by Cate Corvin
All he’d have to do was squeeze and I’d be crushed.
“Don’t squish me, please.” I spoke against his ear, his silky hair covering my mouth. He smelled absolutely delectable, a maddening scent that did nothing to extinguish the heat growing deep in my abdomen. “Friends don’t let friends bear hug each other to death.”
“Are you sure you want to be friends with this, Melisande?” I felt his lips moving when he spoke, tickling my neck. His arms tightened a fraction more.
But he sounded more like himself, the growl in his voice lessening. Relief coursed through me alongside the forbidden lust.
“Of course I do.” I wriggled just enough to free my arms, blindly searching until I found his jaw. I carefully pried him away from my neck, forcing him to look at me. “I’ve already staked that claim. No take-backs.”
The darkness was flickering again, fading back into the midnight blue irises.
He was only a breath away, close enough to kiss. I held my breath, wondering if he’d push forward, half-hoping for it despite myself.
Tascius released a long, low breath, and his arms loosened. Instead of freeing me, he scooped me up in his arms, effectively demonstrating how much smaller I was compared to him.
“I need to get rid of this,” he muttered, cradling me out into the empty training room. Only a few smears of blood marked where Blind Luck and Lady Savage had been thrown.
He deposited me on top of a large cabinet and rustled around inside for something. I raised my eyebrows when he pulled out a double-headed axe that was longer than I was tall.
Then he dragged over a rather realistic training mannequin made of hardened wood and iron. His eyes were still swirling with separate colors.
I realized what he meant by needing to get rid of it. Whatever that darkness inside him was, he needed to release it through violence, or…
I didn’t allow myself to linger on the other possibility, though his closeness in the meditation room had made it pretty clear.
Whenever Tascius was possessed by what I could only think of as his other self, fighting or fucking was on the table.
A heated flush ran over me as I watched him swing the massive axe like it weighed nothing, hacking away bits and pieces of the mannequin. Chunks of wood and iron flew across the room.
He raised it overhead, the muscles in his torso flexing, and brought it down hard on the center of the mannequin.
The entire thing split apart like cordwood, iron bands snapping like wires.
Tascius tossed the axe aside, gleaming with sweat and breathing hard, but his eyes were blue again. Normal.
Unpossessed by a creature of lust and rage.
“Got it out of your system?” I was sitting cross-legged, very comfortable on my perch.
He flung back his long hair and ran a hand through it. I kept my eyes glued firmly to his face, not the glistening body under it.
Tascius hesitated for only a brief moment. “It’s gone.”
How far under the surface did that darkness lurk? Maybe it was always there, simmering just under his skin. “What did that poor mannequin ever do to you?”
He smiled, flashing white, slightly-too-sharp teeth. “We’ve had a longstanding disagreement that needed to be settled.”
I slung my legs over the side of the cabinet, gripping the edge as I leaned forward. He mopped his face with a towel from a sideboard, and I took the minute that his face was hidden to peek at the rest of him.
Glorious.
He dropped the towel in a basket and held up his hands to me. “Come on down, friend.”
I let my wings spread. “I’m a big girl, I can get down on my own.”
“Not that big.” Tascius smirked.
“Wow, we’re going to bring size into it, huh?” I jumped off the edge, wings spread to slow my fall, but Tascius grabbed me out of midair. “I bet you think moving that fast makes you hot shit.”
“I don’t think, I know.”
I braced my hands on his shoulders, but I let my wings fold. Despite his inner creature, I had a strangely implicit trust in Tascius, that he wouldn’t harm me.
He placed me on the floor and stood up straight. I was barely chest-high on him.
I looked up. Way up. “Thank you for-”
He placed a finger over my lips, silencing me. “Friends don’t thank friends for doing what friends should do.”
The sensation of him touching my lips was almost unbearable. I grabbed his wrist, pulling his hand away before I did something silly that would irrevocably blur the lines of friendship. “Nonetheless. You didn’t have to take them on for me.”
“Perhaps I wanted to,” he said, but he sounded distracted. He flipped his wrist out of my grip and grabbed mine, forcing both of my palms open.
Horror jolted through me when I realized I’d revealed my right hand. He examined my left palm first, taking in Belial’s spiraling sigil with a small snort, but it was the slowly-fading burn on my right palm that held his interest. “What’s this, now?”
Now that my hand had mostly healed, the remaining burns stood out in a stark diamond-like pattern of redness, from the heel of my palm to my fingertips.
“I was hurt when I fell.” I curled my fingers, and he allowed me to hide the marks again.
To my relief, he didn’t pry. He just touched me under my chin, raising my face up to look at him again.
When I’d first fallen, I didn’t think it would be so hard to not sin.
Now that I was here, I understood why it was so easy. I wanted to taste him, strictures be damned. There was no point in being loyal to laws that no longer affected me.
“Melisande.”
I licked my lips, my mouth suddenly dry. “Yes?”
“Thank you for trusting me.” He was much too close, so close the heat of his body warmed me through my clothes. That glimpse of sorrow I’d first seen in his eyes was back, and it made my heart tighten in my chest.
I could rise up and kiss him. Belial had already done it to me, so I was corrupted regardless.
I wished he would do it, force my indecisive hand.
I forced the feeling aside and plastered on a smile. “Friends don’t thank friends…”
“For doing what friends should do,” he finished with me. But there was disappointment in his gaze now, and the sadness was hidden.
Like maybe he’d been wishing for the same thing as me.
9
Melisande
“I’m pretty sure he’s trying to kill me through boredom.” I picked at the seams of my bedsheet, unraveling the perfect stitching into a mess. “It’s been five days.”
“He has a lot of new blood to run through. They come just to watch the bloodbaths, but he saves the rest of us for big events just to keep the regulars on their toes.”
I’d thought my new bed was huge, but Tascius took up most of it.
He had his arms crossed behind his head, and for once he was wearing a simple shirt, much to my dismay. At least being spared the sight of his torso kept the worst of the intrusive thoughts out of my head.
“I thought Hell was a nonstop party. He should be throwing me out there every chance he gets.” I sighed, tucking my legs closer to my chest and wrapping my wings around myself like a blanket.
I hadn’t seen Lady Savage or Blind Luck since Tascius’ alter-ego had smashed them into a wall and tossed them out of my vicinity, but Tascius had taken it upon himself to stay close to me.
Still, I couldn’t make the mistake of thinking they were down or out. That would be a fatal misconception.
“It’s the scarcity principle.” Tascius picked up a loose piece of down, spinning it between his fingers. His brows drew together as he examined it. “You might be the only angel he ever gets to put on the floor. The arena hasn’t been this packed since I’ve been here. Every day they’re out there hoping they get to watch you fight and betting, and a lot of that gold makes its way to Belial’s pockets.”
“So I’m just a piggy bank fo
r him,” I said glumly. Oddly, the idea was a little depressing. Maybe I’d been hoping that Belial was interested in me for more than that, even though I had no intention of giving in to him.
Tascius gave me an odd look. “What’s a piggy bank?”
“It’s an Old Earth thing.” I waved a hand. “Never mind. The point is, the longer he keeps me back, the longer I’m stuck here. I’ve got things I need to do.”
“And people to kill,” Tascius murmured.
“Amen.” I opened my right palm, examining the fading burns. The pattern inscribed on my skin was beginning to take the silvery cast of a scar. It wasn’t perfect, but it was better than having the pattern etched in vivid red, almost impossible to hide.
Then I looked at Belial’s mark. No matter what I did or who I killed, I had my sins written on my palms forever.
Tascius didn’t push. I felt his curiosity rolling off him in waves, but he didn’t ask, and I didn’t answer. He had his own secrets, so he understood the reticence. I desperately wanted to know what Acheron was, but if I asked him, he’d know I was prying.
“Maybe I should go train some more. When he does finally start my next round, I’ll be able to tear right through them, and maybe I won’t languish to death in the meantime.”
The second I stopped speaking, someone knocked on my bedroom door.
“Speak of the-” I started to say, and stopped myself. That phrase hit a little too close to home right now.
I bounded off the bed and answered the door, expecting an Overseer to be waiting for me with another stupid costume I could flush down the toilet.
Instead I was greeted with a vision of beauty. I blinked, but she didn’t disappear.
An albino succubus smiled at my look of puzzlement. She was all silver and white and curves, wearing an outfit that seemed to be made of nothing but white leather straps that left almost nothing to the imagination, and a pair of snowy bat wings were tucked in against her back.
Eyes the color of rose petals, shaded deep pink and red, took me from head to toe. She nodded with satisfaction. “I can definitely work with this.”
“Work with that?” I asked stupidly, and Tascius sat up on the bed behind me, gazing at the newcomer.
An unpleasant jolt went through me, and I wanted to slam the door in the succubus’ face. It took me far longer than it should have to pinpoint the foreign emotion: jealousy.
It had been a very long time since I’d committed the sin of envy, but I was more aware than ever at that moment that I was wearing baggy clothes and had made every effort not to look in a mirror more than was absolutely necessary.
It was impossible for any red-blooded demon to look at this succubus and not want her.
I realized I didn’t want Tascius to want her.
He’s not yours. Calm your ass down.
“You. Belial said you were being impossible, so I’m here to act as your new clothier and make sure you look like you belong in the arena. Showmanship is very important, and this-” She waved her hand at my scavenged clothes, showing off silver-tipped talons. “This isn’t gonna cut it.”
“What’s wrong with this?” I snarled, but a warm hand enveloped my shoulder. I looked up at Tascius, who gave me a faint smile.
He leaned in close and whispered in my ear. “If you let them dress you up, you might find yourself in the arena more often.”
I nodded, my brow furrowed. All I had to do was let them make me pretty… and I could leave sooner.
It seemed like a fairly acceptable sacrifice. “As long as it doesn’t involve strings,” I muttered. The succubus’ eyes lit up, sensing she’d won.
“Get out,” she commanded Tascius. “No one can see the final product until I’m done.”
He squeezed my shoulder again, his hand drifting down to my fingers before he released me and left. That jolt of jealousy was gone, thank god. He hadn’t spared her a glance before he left.
Hell really was turning me into a fickle monster.
“Bring it in, ladies.” The succubus pushed me inside my room, circling around me as several human shades in gray robes dragged chests into my quarters.
I prickled under her assessment. I was clean and reasonably groomed, so there was no need for the critical look in her eye. “So who are you, exactly?”
“Erisvyra.” She’d taken on a dreamy tone as she lifted my arms and examined my fingernails. “They just call me Vyra. My brother was very insistent that we get you out of these rags.”
“Belial’s your brother?” I crossed my arms over my chest while she raked her claws through my hair.
Vyra laughed. “Oh, no. Absolutely not. I’m speaking of Azazel, but he and Belial have a longstanding arrangement for my services, so here I am.”
“I’ve never met an Azazel, and why would he care about my clothes?”
The succubus paused in front of me, squinting as she examined my face. “You’ve met. Now, tonight is a themed Ladies’ Night and you’re fighting to third blood against one of my kindred, so we really need to make you pop. Lots of sparkle, lots of… shazam.”
“I don’t know if shazam is really my thing,” I mumbled, but Vyra was already dragging me over to my neglected dresser and forcing me to sit. She whipped out a hairbrush and started picking through my hair.
Okay, so maybe there were a few more tangles than I’d thought. Looking good in Hell seemed like an invitation for a bad time.
“Well, Belial insisted, so you’re going to make it your thing whether you like it or not. Ladies’ Night is very popular around here. He’s not going to let you walk out there looking like you rolled around in a midden heap. It’d reflect badly on his business.”
I watched Vyra in the mirror as she smoothed my hair and rubbed cream in the ends. She caught me watching and winked. “Between you and me, I think he just wanted an excuse to get you out of these shapeless things. When I’m done, you’ll look good enough to eat.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
One of the shades was laying bits of cloth across my bed, and another one brought over a leather case that Vyra rummaged through enthusiastically.
I closed my eyes, my stomach churning. There was no way she’d let me get away with throwing whatever she had packed in the incinerator.
She took advantage of it to start dabbing paint on my eyelids and lips. Something poked my forehead, the corners of my eyes, and my cheeks. I didn’t open them even when she started braiding my hair, twisting and tugging on occasion. One of the shades took my hands one at a time, shaping and painting my nails.
All too soon, I heard her clap her hands. “My fingers are magic! Gorgeous. You’ll knock ‘em dead.”
I cracked an eyelid, and opened them both wide, taking in the stranger in the mirror.
She’d painted thick dark wings of kohl over my eyelids and dabbed pink on my lips. Tiny glittering diamonds had been glued over my face in a swirling pattern. My top half of my hair was braided in an intricate crown and studded with more jewels. I held up my hands, examining the glittery black lacquer on my nails.
Fuck. I did look pretty.
“Now it’s time for the cherry on top,” Vyra sang, pulling me out of the chair. Instead of pulling my shirt over my head and ruining my hair, several of the shades descended on me with silver shears, cutting the clothes right off me. I bid them a rueful farewell, and balked when I saw what Vyra had planned.
“It’s not strings,” she said, holding up a sparkling black top that was little more than a bra. Diamond-studded chains hung from the front and around the shoulders. “And you get pants. See? I even made a concession for you.”
I blew out a breath, scowling. “Fine.”
She gleefully strapped me into the tiny thing that pushed my tits up to terrifying heights, and I stepped into a pair of skintight black shorts- Vyra had a much looser definition of pants than I did. She fastened a belt around my waist that was hung with gauzy black veils that drifted like spiderwebs, showing my legs through artfully-ar
ranged slits.
“How am I supposed to fight in this?” One of the shades was now painting my toenails, while the other inked swirling tattoos up my calves.
Vyra fastened a choker around my neck while the shades painted my arms and shoulders. “You’ll think of something. Look at this way, the competition will be wearing the same sort of thing. The theme is One Thousand and One Nights. Everyone will be glittery.”
“My entire stomach is showing.” I looked down. The belt and shorts were low on my hips. There was nothing left to the imagination there. “What sort of defense is this?”
Vyra snorted, tossing silver hair over her shoulder. “Right, like an old shirt was any better.”
She had me there.
“Can I glue some diamonds to your wings?” she asked speculatively, and I drew them close to my shoulders in horror.
“Absolutely not! I use them, they need to be functional.”
Vyra sighed sadly. “Oh, well. Maybe next time.”
I refrained from pointing out that there wouldn’t be a next time, because I already knew I’d give in. If it got me to my seventh round faster, I’d let her paint me like an oversized doll in whatever she liked.
They finally released me, and Vyra spun me towards the mirror. “Now, tell me how good I am.”
I took in the full sparkling, swirling array of darkness they’d painted on me. “You’re really damn good,” I admitted.
“The best,” Vyra mused, nodding at my reflection.
“Absolutely.”
Gabriel would’ve shit a brick over the sheer excess of vanity, which perversely made me like it more. Maybe it wasn’t so bad, looking pretty.
“Now let’s see what your big friend thinks.” Vyra steered me towards the door even as I balked. “It’s the first test, Melisande! I won’t let it be said that my work won’t bring men to their knees.”
I followed her into the common room, forcing myself to keep my arms at my sides despite the urge to clasp them around my bare stomach. A little ball of nerves churned in my gut.
Tascius was sitting on the couch, his back to us. Vyra waved me on with little flicks of her fingers, her eyes wide with excitement.