Chapter 14
Piper
Rhea arrives like a holiday hurricane—coat flapping, curls bouncing, arms overflowing with shopping bags that probably cost more than my rent.
Newt bolts to the door, chirping excitedly.
“Okay,” Rhea huffs, kicking the door shut with her heel. “I brought the beast’s overnight bag, three days’ worth of food, and—” She drops a glossy stack of shopping bags and garment bags onto my couch with a dramatic thump.
“—your wardrobe for Hell’s fanciest Christmas ball.”
I blink. “How did you even—”
“I called in a favor,” she says sweetly. Then she winks. “And my plus-size section is divine, babe. You know that.”
Slade appears from the hallway like he’s been summoned by the words wardrobe and plus-size section. His eyes flick to the bags. Then to me. Then back to the bags. All while never blinking.
Rhea notices and smirks like the devil’s favorite cousin. “Well hello, tall dark and demon-y. Do you approve?”
Slade’s gaze never leaves me. “I’ll approve once she tries them on.”
My entire face goes nuclear. “Absolutely not!”
“Yes,” Rhea says, earning a glare from me. “You have to. You need etiquette guidance so you don’t accidentally curtsy to a lesser demon and start a blood feud.”
I glare at her. “Why would that be a thing?!”
“Because demon nobility is petty,” Slade answers dryly.
I throw my hands up. “Great. I’ll go to Hell, insult someone accidentally, and die in a glittering explosion.”
Rhea slaps a dress bag into my chest. “Try it. Now. Before you panic yourself into hives.”
Slade leans against the doorway, arms crossed, looking maddeningly pleased.
I snatch the bag. “Fine! But not because either of you asked. I’m doing this because—because—”
“I have superior fashion instincts?” Rhea offers.
“Because you don’t want to embarrass yourself in front of demon royalty,” Slade adds, voice low and amused.
I whirl on him. “You didn’t tell me they’d be royalty… royalty.”
He lifts a brow. “I assumed that was implied.”
“It was not!!!”
Rhea cackles. “Go. Change. I’ll wrangle Newt.”
Newt meows like, good luck, mother.
***
Tucked away in my bedroom, I pull out the first gown. It’s crimson, velvet, and hugs every curve like it was custom-made for me. I look in the mirror and nearly pass out.
Oh… Oh NO.
I step out slowly. Slade straightens like someone hit him with divine lightning. His gaze drags over me—slow, reverent, hungry—and he very visibly forgets how to breathe.
Rhea fan-gasps. “Okay, bitch, you are a PROBLEM.”
Slade says nothing. But his hands curl at his sides like he’s physically restraining himself.
“Say something,” I whisper, heat crawling up my throat.
Slade’s voice is rough velvet. “Turn.”
My knees wobble, but I obey. The curse stirs instantly—lights flickering, warmth sliding across my skin like invisible fingertips.
Slade watches every inch of my spin with dark intensity. “That,” he says quietly, “would start a war.”
I freeze. “What?! Why?!”
He steps closer, but not too close—just enough to invade oxygen. “Because,” Slade murmurs, “you look like temptation incarnate. Wearing that beside me would suggest you’re already claimed.”
My pulse thunders.
“And since you are not… every noble house would assume I’m making a statement.”
Rhea points. “Okay, that’s hot but also terrifying. Next dress.”
Flabbergasted, I peel my jaw off the floor, practically running for the safety of my bedroom. I shut the door behind me, slip out of the gown, pull out the next… And promptly—gasp.
It’s emerald green. Off-the-shoulder. Soft satin that pools at my hips.
I slip it on, inhale, and walk out.
Slade goes still again. More still than before. His pupils blow wide, and his jaw looks like it’s clenched hard enough to crack teeth. “Slade?” I say.
He inhales sharply, jaw tightening. “Piper.”
“What?” I whisper.
“You need to stop.”
My stomach flips. “Why?”
“Because the curse is… responding.”
I frown, glancing around, only to realize he’s right. The Christmas tree lights begin strobing like a rave. The tinsel shivers, like a snow has been summoned from the arctic. My garland slowly raises itself off the bookshelf like it’s performing an exorcism.
Oh God.
“Slade…”
He steps toward me—slow, controlled, predatory—but he stops a breath away, hands flexing like he wants to touch and is forcing himself not to.
“I think if I come any closer,” he says softly, “Your whole apartment might combust.” He smirks, eyes shifting from me to the room.
The sink turns on. A snow globe shakes itself off the shelf. The mistletoe over my doorway wiggles ominously.
Rhea snorts. “Okay, okay, end this runway show before we summon Santa’s horny ghost.”
I whirl toward her. “RHEA.”
She holds up her hands. “I’m just saying! The magic CLEARLY wants you two together.”
Slade’s eyes lock onto mine. I feel it instantly. Heat. The pull. Gravity.
“It does,” he murmurs.
My breath goes shallow. He steps back—barely. But enough to let the tree lights settle into a slow pulsing glow. “Try the third one,” he says, voice low, controlled, dangerous.
I swallow. “There’s a third?”
“There are six,” Rhea chirps.
I groan.
Slade’s mouth curves into a sinful smile. “Let’s see them all.”
I tuck tail so fast I almost trip over the gown, darting into my bedroom door like he personally set my ass on fire.
Crossing the room, I aggressively yank the emerald green gown off, fingers deftly working on the final bag. I freeze halfway through, unexpected tears welling in my eyes.
I already know it’s the one. It’s black. Shimmering like starlight scattered across midnight. A plunging neckline, but elegant. Fitted bodice. Flowing skirt. It fits like a glove, and I feel like royalty.
When I step out… even Rhea stops breathing.
Slade looks—devastated. Ruined. Worshipful, even. He steps forward—close, so close—then stops like something invisible yanked him back. “That one,” he says, voice barely human. “That is the one.”
Rhea claps. “YES. That one screams sexy-powerful-goddess-with-a-curse. Perfect.”
The decorations begin rotating slowly in a lazy orbit above our heads. The tree lights glow gold. The sink shuts off. Even the mistletoe stays still, like it’s bowing.
Slade exhales, slow and reverent. “That one. I want you to wear that into my realm.”
Something in my chest twists. Something soft… and equally terrifying. “Okay,” I whisper.
He nods once—sharp, controlled. But his eyes… His eyes burn like he’s imagining peeling that dress off me in a thousand different ways.
Rhea fans herself. “Alright. Newt and I are leaving before the room catches fire.”
Newt trots toward the door proudly, tail high. Slade and I remain locked in a stare neither of us knows how to break. The curse hums under my skin, warm and wanting.
“Piper.” My name leaves him like a sin he’s savoring.
The door clicks shut behind Rhea, her giggles fading down the hall, Newt’s soft meow trailing after her like a warning I’m too distracted to interpret. And then it’s just us. The apartment settles into a low hum. A pulse. A heartbeat that doesn’t belong to me.
Slade’s gaze drags over me once more—slow, reverent, starving—and something inside him fractures. Not a lot. Just enough to expose the raw edge beneath. He steps toward me. One step. Then another. Like gravity tightened its fist and decided we belong in the same orbit.
I inhale sharply. “Slade…”
“You shouldn’t say my name like that,” he murmurs.
“Like what?”
“Like I’m allowed to touch you,” he says, low, husky, filled with a longing I don’t want to face.
My pulse stutters. “You are—not.”
His mouth tips in a dark smile. “No?”
“No,” I whisper, though my body betrays me, leaning in.
His eyes flick down to my lips. The curse surges instantly—my Christmas tree lights flash a brilliant gold, ornaments tremble, and a strand of tinsel slithers down the wall like it’s trying to wrap around us both.
Slade’s breath catches. “The curse reacts to desire,” he says quietly, like he’s challenging me to say differently.
“It reacts to you,” I shoot back.
He closes the final inch. His hand lifts—not grabbing, not demanding—just… brushing the back of his knuckles along my cheek, slow and reverent.
I shiver, and of course he notices. “Piper,” he murmurs, fingers sliding into the curls at the base of my skull, guiding my head back the barest inch. “You have no idea how much restraint I’m using.”
“I…”
My voice fades. Because his other hand settles on my waist. Hot. Strong. Possessive in a way that melts my bones. “Oh,” is all I manage.
His forehead dips to mine. “Tell me to stop,” he whispers.
I open my mouth. No sound comes out. Because every cell in my body is singing one truth… Don’t stop.
He watches the realization hit me. His breath trembles. Then he kisses me.
It’s not rough. Not forced, or dominating. It’s a single, sinfully slow press of lips that steals thought, breath, and all my resistance. A low sound escapes me—pitiful and hungry.
Slade growls softly against my mouth, the sound vibrating straight through me. His hand tightens at my waist, pulling me into the solid, burning wall of his chest. I fist his shirt. Pulling him closer—needing him closer.
The curse erupts. The Christmas tree erupts into sparkling light. Ornaments tremble in joy. A wreath spins halfway off its hook. And my sink turns on full blast in the kitchen like it’s cheering us on.
Slade breaks the kiss with a ragged groan, forehead pressed to mine as we both gasp for breath. I wobble, knees quaking like jello. He catches me instantly. “Easy.”
“I—I don’t understand—” I whisper.
“You’re my mate,” he says softly. “Your body knows it. Even if your mind is still catching up.”
My knees threaten treason again. He steadies me with both hands now, fingers digging into the small of my back like he’s holding onto sanity.
“Slade…”
He shuts his eyes like he’s in pain. “If you stay right here, dressed like that, looking at me like this…” He inhales sharply. “I will forget Lucifer’s Ball entirely.”
My throat dries, but I play with fire anyway, letting the question slip between my teeth. “W-What would you do instead?”
His eyes open—green flame, hunger, devotion, all tangled into one devastating look. “I would put you against that wall,” he says quietly, “and kiss you again. I would touch you, rip that dress off you, claim you fully and ravish you until you forgot your own name.”
Heat floods every inch of me. “Slade—”
He steps back quickly, like the distance is the only barrier between sanity and catastrophe. “You need to finish getting ready,” he says, voice rough. “We leave in two hours.”
I try to breathe, but my body is humming like I swallowed electricity.
“You should go,” he adds, nodding toward my bedroom. “Now. Before I change my mind and pull you back into my arms.”
I take a shaky step backward. His gaze follows me like he’s memorizing every movement. At the doorway to my room, I pause.
His voice drops, sinful and certain, “Unless… you want me to forget the Ninth Realm entirely?”
“Oh my god,” I squeak.
He smiles—slow, dark, devastating. “Go, Piper.”
I flee. Barely. It’s more like a disgraced flailing of limbs and fabric.
Behind me, Slade exhales a breath that sounds like he’s holding back a storm. And… truthfully?
I’m honestly not sure I want him to.