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It’s in this moment that I realize my normal life is dead. There’s no way to go back to it. And not just because of Wrath. Because of assholes like these men who think they can get what they want, when they want it at the expense of everyone else.
The pain, the wetness of the blood seeping down my chest, is distant. The rage is in the driver’s seat now, fuel in my veins.
“Why do you even care? She’s just a girl. Not even a hot one.” Excuse me? If I didn’t have a gun trained on my head and blood pouring from two wounds, and pants that are about to fall off, I’d be charging across the balcony to slap that son of a bitch.
Ryder guides me back to the edge of the balcony and I bump against the railing. “If she’s no one special, then why do you care if she dies? You’ve already killed so many. What’s one more?” Wrath flexes his jaw, and the first sliver of emotion tells the truth. He does care.
As the realization of how big this is, how real it is, eats away at my bravery and my resolve. I was just held hostage by five men that were slowly cutting the clothing from my body and— Wrath pulls me in closer and his darkness envelops us, that rich, spicy night scent filling my nose, easing the panic still knotting my stomach. The Demon King saved me. Again. “Hold on,” he tells me, and then the air cracks open, pulling us away.
Wrath yanks the collar of my shirt down, assessing the wound above my breast. “Describe to me how you feel,” he says, his eyes sweeping over my chest.
How the hell is it that I’m safer in the hands of a demon king from another world than I am with mortal men? They’ve turned on me. All of them. I want to blame it on Wrath, but even before him, would any of those men have thought twice about protecting me? Or not laying a hand on me if I said no?
“Tell Lauren to get her some real fucking clothes,” Wrath says over his shoulder, “or I will not only denounce her as an ally, I’ll rip out her fucking heart and shove it down her throat.” Arthur gives a half bow. “Of course.” “Those exact words, Arthur,” Wrath says with bite.
“You keep saving me,” I answer. “To the surprise and shock of us both.” “You really think I’m something special.” “Special is a stretch. A thorn in my side is more adequate.”
“Ummm…What do you mean?” His eyes flash red. “Your desire.” “What?” I screech, eyes suddenly wide, face painted with shame. Fuck. How the hell am I supposed to control that buzzing in my core? How the hell am I supposed to ignore the way his touch ignites something inside of me even though I’d rather light myself on fire?
I’m right back where I started, naked except for a thin bit of material in Wrath’s cool, dark castle. Why do I keep finding myself in this predicament with him?
He leans in close, his spicy scent overwhelming me. “If I’m so infuriating, then why are you so wet?”
For the first time since he arrived here, he seems unsettled, and not because of the Citizens or MAW or the government. Because of me. Maybe I do hold some kind of sway over the Demon King. So I give in. I give in to the power and the thrill of it. I kiss him.
Maybe I was always starving for the Demon King. The power. The sexiness. The dark mystery of him. Now I have him. Now he’s mine and no one else’s.
The blackness plumes around him and his face sharpens to the monster he is. But for the first time, I’m not afraid of him. I’m not afraid of the villain.
But I think more than the physical, it’s the mental pleasure of knowing the Demon King can’t get enough of me.
He was right—this changes everything.
“Apologies. It’s just…I don’t think she knows. Which means she’s innocent.” “When has innocence ever protected someone?”
“Can Chaos cross over without help?” Arthur asks. “I’m not sure, but I can feel him trying.” Wait, him? Did he just refer to chaos as a person? Someone from Alius? Does the government know there are more supernatural people trying to get through? Panic flutters beneath my ribs. This isn’t good.
But the very thought of fighting Wrath burns shame through my veins. I said I hated him but now…now I’m not sure how I feel about him. He’s been kind to me, which yeah, surprised me. I can’t forget that he’s saved me twice when—
Tears burn in my eyes, and there’s a sharp pang of betrayal in my chest. I fell for it. Just like everyone else. I fell for the power. I fell for the manipulation. I thought I was somehow special. But ever since Wrath got here, he’s looked at all of us like we’re inferior to him and demanded we be subservient. Fire lights in my veins from pure rage. I should have known better. He told me to bow, and I finally got to my knees. Stupid. So fucking stupid! The rage blooms at my sternum and light shines into the room.
Behave. Behave! I’m going to burn this son of a bitch to the ground.
My face pinks just thinking about what I did last night, but I quickly bury the memories and leftover feelings. “I’ve actually been with” —I was about to say Wrath, but I’m acutely aware that every time I say his name, everyone around me looks like I’ve just called the pope by name— “the Demon King since I left your factory.”
I told Tom where Wrath’s castle was. I could easily tell Adam, but… What is stopping me? I want revenge, don’t I? He was using me, looking to take advantage of me in any way he could. But I can’t seem to get the words out. I’m not ready to give up the Demon King. Maybe it’s because I want to gut him and burn him myself, not hand him over to Adam and his team. There’s a little voice in the back of my head that says that’s not even close to the reason.
In the Low house, our Madame President is holier than the pope. Naomi Wright was only forty-seven years old when she was elected president. She has a master’s degree in English from Yale University and a PhD in political science from Harvard. She founded two non-profit organizations before her twenty-fifth birthday and went on sabbatical for a year so she could photograph remote corners of the world. My mom loves Naomi Wright and I love Naomi Wright and now I’m going to meet her.
I realize that even if a person hates Wrath, they’re still fascinated by him the same way people are fascinated by true crime and car accidents. It’s the mystery, the puzzle, the spectacle. I think I better understand the way we consume everything about him. In our internet, social media world, beauty and power travel faster than anything else.
“He was…snarky,” I admit with a smile. “Super intense though too.” I suck peanut butter from my thumb. “Beyond that, he was actually…” I trail off, the toast still clutched in my hands. “He was what?” Gus prompts. I was going to say kind, but that’s not the right word. Not when he literally had me by the throat pressed against a wall. Not kind, but not vicious either. At least not toward me. Everyone else definitely got the bite of his teeth, metaphorically speaking. But however I’d describe that, I can’t admit it to these people, not when they’ve risked their lives for me.
“He was arrogant,” I finish, because that’s also true. The asshole is captivating, and he knows it.
There’s a moment where I consider bowing to her. I won’t bow to Wrath—or at least I won’t outside of the bedroom—but I would most definitely bow to the president.
I’m on a first name basis with the president and the villain. How is this my life? Just a few days ago I was taking photographs of a bratty seven-year-old, and now I’m in some secret, remote location with the leader of the free world.
“I know everyone is interested in your connection to the Demon King,” Naomi says. “I wouldn’t call it a connection.” She continues on, “But I’m more interested in who you are.”
Did they sleep together too? She’s extremely beautiful with big, bright eyes and a slight build. Much more attractive than I am, if I’m honest. The thought of her with Wrath sends a streak of jealousy through me. I don’t want to share space with another woman who has known him that way. I want to be the only one. Goddammit. No. That’s not what I want. I don’t own him. And he doesn’t own me.
I’ve been avoiding thinking about it as much as possible and still failed spectacularly at it. There’s a nagging feeling in the back of my mind, a shadow that’s screaming at me that if I look at it more closely, I’ll realize everything I thought I knew about myself is wrong.
I’m not special. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. This is what I wanted, isn’t it? So why does it feel like I’ve been gutted? Why does it feel like something has been ripped from my body?
know he’s the villain. I know he’s done bad things, killed people, but even knowing that, the thought of ending him just makes me want to…break.
“When I find you, dieva,” Wrath says, “I’m going to make you pay for this.”
I’ve never liked Mr. Caldwell, even though I barely know him. He’s just always rubbed me the wrong way. “I didn’t think I’d be seeing you here.”
Why do I suddenly feel a thread of shame? Like I’m betraying him? I don’t like it. Maybe he really has messed with my head, like some kind of twisted Stockholm Syndrome.
this…this doesn’t feel right, but I don’t know why and I don’t know how to stop it, and even if I admitted any of that, Adam would never look at me the same again, and while we’re not exactly best friends, I want his respect.
“In Alius, calling dieva means you’ve claimed someone as yours. It is an unbreakable oath. It means that when a person has called dieva, they will do anything in their power to protect what is theirs.”
“In all of my years, I have never seen Wrath or any of the royal line call dieva.” There’s a flash of emotion on her face, something that looks an awful lot like jealousy. “They’ve never wanted something that badly.”
Does Wrath know they’re listening? I have the distinct feeling he just moved a chess piece on the game board, a move that has blocked me in.
No. Fuck that. How dare they turn on me! I’m seething. Filled with fire. Boiling with rage.
They wanted to find his weakness, and now they’ve got it.
I look over at Wrath hunched against the door, and the sight of him vulnerable, bleeding, dependent on me…it makes me want to burn down the world to save him.
“And the animus, that’s the king’s crown. It’s called the Hellfire Crown.”
