I frown. “But it’s morning. The ball isn’t for hours.”
“I know,” she replies, those wide, black eyes falling on my nest of bed head and smeared mascara. Cracked out raccoon would be an accurate description of my look. “We should have started last night.”
Holy hell.
Saskia told a joke.
And it’s exactly what I need to momentarily get my mind off the anxiety that’s currently eating a whole through my stomach.
Anxiety…or something else.
As I look at myself in the full-length mirror attached to the wardrobe door, I can hardly contain my gasp. Definitely a far cry from the skimpy outfits I had been wearing this past week, and I have to admit—I’ve never looked more elegant.
Saskia stands behind me, brimming with silent pride. I turn to smile at her, the expression so foreign to me, that my face literally hurts. When was the last time I felt genuine happiness, even for a fleeting moment?
“You look beautiful, Madam,” she says, her raspy voice laced with emotion.
“All because of you. Thank you, Saskia.”
She dips her chin in a modest nod before holding out a small satchel. “This will be under the bed,” she whispers.
Perplexed, I frown. “What is it?”
“Things you may need later.”
Her vague response does nothing to dash my confusion, but before I can probe for answers, there’s a knock at the door. I instantly tense, but the absence of terror on Saskia’s face quickly eases me.
“My, my, my. Impressive,” Niko muses, after Saskia lets him in. He’s dressed head to toe in a blue-black ensemble that makes the aquamarine of his eyes appear even paler. His normally messily styled black hair is slicked back away from his face. He looks every bit like the Dark royalty that he is, and the effect is doing weird things to my insides. As if my body naturally responds to power.
“So how’d you get stuck with the task of being my date?” I ask, placing a freshly manicured hand on my hip.
Ever since Lucifer caught Niko in my room while I was half naked, things have been tense, to say the least. Niko had been playing his role of manwhore bestie perfectly, like always, but I could tell there was distance between the two. The playful banter between them seemed forced and awkward at times, and I definitely feared for Niko’s safety. Had it not been for his special circumstances, I’m almost certain he would have been torn limb from limb with me watching in horror in nothing but my underwear. So the fact that Niko had been allowed—or instructed—to escort me to the ball just seems bizarre.
Maybe we’re being set up.
Maybe this isn’t a party at all. Maybe it’s an execution.
“Just lucky, I guess. Do you have everything you need?” he asks, his gaze going from me to Saskia. I don’t miss the slight nod that comes from the impish girl. I don’t question it though. Not when my heart and mind are still plagued with fear. And Satan nor being in a room surrounded by the most dangerous creatures in existence have nothing to do with it.
Niko offers me the crook of his arm, and with a resigning breath, I join mine with his and let him lead me into the hallway. I don’t dare speak to him with familiarity outside my bedroom walls. Instead, we walk in silence for what seems like eons until we reach a golden gilt staircase, littered with dozens of people—supernatural, no doubt—dressed in magnificent finery. Rich, glittering reds, winter whites, shimmering blacks. It’s a legit ball. And judging by the massive amounts of diamonds and jewels, only each realm’s crème de la crème are in attendance.
Niko gives my arm a squeeze. “Ready?” he mutters, keeping his eyes forward. I’m almost afraid to follow his gaze.
“As I’ll ever be.”
He takes the first step, pulling me with him. As we ascend the stairs, every eye seems to fall on us with sadistic delight. As if our very presence emits an excited current that travels up to the landing, causing every head to turn in our direction. Had it not been for the fine clothing—tailored tuxedos and gorgeous ball gowns boasting rich jewel-tones—I would think I was being escorted to my own execution. A week ago, I would have teetered between overwhelming fear of the unknown and awe at the sheer splendor surrounding me. Now, I know that nothing is quite what it seems. Beauty is a distraction—a diversion—from the ugliness pulsing within these walls.
The journey up to the top of the staircase is accompanied with a sense of unease that causes my heartbeats to blur together in one rhythmic stream, much like the hum that emanates from Legion’s chest. Even if I couldn’t see them staring, I would be able to feel them. Speculation clings to the tiny hairs on the back of my neck, caressing my goose-pimpled skin with whispers and harsh giggles. They’ve all been waiting to see her—the girl Lucifer wants to make his queen. And they aren’t at all impressed with his choice.
“Chin up. Eyes forward,” Niko mutters under his breath, his lips barely moving. Another encouraging squeeze.
I do as I’m told, yet let him damn near pull me the rest of the way to the ballroom. Everything is etched in gold. The walls—bright and shockingly white—are painted with golden latticework along the borders and pillars. The design merges into the carved ceiling, hosting the largest, most breathtaking chandelier I have ever seen. It’s larger than my entire room, and each tier seems to showcase more crystal droplets than the next. The room is filled with even more of Lucifer’s precious artwork, these pieces large enough to fill the high walls and stand out against the magnificent architecture. Each is housed in its own gilded frame, matching the shimmering precious metal swirled into the marbled floor. I have no doubt in my mind that we’re standing on enough gold to eradicate world hunger. The entire space is a story of extreme wealth and opulence, bursting with notes of eroticism and guile. It’s like every single Deadly Sin in one room.
Where the dining room was drenched in the colors of death and power, this room is regal and elegant, bordering on gaudy, with its spectacular Baroque pillars and painted ceiling, mirroring something I’ve only read about in school history books.
“Michelangelo,” Niko remarks, following my awe-filled gaze.
“Huh?”
“The ceiling. Ever heard of the Sistine Chapel? Same artist.”
“You mean…Michelangelo is…here?” I purse my lips together to keep my jaw from dropping.
Niko nods just once. “His God-given talents alone were not enough for him. Lucifer made him a deal he couldn’t refuse.”
Instinctively, I look around the room, wondering how many of these paintings were done by artists that he had influenced. Lucifer had said that God often left prayers unanswered, and he would show up in His place, bestowing gifts—and punishments—of his own. All those people, seeking aid from their savior in times of hopelessness, only to be met with veiled promises and trickery. They traded their souls for their dreams, and he held the contracts. I didn’t even want to think about the steepness of that price.
“Look sharp, E. I’ll let you know when it’s time to go,” Niko whispers, moving close to my ear. Then he unravels our joined arms, only to bring my knuckles to his lips. “You look beautiful.”
It’s impossible to keep the blush from my cheeks at the feel of his cool lips brushing my skin. His piercing eyes, framed by the darkest, thickest lashes known to man, stay on me the entire time, churning with an emotion I don’t quite understand.
“Why does this feel like goodbye?” My voice cracks underneath the strain of my confusion.
“It’s never goodbye, Eden,” he replies, still holding my hand. “No one is ever gone forever.”
I’m still pondering his words as he moves away from me, melting into the crowd. But before abandonment and anxiety can creep over me, the sea of finely dressed people begins to part, making way for the master of their souls and the ruler of their fears.
Lucifer strides through the rows of people, each step deliberate and fluid. His face is a mask of porcelain perfection, and while his frame may not be as daunting as the serpent-skinne
d guards stationed around the room, his presence is enough to make the strongest warriors wither at his feet. Men and women—gods and monsters—stare at him with a combination of apprehension and longing. They want to be him. They want to fuck him. But he terrifies them, causing lust and self-preservation to wage war on their senses. I hate to admit it, but I understand that insanity. He is the epitome of everything I hate and want, all dressed up in a tuxedo that looks like it was stitched, piece by sumptuous piece, onto his gorgeous frame.
Twin galaxies find me from yards away, and freeze me where I stand on sapphire-crusted stilettos. My mouth parts reflectively, and I suck in a breath, tasting the change in the atmosphere. There’s an electric charge in the air that sizzles on my tongue, tasting of fire and sex. It’s as if his essence has been turned up a few notches, and the man that I had been dining with every evening—the man who brought me into his living space and joked with me over pancakes—was just a fraction of his incredible power. I see him now like I hadn’t before. Not just indescribably beautiful, elegant and lethal. I see a king standing before me.
“This color suits you,” Lucifer says, fingering the lace bodice of my dress. Instinct tells me to recoil from him, but something else—something I can’t quite place—holds me in place.
“Thank you,” I reply, casting my glance to the floor. Looking at him when he’s this close to me seems impossible, as if my eyes would burn from their sockets.
“You’re lovely, Eden. I’m glad you came.”
“Did I have much of a choice?” I retort before I can stop myself. Now is not the time to poke the bear. Challenging him when we’re alone, or even in front of Nikolai and the Succubi is one thing. A room full of his esteemed subjects? That’s suicide.
“You always have a choice, Eden. You chose to come here with me. You took my hand,” he replies, sliding his fingers from my dress and letting them whisper down my arm. He takes my hand, interlocking our fingers so we are palm to palm. The feel of his skin sends a tingling thrill from my chest down to my gut, and I stifle a gasp.
“I did,” I manage to say.
“Do you regret it? Now that you know the truth? Now that you see that Legion was only out to use you? He proclaimed to risk his life for you, but…where is he?”
My eyes dart around the room as I struggle to swallow that jagged kernel of truth. He’s right. It’s been days—probably a week. And Legion hasn’t come. He told me he would protect me or die trying. And the pathetic part of it all is, I actually started to believe him. As much as I hated him for failing to tell me about Adriel, and as much as it hurt to realize that I really wasn’t worth saving, I had still held out blind, stupid hope that he would come, guns blazing, and pull me out of this hell hole.
Big mistake.
He isn’t coming.
He never was.
And as I stand here, wearing a dress and heels that probably cost more than my yearly salary, surrounded with beauty and art and affluence, all I can think about is how stupid I was to ever believe that someone could look at me and see more than that troubled, rootless girl. That I could actually be someone strong and resilient. That I could ever be enough…just enough for him.
“Hey, hey…”A warm hand gently cups my cheek and diverts my aimless stare. The gorgeous beast in front of me smiles solemnly. “It’s a party, my dear. We should be celebrating.”
Right on cue, a server stops before us, holding a tray of flutes filled with champagne. Lucifer takes one for each of us.
“To the future,” he announces, holding his glass up. “To us.”
I swallow then muster a strained smile. “To us,” I say, holding up my own flute.
Lucifer taps his glass against mine, drinks, and watches intently as I do the same. I down every last drop in defiance of the roiling in my gut. I’m not sure what he has in store for me tonight, but if my suspicions are true, I’ll need all the help I can get—alcoholic and otherwise.
“Shall we dance?” he says, taking my empty flute and setting it on a tray. The servers flitter around us, not crowding, yet anticipating our needs.
“Why not?” I place my hand in his. Even with all my mental preparation and manufactured aloofness, I fail to suppress the tingling thrill his touch provides.
The crowd parts again as Lucifer leads me to the middle of the ballroom dance floor and places a hand on my waist. I’ve never had a lick of training, but he leads with such ease that my own steps become as seamless and fluid as his. Like I’ve just stepped onto his cloud and am now coasting on wisps of silk and tulle. I don’t even feel the marble beneath my feet.
The music is classical, yet there is something so hauntingly melodic about it that I find myself enraptured by the sinuous scales and keys. It’s like a symphony of bodies—feather-light and graceful—a song just for two. We dance around the room in movements, as an orchestra creates our very own story—one of darkness and death and kindling lust.
The horror from the night before is forgotten, as if it never happened. As if I imagined it all, and this graceful, elegant man would never dream of sullying his beauty with blood and gore. Maybe it was all a bad dream. Maybe my mind created the illusion of a monster, and made me see what I wanted to believe. I’m not sure. Honestly, I’m not sure of anything right now.
When I finally find the nerve to look up, fearful of stepping on his feet, I find Lucifer staring down at me, a curious smile on his lips.
“What?”
“Careful. You’ll make me believe you’re enjoying yourself,” he jibes, whirling us around. The black crystal beading on my dress jingles like diamond rain falling atop soft grass.
“So what if I am?” I retort. My face is stone, yet my voice… I can’t tell if I mean it or I’m toying with him.
“Then I’ll be forced to dance with you all night, beautiful girl.”
He dips and twirls me, causing partygoers to oooh and ahhh. That’s when I notice our captive audience.
“They’re all staring,” I whisper, eyes wide.
“So?”
“So…they’re all staring. At us.”
“Not us. You.” He pulls me closer, so close that I can feel the fire wrapped around his words. “And can you blame them? When I haven’t been able to take my eyes off you from the time you arrived?”
I have no snarky reply or even a dramatic eye roll to offer. Not when his body is pressed against mine in a way that’s only reserved for lovers. In a way that I was pressed against Legion nearly a week ago.
I have to struggle to remember that feeling. His scent…the sound of his voice…the feel of his warm skin… I have to struggle to remember it. And in so many ways, I don’t want to. It hurts too much.
“Something wrong?” Lucifer asks. The pad of his thumb grazes my chin, pulling my attention.
I shake my head. “Just a little thirsty. And my feet…” I lie.
“Of course. Apologies.”
He stills our movements and takes my hand and interlocks our fingers before leading me off the dance floor, allowing dozens of couples to take our place. But before we can escape the crowd, we’re stopped by a dauntingly handsome, regal man with striking pale blue eyes. Jet back hair, a face that must have been hand-crafted by God himself. Even with the smattering of gray hair along his temple, he is easily one of the most beautiful men I’ve ever seen.
“I must say…the rumors have not done her justice,” he remarks to Lucifer with a bow of his head.
“I’m inclined to agree. Stavros Skotos, it’s my pleasure to present the lovely Eden Harris.”
Stavros Skotos? I should have known. And now that I do, the resemblance is uncanny. This is the monster that killed his own son, and tried to destroy the other and his bride. The ruler of the Eighth Realm of Hell. And—holy shit—he’s gorgeous and magnetic, those eyes so hypnotizing that I don’t even realize that his hand is outstretched until I hear Lucifer clear his throat beside me.
“Pleased to meet you,” I stammer, giving him a limp hand. He ta
kes it and swiftly brings it up to his lips, leaving prickling cold tingles in their wake. I snatch my hand back and place it behind my back.
“It is my honor to make your acquaintance,” he says smoothly, not at all phased by my brusque gesture. Instead, he winks. “Our master has been keeping you all to himself. Hopefully, you haven’t been in total isolation since your arrival.”
“Ah, not at all,” Lucifer chimes in before I can answer. “Just wanted Eden to get acclimated before she’s released to wolves. Speaking of, she’s grown quite fond of your boy.”
At the mention of his son, Stavros frowns. “Nikolai?”
“And Dorian too, I suspect. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?” Though his face is a mask of passive perfection, I don’t miss the edge in Lucifer’s tone.
“Absolutely not,” Stavros replies without hesitance. “I have no contact with either of them. They are dead to me.”
Lucifer nods. “I’m glad to hear it. Where is young Niko tonight?” He feigns curiosity, his eyes scanning the vast ballroom. I purse my lips together, refusing any information.
“I wouldn’t know. You two have grown close, yes?” Stavros replies. There’s a hidden challenge in his words, and for a fleeting moment, I almost feel worried for him.
A server stops before us with fresh flutes of champagne. Lucifer hands one to me before taking one for himself. Again, I down mine in just a few gulps. I have no reason to abstain. What I may have suspected earlier…it was stupid. A moment of foolish anxiety.
“You could say that. I don’t like surprises,” Lucifer remarks, taking a sip. His leveled gaze stays on Stavros. “And your boy seems to be full of them.”
“If he has caused any trouble—”
“No. No trouble at all.” Lucifer smiles slyly. “But if he does, you’ll be the first to hear of it.”
Stavros, with his formidable height and unabashed charm, goes sheet white, those pale eyes sparking with blue fire. He looks afraid…genuinely terrified. “I understand,” he manages to croak.
“Good!” Lucifer exclaims before clapping him on the shoulder with enough force to make Stavros flinch. “Now enjoy the party, dear friend. Excuse us.”
End of Eden (Se7en Sinners Book 2) Page 8