Chapter 17
If I could have taken Eve’s virginity a second, third, or hundredth time over, I wouldn’t have changed a thing.
She thought it had nearly killed me, but Knights of Hell were made of better stock than most. On a scale of superiority amongst those bearing such a prestigious title, I was born of an even heartier bloodline than the rest of them.
Eve’s assault via pillow had been nothing but love taps for a comment that I’d sooner endure forty lashings for than apologize for. Ace Reynard did not apologize. Never had, never would.
There was something… different about my Little Spade.
The energy radiating off her had shifted, something that both gave and took.
I had felt it tingling in the base of my spine before I lost consciousness.
If my spinal column had been a fuse, she would have been the spark that burned its way into the back of my brain.
Taking one final look at her curled up in my sheets, I shut the door to my bedroom.
The latch caught with a soft snick. If nothing else, she had earned the rest. When she woke, we would talk about what happened—maybe with my cock buried back in her again.
I needed to understand what transpired during those precious moments when I had been lost to the dark.
I withdrew my coveted ace of spades from the pocket of the dark green sweats I had pulled on.
Eve’s virginal blood had dried on its surface—permanently a part of the playing card, a part of me.
That moment between us would be the only acceptable reason for her to bleed.
So long as I drew breath, Genevieve Bechette would never shed another drop without my blessing.
That was the vow—that would be the vow.
Heading down to the first floor of the penthouse, I pushed open the sliding glass door that led out onto a modest balcony—modest by my terms. The large outdoor space held an oversized jacuzzi and enough outdoor furniture to host ten for a dinner party.
Time spent out here was a rarity, a luxury seldom afforded to me these days.
Sevenfold and my Little Spade were my top priorities.
Then there was Caz, the resident apathetic asshole with a crown.
At least he would be too fucking lazy to go through the effort of getting himself killed.
Once upon a time, an oversight—not a failure—of my precognition had done him a disservice, something never to be repeated.
Stepping out onto the balcony, the night air held more warmth than usual. The heat of Superbia never bothered me; it was when things grew stagnant that I grew restless.
The ace slipped between my fingers, moving like a shadow between my knuckles. It was present, but weightless. Visible, but part of the darkness.
I approached the glass balustrade, a barrier made of frosted smoke turned solid. Beneath my bare feet, the concrete remained warm from soaking up the day’s sun.
All of Superbia was lit up like firecrackers that never fizzled out. Buildings continued to breed excitement and depravity. It was a city that knew very few boundaries and even fewer morals.
Beyond the city and the expanse of desert were mountains, a barrier between this place and the next. A barrier I had no interest in crossing, not when I had everything here I could ever desire.
Standing on the balcony, staring at the landscape but never seeing its finer details allowed my thoughts to wander.
In this case, my mind was tethered back to the memory of my Little Spade.
Eve hadn’t just taken my cock. She had taken something else. Some essence of me that wasn’t lost in bodily fluids, something she absorbed, yet I couldn’t place my finger on it.
The very idea of my Little Spade taking pieces of me should have been unsettling. Instead, it was exciting in a way that made me want to fuck her senseless again just to experience it all over.
Even if it killed me.
Time stretched out there on the balcony, and I took in the sight of the city that bowed before its biggest players. Risky gambles taken at every turn, and bigger payouts than life itself.
The ace of spades halted between my forefinger and thumb. I lifted it to my lips and pressed a kiss to its face with something resembling reverence for all that it represented in my life.
There would be more time to investigate Eve’s remarkable transformation, to truly define it. As for the immediate future, I needed to make the next move in a game where chips were steadily stacking up with odds no longer clearly defined.
After returning the card to my pocket, I swapped it out for my cellphone. Fingers flew across the screen, tapping out efficient messages to an old-timer who understood discretion and power plays.
ACE
You still running circuits in Blackscale?
GRIER
Barnabel, you surprise me. I didn’t expect you to be the one who broke the silence first.
ACE
Then I’ve accomplished two things already.
GRIER
So you have. It’s been too long.
What has you interested in Blackscale? Staking out future accommodations?
ACE
Looking for someone with the last name Bechette.
GRIER
Might know a person or two.
ACE
Good. Set something up.
GRIER
Nothing comes for free, not even to Knights.
ACE
Consider the price paid.
GRIER
So quick to agree to terms. Taught you better than that.
ACE
You also taught me to play my cards like I play my powers.
GRIER
Brutality in brotherhood.
ACE
Bondage in blood.
GRIER
Bravery before bitterness.
ACE
One burn. Two swords. Kneeling before none.
An extended silence hovered between messages.
GRIER
Give me five days.
ACE
Need it in two.
GRIER
We all need something here.
Three, and we reevaluate your current posting.
My jaw clenched tight, my palm squeezing the device with enough force to threaten the phone’s integrity. I forced myself to release the tension that had rolled through me before responding with the only answer that mattered.
ACE
Convenit.
GRIER
Settled, indeed.
Grier Fyrewell was a mentor of sorts on decent days. A thorn in my side every other day. It had been almost a decade since we had last spoken. The estrangement between us had begun over a disagreement of principle.
Eternal flames flickered in every corner of the Hall of Bleeding Embers, the sacred meeting spot where all Knights of Hell congregated during periods of great transition. Those who were newly inducted and those who were entering a period of reflection—also known as retirement.
After the ceremony, the passing of torches, Grier approached me. All the others had filtered out of the room, proceeding to more celebratory activities.
“Never thought I’d see the day Crestpin himself would enter his period of reflection. It leaves the Knights underserved with the wisdom he bestowed upon us all.”
I nodded, not in agreement, but in acknowledgment. Crestpin was a cranky motherfucker. He should have parked his ass on a shelf and started collecting dust years ago.
Good riddance to the wrinkled bastard.
“His absence leaves a path for new perspectives,” I offered the alternative as a respectful challenge to current standards.
Slowing his footsteps to a halt, Grier turned to look at me with dark eyes that reflected the dancing flames on the wall behind me. His armor remained as quiet as his breaths, allowing his thoughts to grind the loudest.
“Do you know why Crestpin has remained a symbol of the Knighthood for so long? He chooses wisdom as his weapon and wields it as a means to inflict fear. That is why people bow before him. You could learn from his methods, Barnabel.”
I stood rigid next to him, spine straight with discipline.
“Lessons cut both ways, Grier.” Not always for the better either.
He made a sound that reflected both exasperation and reluctant amusement.
“Always pushing the status quo. An admirable quality, even if misguided.”
The judgment of his words weighed heavier than the armor I wore. Before I could get out a retort, he raised a gauntleted hand to silence it.
“Do you know why we are entrusted to protect those who are most sacred? It is because we are superior to all the other species we encounter. Where they lack discipline, we embody it. Where they falter under pressure, we become what only pressure can create. We teach Superbia why they bow before the Knights of Hell in matters of upholding the only duty that matters.”
The chuckle that escaped me was borderline insubordinate. Didn’t care.
Grier tilted his head to one side just enough to infer disapproval. “You disagree, Barnabel?”
I rested a hand on the pommel of the ceremonial sword sheathed at my left hip. It was a dull blade, all show and no bite. If I wanted to inflict damage, I relied on my dual swords secured within the confines of my penthouse.
“Not in matters of superiority, but in the foundation of it,” I replied, measuring my words carefully. Arguing the basic principles of our kind could easily be misconstrued as seeking separation, a lack of discipline, and worst of all, weakness.
A thoughtful nod from Grier preceded a gesture for me to explain myself.
Remaining tall in my stance, I pointed out the fault in the current mindset of the Knights with confidence.
“We are either superior to others, or we are not. There is no need to prove what simply is, Grier. Seeking validation from the lesser population is a crack in our armor. If those who kneel before us one day choose to stand, then our authority was never our own. My worth will never be dependent on others bowing before me. My pride comes from knowing I will never bend a knee to a soul who matters nothing to me.”
My mentor’s face was set in stone, unflinching and unfazed.
Then a bark of laughter erupted from him, echoing throughout the room with such force it bordered on violent.
“O-oh! You nearly had me!” His laughter hiccupped with attempts to pull it back under control, and a hand rested on top of his breastplate.
The reaction snapped something violent inside me. Scorching wrath flooded my veins, lit up my runes beneath all my armor, and crackled red in my eyes.
With a vicious roar, I lunged at Grier. The sound of metal clanging against metal filled the air as our armor collided against each other while I pinned him against the pitted stone wall.
His laughter died.
With my face inches away from his, venomous words poured from my lips. “Do not mock me! The elders may be content with complacency when it comes to our standing here in Superbia, but I am not.”
“You are a fool,” Grier hissed through clenched teeth. “You will never have the respect of your peers with thoughts like that.”
Now it was my turn to laugh. “You make the mistake of thinking that anyone here is my peer.”
Cause they weren’t; they never would be. I far surpassed any others who shared the title of Knight of Hell.
Staring at Grier, chest heaving with lingering fury, I made a silent oath to myself. I’d never let myself sink down to their flawed way of thinking.
Awareness slipped back into the present. The slight chemical smell in the air from the hot tub, the shifting of air from a faint breeze, and the ache in my joints that shouldn’t have existed after a fuck.
The phone remained in my hand, the screen gone dark with inactivity.
Thinking about the vow I made to myself that day, I could say with no artifice that I had remained true to it. Not once had I strayed from knowing who I was and what I was capable of.
I was Ace fucking Reynard, Knight of Hell. Owner of Sevenfold Casino. Protector of the Sidero family. And the sole keeper of my Little Spade.
If Grier thought that any of those things were up for negotiation in exchange for my concession, he’d be reminded that I had never knelt before him, and I sure as fuck wouldn’t start now.