Chapter 16
LINES BLURRED
Ozirax
Ozirax tugged at his shirtsleeve, squirming uncomfortably.
He’d only worn this outfit once or twice before, because how often did he need formal wear when he was meant to be wearing armor and the blood of his enemies?
The black fabric was sleek, yes, but the intricate embroidery over the one-sleeved jacket was a bit excessive.
Granted, it had helped him find a partner quickly that one night he’d been looking for something a little more exploratory, but the dim corners of a club were much different than standing post outside Enmona Manor—built by one of the original summoned demons and turned into a cultural center—in bright starlight.
This would be his future, he supposed, if he ever got around to submitting his captain’s application.
Fundraising events and political dinners.
Trading days spent wearing armor for suits and nights full of wine and mindless chatter.
His weapons would likely find their way into storage—he had no illusions his short prowess in active service would earn his sickle a place on the wall of honored warriors.
But someday, maybe, he’d have the privilege of mounting the weapons of those he supervised.
Demons paid Ozirax no mind as they walked down the long path toward the ballroom, flickering demonlights catching on all shades of colored skin.
The retiring captain had already passed him by with barely a nod, his partner looking resplendent in a shimmering gold ensemble.
Pending retirement seemed to suit them both, judging by the happy smiles they shared.
Maybe, one day, Ozirax would have that, too.
A grunt pulled him away from his staring, and he turned in time to see the toppling stack of boxes. His hand darted out, catching one of the tumbling packages before righting the tall stack. But then he noticed the red arms, the flicking tail, and he stuck his head around in curiosity.
“Severath?”
A face that was both Severath’s and not broke into a wide grin. “Nope. Just the better looking twin.”
“Lazerath,” Ozirax amended, then glanced at the boxes and sniffed. “Please tell me these aren’t—”
“Bronzeberry scones?” Laz filled in. “Of course they are. Gotta make a good impression tonight.”
Oz was going to have to limit himself to two.
Maybe three.
“Are you catering?”
The red demon nodded, boxes tipping once more, but he managed to correct them before they fell.
“Brought out all the good stuff. Put everyone in a good mood so they’ll listen to…
” He trailed off midsentence, which was uncharacteristic of him, but then immediately changed topics, which was very characteristic of him.
“Haven’t seen you out much since… you know. How’s the squad?”
Tension filled the silence, and Ozirax’s shoulders tightened. “Fine. Fine. Missing Sev, of course.”
Lazerath gaped, then gave him a smirk. “I’m telling him you said that.”
Oz rolled his eyes, but that clawing discomfort softened with the tease. “We both know you’re going to forget.”
“Nope, I’m writing it down,” Laz said, lifting the boxes away from him as he looked down his body. “Gonna put it on one of these boxes if I can find a quill. I just had one…”
“How is Sev?”
Lazerath’s energy dimmed at the question, but he gave a shrug and tried to smile.
“As you’d expect. I mean, I think you’d understand, since he was your squad leader.
Closed himself off, but it’s a good thing he’s been occupied at the house.
I offered him a horn, since they’re the exact same.
Then I almost broke the wrong one, but he said he didn’t want it.
Anyway, I’m sure he’ll be back in no time. ”
Ozirax could only nod. Because of course Severath would return. He’d be the squad leader again, and Oz would be… his captain? That didn’t feel right.
And yet, jealousy sat sticky in his gut because it always had. Ever since they were young, Severath had won everything. The fights, the awards, the skills, the partners. Just once, Ozirax wanted to claim something for himself.
Now…
“Hey,” Lazerath blurted cheerfully, oblivious as always. “Isn’t there a human with you, too? I heard she’s—”
“Spicy.”
“Uh, well, no. I didn’t hear that. Wait, did you taste her? Oz? Where are you going?”
Ozirax left the twin of his lifelong rival behind, eyes locked on the end of the path where that very human had just stepped out of the shadows.
He hadn’t seen her since the day before, when she’d waited at the infirmary until Balran had confirmed Brioni would be okay. Hadn’t talked to her since he’d whispered how proud he was of her actions in the Dreadmoor, of her, and she’d turned away from him.
Clad in a deep green, Kalypso looked prepared for battle against monster and politician both.
Her hair had been swept to the side and hung to her waist, the temple and underneath plaited while soft waves of bronze framed the braid.
Black suspenders clipped to her pants where her blouse was tucked in, a golden V of skin parting the silky fabric down to her navel.
Except, it wasn’t just skin. A sparkle flashed in the demonlight, and as he got closer, he could see the thin chain of gold around her neck, some sort of lingerie made of only the thinnest strands of metal decorating her muscled torso.
He kind of wanted one.
“You look…” he muttered, studying every inch of her. Then frowned. “Are those claws?”
Spicy glanced down, like she’d forgotten what her outfit looked like. The jewelry glinted as she held up her hand, the black metal patterned like lace and fitting snugly over each fingertip. “Diaran’s suggestion, since we aren’t allowed weapons tonight.”
Ozirax recognized the female demon’s touch in the body chain as well, all the way up to the dusting of pink over her cheeks and the paint on Kalypso’s eyelids, a fading darkness that gave the illusion of smoke dissipating.
But it didn’t hide the dullness in her mismatched blue and green eyes.
“What’s wrong?”
Kaly squeezed her hand into a fist, metal claws clinking together. “Nothing.”
“Don’t lie to me.”
She ground her jaw, but rolled her shoulders and whispered, “There’s no embroidery.”
Ozirax cocked his head in question.
“My sister. She made this for the event and…” Kaly swallowed, tongue working around her mouth. “She always does a little vine in the stitching. It’s her touch, but… there isn’t one in this outfit. Like she truly meant—”
Her voice broke on the last words, and rage filled his chest. His spikes pressed against the single sleeve of his coat, but they were raised and fierce on his exposed arm and neck.
“What do you need?”
Spicy blinked. “What do I…”
“We can leave,” he offered. “I’ll make up something that requires our attention. We go to a club and drink ourselves into oblivion. Go back to the barracks and beat the shit out of Tonomoch. Say the word.”
There was something in her frown, the way her eyes flicked across his face and down his exposed arm. Something that, despite knowing so much about her, he couldn’t decipher.
All he knew was that if his spikes weren’t already raised in anger, they would have flared at her scrutiny.
“Tonight is important,” she finally said. “You need to make a good show for the promotion.”
Ozirax considered telling her that his application was still tucked away in his room and mostly blank, but then she added, “And I just need a distraction.”
He relaxed his defenses, forgetting about his own worries, and lifted his elbow in offering. “Then it’s a good thing that’s my specialty.”
There was no hesitation as she placed her hand on his forearm, no fear of her skin near his spikes. The coolness of her touch was a reassurance, and he had no qualms about walking in with a human at his side.
Such a stark change from his initial thoughts on being saddled with Spicy.
Ozirax maintained that touch throughout every interaction and conversation, every step around the massive ballroom that brought him past the bronzeberry scones just once more, and with every rise and fall of the dance they somehow found themselves in the middle of.
Perhaps he’d been so distracted by the brush of her thumb over his bare biceps, the tip of her metal claw dangerously close to a vein.
The threat of being pierced wasn’t what had him distracted.
It was a strange but not unwelcome experience to be in Spicy’s company without exchanging jabs. Not only that, but to be so close, touching, without the urgency of finding release and going back to their vicious banter.
He liked it.
The companionship. The sharpness she returned to his prickles. The honor of earning her trust after such a rocky start.
“I forgot to mention earlier,” Kalypso said softly, eyes distant but hovering where she held him as they swayed to the music. “This ensemble you’ve got is a statement no one has been able to ignore. You look quite… handsome tonight.”
“Was that painful to say aloud?” he asked. The prick of pain just below his armpit had him chuckling. “Thank you, but I believe it is the human with claws they are looking at.”
He swept a strand of hair away from the collar of her top, the tease of her breast giving him a lot of ideas he couldn’t pursue at such a prestigious function. Then again, he’d spotted a few alcoves, cultural building or not—
“They’d be a fool not to consider you,” she continued, oblivious to his thoughts. “Listening to you speak, meeting the soon-to-be retired captain, it’s obvious that you’re going to make a difference in the guard.”
Ozirax’s tail flicked, nearly throwing off his rhythm. “Do you think so?”
She shrugged, the delicate chains along her torso clinking together. “You’re good at this stuff. The talking, the almost-truths, the smiles. You care about the demons, not just the money. And this outfit, of course. No one is as well-dressed as you.”
“Except Argeth.”
“Oh my gods.” Kalypso breathed a laugh, bringing her body closer to his. “Sheer top and corset? Does that male look bad in anything?”
“Honestly, we should test your thieving skills while everyone is distracted here. I’d love to see his closet.”
“You’d look even better in that strappy leather thing he’s got on underneath.” Her eyes widened, cheeks turning pink as she noticed his raised brow before quickly looking away. “You know… if you ever wanted to impress a future partner.”
The hopeful stirring in his belly turned sour. “Right.”
Their steps became disjointed, stiff, but Kalypso recovered faster, her thumb pressing into his skin again. “This one isn’t always easy to see. What is it?”
Ozirax glanced down to the rune inscribed on the inside of his elbow. “A defensive rune. My first year in the guard.” He chuckled, thankful for the distraction. “A complete waste of space, because it ended up being a one and done cast.”
“What did it do?” she asked, and he could see curiosity shimmering in her gaze.
“Protection. I was up late one night, studying one of those books you’ve been reading about monsters. The idea was great, a defensive shock like a scyphomoth, but… well, in my tired state, I misread the star chart.”
“It didn’t work?”
“Oh, it worked. Once.” At her raised brow, he finished with a grin, “That paper ball thrown at my head would have surely been my downfall.”
Kalypso’s face brightened, and then all of her blunt teeth were on display as she laughed. Head tossed back, bright and unrestrained, completely at ease.
Oz thought the sight of her earlier was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, but now…
Oh.
Oh, fuck.
It was both terrifying and exhilarating to finally realize what that feeling in his chest was. To have those loose threads within him that had pulled taut in these weeks suddenly spark to life with understanding.
And yet…
There was a chasm between them. A bargain, for fuck’s sake. One of his own making that said this was nothing more than bodies. It didn’t matter if he suddenly had a name for the tug he always felt around her, there was a line she’d drawn.
Quick and dirty. Mutual release. Never staying the night.
A line that he’d drawn, toed, and now wanted to leap right over. Neither of them were supposed to fall in love, but that blooming warmth in his chest said he’d utterly failed.
Then again…
Hadn’t he proposed the challenge? To get her to admit emotional attachments weren’t a weakness?
It hadn’t been about them at the time, but a hope that the squad would soon become her home.
And he’d seen it, even if he’d not tried hard to get her to say it aloud.
Not while she was still finding her place without her sister driving her every decision.
But Kalypso had admitted it. Maybe not with words, but with her actions. Through it all, she’d not only fought for and alongside her squad like a true warrior, they’d made a home where she was welcomed.
Was it possible he could prove to her…
“You okay?” Kalypso asked, nudging him gently.
Ozirax blinked out of his thoughts. Focusing on her again with that new word floating around his head, it was a struggle to hold himself back from blurting what he really wanted to say.
He cleared his throat. “That notebook you’ve been drawing in… You’ve almost got it.”
Her steps slowed, then stopped completely. “How did you—”
“Not that you need my opinion, but I think the rune would look good right here.”
His hand flattened on her ribs, just underneath the curve of her breast, and then he was stepping back. Breaking contact for the first time that night as he turned and walked away so he might think with a clearer head.