Sursea’s attention cut to his. “Talking with you hasn’t worked. Nor logic and reasoning. Now I have a rather tempting new offer for you.” Over the thin material of her gown, she slowly skimmed the peaks of her breasts. The demon didn’t so much as glance down, but his namesake sin did chill the room. “Take off your pants.”
He crossed his arms, his expression forbidding. A flicker of rage ignited in those gold eyes of his. “Get out,” he repeated. “Leave before I force you.”
“Try.” In one inhumanly graceful movement, she swung herself into a standing position, her long silver dress gleaming like a sword carving through the heavens. It was time for their true battle to begin. He was riled up nicely, and there was one thing she knew—a temper could get the best of anyone, including the demon who ruled over wrath. “Touch me, and I will destroy all you hold dear. Your majesty.”
Sursea’s tone had turned mocking, meant to needle him further.
He laughed then, the sound as menacing as the dagger now pressed against her throat.
“You seem to be mistaken,” he all but growled, “there is nothing I hold dear. I want you out of this realm before nightfall. If you’re not gone by then, I’ll set my hellhounds loose. When they’re finished, whatever’s left will be tossed in the Lake of Fire.”
She’d been around princes of Hell long enough to know he was waiting to scent her fear. When he didn’t sense any, he’d grow suspicious, and she needed to retain the upper hand. She jerked forward and slashed her throat across the blade in one brutal motion. Blood spilled over her shimmering gown, splattered across the smooth marble floor, dirtied his cuffs. She knew that would be the final insult.
Unfazed by her new vicious necklace, she stepped away from him, her smile more wicked than the worst of the devil’s brothers. She would know. With the exception of Pride, she’d tried to seduce them all to no avail. For a group of scheming, selfish demons, they certainly protected one another when matters of the heart were concerned. The wound stitched itself together under his cold, watchful gaze.
“Are you certain about that? There isn’t anything you yearn for?” When he didn’t respond, her annoyance flared. She was tired of being denied such a simple request. They didn’t trust witches any more than witches trusted demons. Having her daughter banished would be best for all. There was no possibility that they would want a witch to corule over one of their precious Houses. “Maybe the rumors are true, after all. You have no heart in that armored chest of yours.” She circled him, her skirts smearing a trail of blood across the once pristine floor. “Perhaps we should carve you open, take a look.”
She allowed her attention to pause on the unusual silver and white wings of flame at his back, her grin turning feral. She’d allowed just enough time for his brow to crease. Then she struck. With one quick snap of her fingers, his mighty weapons turned the color of ash, then disappeared.
Sursea watched with satisfaction as panic seized him. A rare showing of emotion from a demon known for his cool temperament. He repeatedly tried—and failed—to summon the wings.
“Here is a trick as nasty as the devil himself.” Her voice was both young and old as she spoke her spell into existence. He swore impressively. “From this day forward, a curse will sweep through this land. You will forget all but your hate. Love, kindness, every good thing in your world will cease. One day that will change. When you know true happiness, I vow to take whatever you love, too.”
Sursea watched as he strained to summon his wings to no avail, hoping he’d want them desperately enough to do as she’d asked, especially with a curse on him now. All she wanted was to free her daughter from the philandering drunkard. To ensure her true happiness. And to keep her safe from this miserable realm. Sursea had stood by and watched her daughter’s light dim for far too long. Pride only cared for himself, was incapable of dedicating himself to one lover. Something that would be fine if her daughter was of the same temperament.
Sursea clicked her tongue once, disappointed the king didn’t release his inner monster to fight back, and started to turn away. Instead of chasing her, he spoke in a voice assassins used before they slit someone’s throat in the night. “You’re wrong.”
Sursea paused, tossing a glance over a shoulder. Not many dared to call her wrong. Especially after refusing to grant her a favor. She was a powerful ally and an even worse enemy. “Oh?”
“The devil may be nasty, but he doesn’t perform tricks.” His smile was slow, taunting. “He bargains.” Sursea watched him closely, feeling her magic stirring at the quiet threat he posed. The air between them was charged with hatred. He would kill her without thought if she didn’t possess something he wanted desperately. “Care to strike a deal?”