Chapter 17 The Price of Praise
THE PRICE OF PRAISE
Wyedari Oblivion looked nothing like the ruler of the Hellish domain he had lorded over the night before. No dark armor, no throne carved from obsidian and bone. No power pressing visibly against the edges of the room.
No, now he was dressed in a tailored suit that fit his massive frame with infuriating perfection.
The dark fabric cut sharp, every seam following the lines of his body as though magic itself had shaped it to him.
His pale hair was neatly tied back, emphasizing his regal features.
He looked corporate, composed, devastatingly out of place, and entirely at ease all at once.
My heart dropped into my stomach, and I promptly forgot how to breathe.
For a moment, I genuinely wondered if I’d finally snapped.
If this was what a nervous breakdown looked like, complete with hallucinations that followed you to work and sat in on meetings like they paid rent. I blinked once. Then again.
But he didn’t disappear.
No, instead his gaze found me immediately.
It was subtle, the shift in the room, but it was one I felt like a physical touch.
Like a hand closing gently but firmly around my spine.
Those pale blue eyes locked onto mine with quiet certainty, recognition sparking there without surprise, without confusion, as if he knew exactly where I would be and when.
The dream crashed back into me without warning. The throne. The web. His arms closing around me… You are mine now. My pulse spiked hard enough to blur my vision, heat flooding my face as a thousand questions collided in my head at once.
What the fuck was he doing here?!
How did he know where I worked?
Why did he look so unfairly good in a suit?
I became acutely aware of myself in that moment.
Of the way my pencil skirt hugged my hips.
Of the faint scent of my perfume. Of the bandage wrapped around my hand, cementing last night’s events as something physical and inescapable.
I felt exposed in a way that had nothing to do with naked skin and everything to do with being seen in my soul-baring entirety.
And then my boss cleared his throat behind me.
“Well…” he muttered under his breath,
“Don’t just stand there.”
My feet moved because they had to, because everyone was watching, and because collapsing dramatically in the doorway felt like poor office etiquette. I stepped further into the room, letting the door close behind me, the sound carrying the finality of castle gates slamming shut.
I could feel Oblivion’s attention on me like a weight, steady and unrelenting. The type that made my skin prickle in a way that had absolutely no place in a professional setting. I fumbled with my bag, fingers clumsy, trying to ground myself in something solid and normal.
This was a meeting.
This was work.
He was just a client.
Yeah, yeah, you keep telling yourself that, Eliza, I thought, barely suppressing a groan. The lie barely formed before it dissolved. He was about as far from just a fucking client as one person could get!
“Now that we’re all here,” my boss said briskly, clapping his hands together,
“We can begin. As you know, this presentation has been rescheduled at the client’s request.”
My stomach twisted.
Oblivion leaned back in his chair, one arm resting casually against the table, the picture of relaxed authority. When he spoke, his voice was exactly as I remembered it, smooth and controlled enough to carry without effort.
“It was, for I felt it was important to see this personally,” he said, his gaze never leaving mine, and my breath caught despite myself.
As for my boss, he was practically beaming at him, making me wonder what that look of adoration would turn into if he knew the truth.
“Of course. We’re very proud of the work that’s been done. Miss Shadowmere has, up until now, been leading the campaign,” Mr. Banner said, by way of introduction, I suppose.
Although, I found myself wondering what he would do if he knew how we had already met. Because I was fairly certain an exorcist would be summoned before lunch.
Oblivion’s eyes flickered briefly to my boss, then returned to me, something dark and knowing curling faintly at the corner of his mouth. When he spoke again, it was softer and unmistakably directed at me, even as the rest of the room listened.
“Miss Shadowmere, I presume,” he said smoothly, tilting his head just enough to be unquestionably familiar.
The room waited.
And I stood there, frozen, my heart pounding, my mind screaming two words over and over again, as the weight of his presence settled fully into place. They were…
Oh… and… Fuck!
I didn’t realize I’d stopped breathing until the chair scraped the floor at the head of the table when Oblivion stood.
The movement drew every eye in the room, but it was the way his attention narrowed that made my pulse jump. As if everything else had ceased to exist for him in that instant.
He didn’t rush.
He didn’t hesitate.
He simply stepped away from the table and began walking toward me, unhurried and assured. The measured pace of someone who had never once questioned whether the space ahead of him would part on command.
It did.
No one spoke as he crossed the room. Conversations died mid-thought, bodies stilled, and I was painfully aware of how small the distance between us suddenly felt.
My skin prickled as though the air itself crackled like static.
I was also forced to keep myself in place, despite the urge to flee riding me hard.
Then he stopped in front of me, towering over my frame with his arrogant composure that I couldn’t help but be shamefully attracted to. I also had the absurd urge to look around. To check whether anyone else was seeing this, whether this was happening to everyone or just me.
Then he extended his hand.
The gesture was impeccably polite, entirely professional, and somehow far more unsettling than anything he had done in his club.
His fingers were thick, long, and strong looking, with his palm open in silent expectation.
His gaze fixed on my face with that same quiet certainty I’d seen the night before.
I hesitated for half a heartbeat.
Then I took it.
The moment our skin touched, something coiled sharply through me, a pulse of recognition that had no business existing.
A heat sliding up my arm and settling low in my chest, just like the night before.
It wasn’t painful, but it wasn’t gentle either.
A fleeting sense of alignment that left me unsteady.
And in response, my fingers curled instinctively around his before I could stop myself.
His thumb shifted, just slightly, pressing against the inside of my wrist as if wanting to familiarize himself with my pulse. As if tethering himself to my heartbeat or something equally as profound.
I sucked in a shuddering breath.
“Miss Shadowmere,” he said again, his voice low and even, pitched perfectly for the room while somehow still sounding as though it was meant only for me.
“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” he added with the barest hint of a smirk, one dripping with hidden meaning.
I opened my mouth to respond, but nothing came out at first. Until a curse muttered behind me broke the spell. My boss stepped forward, close enough that I felt his hands settle on my shoulders firmly, as if this was a familiar gesture meant to ground me.
“I apologize,” Banner said quickly, a tight laugh threaded through his words.
“She’s had a stressful few days, long hours and all that. Be assured, she is very dedicated to this account, aren’t you, Eliza?”
Oblivion’s grip on my hand didn’t change.
But the temperature in the room did.
I felt it before I understood it. A sudden chill crept along my spine as his gaze slowly shifted from my face to where Banner’s hands rested on me. The expression he wore didn’t just darken… it was scolding.
Mr. Banner faltered quickly, feeling it for himself as his hands withdrew.
As if he’d touched something hot, his smile slipping as he took an unconscious step back.
He cleared his throat, visibly shaken, and busied himself straightening his jacket as though embarrassed by his own reaction.
But Oblivion still looked like he wanted to crush every bone in his hands just for touching me.
The memory of him doing exactly that last night crept back in, clinging to me like a horror story that wouldn’t let go.
So, I finally found my voice and with it the hope of preventing bloodshed.
“Mr. O… Minos, it’s nice to meet you,” I said, and it was enough to snap the killing cord as his gaze lowered back to mine.
As if I had clicked my fingers in front of his face, a single brow of his rose in silent challenge in this new game of make-believe we were playing.
“I’ll, erm… well, I’ll let you get settled, Eliza,” my boss said, forcing an easy tone as he tried to slice through the tension humming between us, something no one else in the room could have possibly understood.
I nodded in response as Mr. Banner took his seat.
Which also meant it was time for Oblivion to finally release my hand, the moment beginning to look strange, like a hug between practical strangers that lingered a beat too long.
The absence was immediate and disorienting, my fingers tingling as if they’d been deprived of heat. He inclined his head once, satisfied, his attention returning to me as if the interruption had never existed at all.