hear it from her lips.”
My mouth parts, but Nick silences me with a brutal glare, and I promptly close it.
His fingers tighten around Azrael’s shoulder, directing his ire toward him.
“My name is the only one you will ever hear from her lips, because she is mine. Every gasp, moan, and scream that falls from that pretty mouth will be my doing.” He shoves Azrael, who barely flinches. “Keep your fucking hands off her.”
Azrael’s slow, answering grin sends horrifying chills down my spine. His eyes, now wholly black, meet mine over Nick’s shoulder. “I’ll be seeing you soon, Rhiannon.”
He disappears before Nick can retort, and when he faces me, it takes every ounce of willpower not to cower beneath his punishing stare. He prowls toward me, his face a myriad of emotions: rage, envy, relief. I raise my chin as if to say, do your worst.
Nick grabs me roughly by the arm, hauling me alongside him as he moves through the crowd.
“Hey!”
“Not a fucking word,” he snaps, weaving us through the throng of bodies seemingly oblivious to what just happened. Only Isadora follows our departure, face twisted into a mask of lethal rage.
I’m dragged up the staircase, my feet barely touching the floor as Nick whisks us to the landing and out of the ballroom.
I twist and turn, attempting to wrench my arm from his grasp, but to no avail.
Nick’s hold is relentless, and he doesn’t acknowledge me as I curl my hands into fists and beat his muscled arm.
Finally, we arrive at a set of familiar doors, the same ones I entered days ago, where I’d found Nick.
It isn’t until the doors slam shut on a phantom wind that Nick unhands me, eyes softening as I rub the spot on my arm and scowl at him.
“What were you thinking?” His voice is eerily calm. “Do you have any idea who you were dancing with?”
I lean back against the feast ladened table and fold my arms. “Death.”
“Oh, so you were aware, and you still willingly allowed the hands of Death to touch you?” His scolding is reminiscent of the evening he found me in one of Alystair’s hallways and discovered I’d drank nearly three cups of Dionysian Frenzy.
“Well, your hands were a bit busy with your wife.”
Golden eyes blaze in the firelight. “She is not my fucking wife.”
“You invited me to a ball announcing your fucking marriage!” My hands fall to my sides, still clenched as my claws spring forth. I wince as they embed themselves into my flesh. Nick’s brows furrow upon noticing my pained expression, but then, his features smooth out.
“You weren’t supposed to know the reason for the ball,” he solemnly admits.
I release a mirthless laugh. “Well, that certainly absolves you of any wrongdoing.”
He frowns, but it appears less out of anger and more contemplative. “How did you find out?”
“The invitation slipped beneath my door.”
This time, it’s his turn to laugh, though it is without feeling. He runs lithe fingers through blue-black locks. “Fucking Azrael.”
Nick blows out a breath before meeting my eyes. They linger on my face before falling to my breasts for a beat, his mouth curling in displeasure as they drag down my body.
“I don’t like that dress.”
The comment is absurd, given the circumstances. My mouth falls open, indignance taking root despite the fact I admit the dress isn’t my favorite.
Still, fuck him.
“I don’t like your face,” I retort, cheeks flaming with my childish response.
His brows lift, and a slow, salacious smile spreads across his mouth. “You seemed to like my face perfectly fine when you came all over it last night.”
If I thought my cheeks were on fire before, that’s nothing compared to the rush of blood that ignites them in an inferno at the reminder of what we did on the beach last night.
How his sharp claws dug into my hips, forcing me to grind down his face.
The feel of his tongue moving in and out of me, his mouth sucking my clit, his rough stubble grazing my thighs.
Having never done that before, I’d been embarrassed at first when he’d said it, but I’d lost myself to the obscenity of riding his face, and gods, how I loved it.
His seductive smile widens, as though he knows exactly what I am thinking, and so I do the only thing I can think of in that moment: I grab an apple from the table and hurl it at his head.
His hand whips up with serpentine swiftness, catching it effortlessly.
Eyes locked on mine, he brings the apple to his mouth and takes a long, purposeful bite, the crunch of the crisp fruit between his teeth sounding positively indecent.
When he pulls the crimson apple away, a trail of juice trickles from the corner of his mouth, and his tongue darts out to lap the juice with deliberate leisure.
I swallow, placing my hands on the table behind me, gripping its edge in desperation so my fingers don’t involuntarily slip between my thighs.
Nostrils flaring, he says, “If you come closer, I’ll let you have a taste.”
That simple comment is weighted with lascivious sentiment, but I can’t shake the vision of his hands on Isadora or the knowledge that he left me and visited her after our night on the beach.
“Shouldn’t you be saying that to your wife?”
Nick’s emblazoned eyes threaten to sear me with his wrath. He tosses the apple aside. “The night you came all over my fingers, you told me you were mine, despite knowing full well of my relationship with Isadora. What changed?”
I almost wince at being called out, but I suppose there is nothing left to tell him except the truth. Or at least a version of it.
My eyes find the floor, unable to meet his, so he can’t witness my vulnerability. “I thought I could handle it. I was wrong. I can’t be with you…intimately.” I swallow, my mouth like sandpaper. “Knowing you will leave me to lie with her, to hold her in your arms—”
Nick’s fingers come beneath my chin, tipping my face toward his. “I haven’t touched her.”
I blink, confusion washing my features.
“Our relationship is strictly for political purposes. My lips haven’t touched her skin, nor any other part. I haven’t held her in my arms, let alone fucked her, nor do I ever intend to.”
Relief washes over me in soft waves. Nick was never a good liar, though I suppose he might be better as The Devil, but my ability to discern lies alerts me he speaks nothing but the truth. Yet, there are some things that warrant further explanation.
“Then why do you visit her room? And the first night I came here, I saw her go into yours.”
His eyes widen. “Her father abuses her. We keep up a ruse that she is accomplishing her task in seducing me and securing her position as Queen. In return, I keep her safe.”
My stomach sinks, tears welling in my eyes at the animosity I’ve held towards her when every step I’ve made in capturing Nick’s attention might have led to her being hurt—or worse.
“You came to my chambers that night?” Nick asks.
“I wanted to speak with you.”
Now, those golden orbs darken. “To voice your concern for your lost lover, no doubt.”
I bite my bottom lip, refusing to answer.
“How can you promise yourself to me yet relentlessly yearn for him?” His voice is dark and dangerous, and I understand I must answer carefully.
Instead, I continue to speak the truth. “Everything I do is for him.”
Nick steps into me, his body encompassing a dark dominance that begs me to strip free of this dress and get on my knees for him. His mouth finds my ear, goosebumps erupting all over my flesh as his warm breath sweeps over my skin.
“Would you fuck me for him?”
“Yes,” I answer breathlessly.
Nick takes his pointer finger and trails it over my jaw, down my collarbone, the swells of my breasts.
“One more question.” His finger sprouts a long, curved black claw, blood blooming on the mounds of flesh as he traces the sharp tip over them.
“When I fuck you, who will consume your thoughts when I am inside you?”
I don’t hesitate with my honest answer. “You.”
The tulle skirt is torn from the silver bodice, exposing my lower half.
Nick sweeps away the feast that occupies the space behind me, sending platters of meats, fruits, and cheeses crashing to the floor and instead placing me atop the table.
I strip my gloves quickly. The silver corseted bodice is the next of my clothing to be ripped from me, a feral groan pouring from Nick’s mouth as my breasts spill free.