Lucille #2
Without a second of doubt, I shot out my hand and gripped Matt’s neck. His nostrils flared, and the ground vibrated.
I leaned close, tilting my face toward his ear, then let my chilling Infernus bleed into my palm.
“Of me,” I whispered.
The shaking ground stopped, but I believed it was more from suspicion than fear. Matt never dropped his arrogant grin; he only narrowed his eyes.
“Dusty, switch with Zera,” he ordered.
Dusty eyed me warily before heading toward the archery range.
Mischief hooked one side of Matt’s lips, twisting them into a taunting smirk. He knew what he was doing. He gave me what I wanted, but in a roundabout way that let him keep all the power.
Ice crackled in my ears along with the other songs of my Infernus.
Matt pressed into my hand, and I ached to wrap his neck in ice.
But I refused to be baited by him.
Valarus walked over with a scowl, and I dropped my hand from Matt’s neck.
“Enjoy training together,” I said sweetly.
Matt wrapped an arm around Valarus’s shoulders. “We will.”
She shrugged him off. “As if,” she muttered.
I left them to it and walked back toward Oliver and Ichi, already knowing the little game between Matt and me wasn’t over.
I snuck a peek at Aspen while Ichi disarmed Oliver, his sword thudding to the ground.
Aspen sat on the stone stands, watching the Devils split into groups, two circling wide while one held the center. He should be training with them, but he wasn’t.
Was it because of his depression? Or did something happen at the healers’ wing this morning?
“You really can’t help yourself,” Oliver remarked, sliding up beside me. “He’s not going for any pointy objects. He’s not fighting. He’s safe just sitting there.”
“That’s the problem.”
Oliver threw his hands in the air. “You want him to fight?”
“I just want him to act… himself,” I admitted lamely.
He twisted me around just as Ichi held out a sword toward me.
“I can teach you more skills with a blade, or if you prefer, we can warm up with a javelin or throwing knives, Tormentors Leader.”
“Ichi, you can still call me Lucy. I’d prefer that.”
She bowed low. “As you wish. Your choice?”
I wished she didn’t feel the need to bow to me. Ever since Ni attacked me, it had become a habit. One I didn’t feel worthy of, especially right now.
“Have you seen your sister recently?” I asked instead.
She paused halfway up from her bow, seeming stunned by my question.
“I am not allowed to see her.”
“Says who?”
Straightening to her short height, Ichi kept her head tilted down. “Our General.”
Why?
“Do you want to see her?”
“I am not allo—”
“Ichi, do you want to see her?”
“Yes,” she said softly. “I know the sight may haunt me. But I would like to see her.”
“Alright then. Let’s start with throwing knives.”
“My favorite.” Oliver rubbed his hands together.
Ichi finally lifted her head and nodded.
By the end of training, my muscles were weary and my brain fried. I had every intention of locking myself in my room and not going on the date with Ronen.
But I did need to talk to him about a few things.
Or at least that was the excuse I told myself.
It wasn’t the fact that I was intrigued at all by his note or what spending time with him would be like.
I was right on the edge, bouncing back and forth between staying and going, when nine o’clock rolled around and Ronen’s anxiety spiked.
That pushed me over.
He had given me a piece of himself, and I could give him my time in return.
My decision resulted in Oliver dragging me into my closet, throwing an outfit at me I thought was too beautiful to wear, then informing me not to worry about our child because he’d look after him.
After some convincing, Oliver got me into the dress.
I even tamed my waves, pinning half back, and put on a little makeup.
Why?
Because despite Ronen’s letter never specifically saying this was a date, Oliver kept insisting it was.
I’d never been on a date before.
Heavenly Shit.
I couldn’t count the number of times I wiped my hands on the textured white cotton or fiddled with the buttons that started at the dip of my cleavage and trailed down to my upper thighs.
It fit me like a glove, accentuating my breasts that had grown after actually eating regular meals. The bottom hugged my curves, sexy and feminine.
I actually loved the dress on me—as long as I didn’t think about my thigh scars stretching beneath the fabric.
When I did, I tried to remember Ronen’s comforting words about scars, thinking I should be bold and proud of them instead of wondering if I looked like Frankenstein in a dress.
I walked a few steps down our hall, then turned back and tried to squeeze into my room again.
“I look stupid. This is stupid.”
“No, you look like every straight male’s dream. Stop worrying and just enjoy yourself.”
Oliver pushed me out of the doorway, turned me around, and patted my bottom.
“Carry on, hot stuff.”
“Not helping,” I grumbled, cheeks flaming as I continued toward the library.
All the while, I couldn’t stop fiddling with the damned dress.
“I’m confident. I’m beautiful. I can do this,” I whispered as I rounded the last corner.
I stopped the moment I saw him.
Ronen straightened from where he’d been leaning against the library doors, his eyes widening for a split second, shadows flashing through the gold.
He didn’t say a word.
Just stared.
And stared.
My palms were a mess beneath his searing gaze. I clenched them at my sides, digging my nails into my skin to keep from wiping them on the fabric.
“I, um—”
His neck muscles tightened, shifting the swirling design disappearing into the V of his black button-down.
Then he moved toward me as if waking up.
Still, he said nothing.
The silence, his purposeful stride, his golden gaze slowly taking in every inch of me, flushed my face with both pleasure and anxiety.
How absolutely sexy he looked didn’t help.
His black slacks hugged his thighs—not too tight, but just tight enough. His sleeves were rolled up, exposing muscular, tattooed forearms. I had to swallow down my desire at how perfectly the fabric wrapped around his chest.
He looked like sin incarnate.
The type of male to slam you against the library wall and devour you without giving a damn who saw.
I swallowed when he stopped in front of me.
And I hated myself for it, but I gave in to the urge and clutched the sides of my dress, wiping my palms dry.
“I didn’t know the dress code,” I finally managed.
Silence.
He was killing me.
Did he know he was killing me?
He must feel it.
It was off the charts.
Heavenly Hell, why wouldn’t he freaking say anything?
Ronen moved, prying my hands from my dress and taking them in his.
They were just as sweaty as mine.
He leaned down, brushing his lips against my ear.
“I should’ve made one. Because now I want to sink to my knees and finish what I started in that dream,” he whispered.
My core heated.
I felt him smile.
“So, you did know.”
“Eventually.”
His breath skated across my flushed skin, his nose grazing my neck.
“Unfortunately, that dessert isn’t on the menu tonight, my gorgeous hellion. I’ll show you what is.”
He pulled back, releasing one hand but keeping the other as he led me forward. Our hands started tingling where they touched. The sensation soothed me.
“Where are we going?” I asked as we passed the library doors and ventured down a different hall.
“You’ll find out soon enough.”
There was an infectious smile in his words, filling me with curiosity and joy.
Eventually, we ended up in front of the quiet kitchens.
It was well past dinner, so I didn’t think we were on a dinner date.
“What…” I trailed off as he pulled me into the pastry side.
Pots and pans dangled above three dark wooden tables that stretched the length of the deep kitchen.
At the far table, beside a floor-length arched window, were tiered stands, covered platters, and trays upon trays of desserts and baked goods.
At the middle table stood Dorus, her dark hair tied back in a knot and her black kitchen uniform dusted with flour.
She finished pouring caramel into a dish, then smiled when she spotted us.
Striding over to Ronen, she kissed both his cheeks before handing him an apron.
“Everything’s prepared for you, and I’ve sent everyone home. The kitchen is yours. Make me proud.”
She moved to me, kissed my cheeks, and handed me an apron while my brain tried to make heads or tails of this.
“He’s truly excellent. Took him some time under my tutelage, but you won’t be disappointed.”
Then she left me in stunned silence.
Under her tutelage?
Ronen let go of my hand and put on the apron.
Pretty sure my brain short-circuited.
It was either the fact that Hell’s general wore an apron at all, or that it had cute little wolves decorating the dark fabric.
Humor danced in his golden gaze.
“I’ve been told you don’t know me very well. So I figured I’d change that.”
I must’ve stumbled in my heels somewhere back in the hall and hit my head—hard.
He stepped in front of me, running a tingling thumb across my cheek.
“You still with me, Hellion?”
The humor in his voice weakened my knees.
“Mhmm,” I hummed.
He laughed.
My heart soared.
What the hell was this?
“You want to make some of your favorite truffles with me?” he asked, rolling his sleeves up farther.
“First the necklace, now fancy chocolates? What are you trying to do? Make me fall in love with you?” I teased, trying to brush off how much all this was affecting me.
The humor vanished from his face, leaving me with a serious, resolute Ronen.
He lifted his chin and held my gaze.
“Yes.”