Chapter 15
Oziel
Isabelle is the epitome of the queen of shadows.
The moment she walked into the room, everything else faded away until there was nothing but her.
This beautiful creature, clad in deep purple and midnight blue, wears the markings of my people.
One would believe me to be a demon in my youth by the way my body reacts to her.
A visceral need to be near her. It’s an unfamiliar sensation, and yet I yearn to experience more.
I would do well to remember this marriage is nothing more than strategic. A political move to ensure my kingdom withstands our enemies. Anything else would be a distraction.
A weakness like my parents’ marriage.
I’m many things, but weak? Never.
I harden my resolve the moment I take Isabelle’s hand and Garvan ties the golden rope around our hands, symbolizing the bond we will create. At least for a little while, until I let her go.
Because that’s how this will end. With Isabelle leaving and making her own way in Mescos. She’s either the bravest woman I know or the most foolish. I haven’t yet decided.
Garvan clears his throat, thumbing through the demon grimoire until he finds the page he needs.
He starts to chant, his voice low in tone, speaking in the ancient language of our people.
I cast a glance at Isabelle, a frown on her face.
She’s clueless as to what he’s saying, which is to be expected.
No human outside our world would know the words. I take pity on her and translate.
“The ancient ones cast darkness upon us as we celebrate the joining of two entities,” I say. Isabelle snaps her attention toward me, a furrow in her brow. “Today marks a new beginning, a new power, and a new era for demonkind. Darkness will reign, stronger than before, for two become one.”
Garvan picks up the chalice full of crimson liquid.
To an untrained eye, the contents appear as wine.
This elixir is far older than wine, wielding power no other drink could.
Concocted by demons, it has been used in every demon ceremony since the beginning of time.
Every ancient history book has mentioned the elixir.
Though the name has changed over the years, the ingredients haven’t.
These days it’s called The Blood of Lucifer, one of the first demons in existence.
Garvan speaks again, and I translate verbatim.
“The Blood of Lucifer will unite these two in sin and darkness. May it heighten every emotion and sensation of the body, mind, and soul. May it cast away doubt, sickness, and weakness. The Blood of Lucifer shall not be taken unwillingly. Do you accept this fate?” Garvan addresses me first.
“I accept this fate.” My words echo around us, sounding both far away and near. My blood burns my body, preparing for the surge of power the bonding ceremony will provide us.
“And Miss Sinclair—”
“Isabelle, Garvan. Call me Isabelle,” she chastises, and Garvan glances over at me for permission. Unfortunately for her, Isabelle isn’t going to like my answer. I find myself eagerly awaiting her scorn.
“She is your queen, Garvan. You will honor her title.”
Garvan bows in submission before offering Isabelle an apologetic smile. “My queen, do you accept the Blood of Lucifer willingly?”
“There’s not much choice in the matter, is there?”
Normally I would enjoy her quick-witted tongue. May even push her for more, but for a ceremony of this importance, I don’t take kindly to nonanswers. “You must answer him, Isabelle.”
She scowls at me but otherwise doesn’t argue. “Fine, yeah, whatever. I willingly accept…that.” Her face scrunches up in disgust, and she gestures to the chalice.
“The betrothed will take a sip from the chalice. The ceremony will be complete once both parties have taken the Blood.”
“This isn’t literally blood, right?” Isabelle interrupts. “I’m not sure if you know this, but humans don’t drink blood. At least not the sane ones.”
“And what do you know of sanity, Kitten?” I ask despite myself.
I earn another reproachful glance from my bride. If she keeps looking at me like that, I may have to drag her to the bed and punish her. Or…better yet, she could punish me. That would be divine.
“Clearly nothing at all if I’m willing to marry the likes of you, even if this is only temporary.” She attempts to keep the bitterness in her tone, but a sliver of lust shines through.
Perhaps I should tell her what the drink will do. Ultimately, I decide against it because it will be much more fun this way.
Garvan offers me the chalice first. I take it from his hands, pausing a second to look at the liquid.
I steel my body, knowing the effects it will have on me.
Without further hesitation, I bring the chalice to my lips and drink.
The moment the Blood—which isn’t actual blood, but rather a combination of magically enhanced herbs and alcohol—hits my lips, my body burns.
Garvan takes the chalice back just as heat erupts from my throat, expanding to the rest of my body. Every muscle and nerve are on high alert. The smallest of touches will produce a fire within, threatening an inferno.
Isabelle stands there, eyes wide and lips parted.
Passion and lust ignite inside me, begging to be set free.
It would be so easy to pull her in my arms and taste her.
My cock hardens at the thought of the sounds she’d make.
Would she moan? Whimper? Better yet, would she yell at me, voice laced with venom? I would devour her protest.
Oblivious to my internal struggle, Isabelle turns her attention to Garvan. She studies the chalice as if it were some wild animal but then takes it from his hand. “Just one sip?”
“Just the one.” Garvan’s eyes dart to me. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say my courtier is nervous. For what, I can’t say. My brain isn’t exactly working logically at the moment. It has one track, solely focused on the beautiful nightmare before me.
Isabelle takes her time grabbing the chalice and bringing it to her lips. Her eyelids droop as she takes a tentative sip, testing out the drink before committing. I know the moment the Blood takes effect. It’s an instant change.
Isabelle’s eyes snap open; her body stiffens. The chalice drops from her grasp, falling to the floor in a crimson mess. The metal echoes off the stone tile, and she draws near. Her pupils are blown wide with what can only be described as lust. Our bodies gravitate toward each other.
Her hand touches my cheek.
Fire blazes.
I burn.
And then we are one.
Isabelle's lips are on mine, and I completely lose the fight. I kiss her with raw need. Hard. Forceful. She matches me, not easily letting herself be dominated by my touch. When she parts for me, it’s because she willed it.
My tongue finds hers in a forbidden dance. I taste her, drinking her in. She’s not sweet. I doubt there’s anything sweet about Isabelle. She doesn’t taste like sugar or flowers. No, this woman tastes of spice. Cinnamon and cloves. She burns my tongue, and I enjoy every second of it.
Her curvy body presses hard against mine. In my pants, my cock strains firmly against her stomach. I feel her hard nipples through our layers, and I yearn to unlace her corset and take a bud into my mouth. I’m half tempted to do just that, but then two hands press against my chest and push me away.
Hard.
The force of the push isn’t what moves me away from Isabelle as much as the surprise of it. She freed herself from the lust haze far quicker than I anticipated. I stumble back a step before regaining my balance. I don’t go far since we are still tied together.
“What the fuck was that?” Isabelle’s shrill voice fills the room. A storm of emotions crashes over her—anger, confusion, frustration, and maybe even a trace of heat she desperately wants to ignore.
I have no smug grin for her or taunting remarks.
My hands float in the air. Had it been in her hair?
On her back? For a moment, I allow myself to weaken.
To fall back into the spell and imagine myself kissing Isabelle within an inch of her life.
I’m not certain I would have had the strength to push her away.
Then, my mask returns. My lips curve into a slow, infuriating—to her—smirk. “Well,” I purr, voice low and calm, “that was unexpected. Didn’t realize you’d go from insults to kissing me so quickly. If I knew that’s all it took, I’d have annoyed you sooner.”
“Fuck off, Oziel.” The words don’t land as they should because there’s no real heat behind them. I’ve spooked her. Or she’s spooked herself by giving in to me so quickly. Admittedly, I feel the same. The kiss rocked me out of control, and I desperately cling to what I can.
“The Blood of Lucifer heightens the emotion of the sin you feel most in the moment. Both of yours happened to be lust,” Garvan explains, mostly for Isabelle’s benefit. I forgot the demon was still in here. I wish he’d leave.
Garvan reaches out to untie us, and Isabelle instantly jerks her hand away from me. I would be lying if I said it didn’t sting, no matter how much I wish that not to be so. “You are bonded. Congratulations.”
Garvan says “congratulations” like someone would say “I’m sorry” at a funeral. This is the death of our freedom, so the demon isn’t far off. Newfound power slithers inside me, and I feel stronger than I have in weeks. The color in Isabelle’s cheeks suggests she may feel the same.
“So, is that it?” she asks, pretending not to be affected at all, even though I can still smell the lust on her. She wants me, even if she pretends not to.
“For today,” I answer, my body buzzing. From our kiss or the new power inside me, I know not. Though, if I had to guess, I’d presume it was the former. “In the meantime, we will have a ball.”
“A ball? Why the fuck would we do that? We have shit to do, or have you forgotten?”
“Ah, you have such an eloquent vocabulary, Kitten.” My words earn me a slap to my shoulder. Isabelle notices her grave mistake the same time I do. This is the second one she’s made in a short period of time. My queen would do well to learn manners.
No one strikes a king. Not if they wish to keep their head.
Garvan sucks in a breath, and the pathetic fool takes a step back.
With a single look, Garvan takes this as his sign to leave.
Isabelle’s gaze flicks between us before straightening her posture.
The woman is brave; I’ll give her that. But she’s also foolish.
I move closer to her, and she takes a step back until she’s caught between the table and myself. “You should know I won’t hurt you, Isabelle. Not unless you ask me to.”
“You’re a dick, Oziel,” she says breathlessly.
"I'm many things, Miss Sinclair," a slow smile curls my lips, “but that one happens to be my favorite.
" I wink, then lean in until only a breath separates us.
Her heart beats like a war drum in my ears—fast, frantic.
I can smell the sharp tang of fear mixed with something sweeter, something unmistakable. Desire.
She wants me. As much as she insists she hates me, her body betrays her. And it kills her to know it. I revel in it a moment too long before taking a step back.
“But to answer your original question, no, Kitten, I have not forgotten about the task at hand. This is precisely why we are having a ball. We can keep an eye out for people then. See who is there and make note of who isn’t. See if we hear anything suspicious.”
Isabelle takes a moment to mull this over. “Fine,” she says at last, doing her best to compose herself. “Fine. We’ll have a ball. But in the meantime, I think I should try talking to the Nephilim again.”
“I agree. However, not until we speak with the other kings. Prolonged exposure to the Nephilim can’t be good. We must proceed with caution.” There is still so much unknown about the creatures, and I’m not desperate enough to gamble lives for knowledge. Especially Isabelle’s.
The other kings’ wives, however…
“Oh, and, Wife?”
Isabelle tenses at my switch of tone and the intense, piercing gaze of my eyes. “If you strike me again, be prepared for me to show you what happens to bad girls who disrespect their kings.”
“Literally fuck off.” For the second time that day, Isabelle shoves me away from her, putting distance between us. It’s like, if she allows me to get too close, she might realize she likes the proximity. “Fine. Whatever. Are we done here?”
“We are,” I answer. Though many demons fuck the moment their ceremony is complete. Somehow, I don’t think she’d take kindly to that. And as much as I would enjoy hate sex with my queen, it would be far more enjoyable if she wanted it as well. I’m not a monster. At least not to her.
“Good. Let me know when we meet with the kings. I don’t wish to be bothered.” With that, Isabelle turns on her heels and marches out of the room, leaving me with just the taste of her on my lips and the lingering smell of her lust.