I’d always imagined he’d dutifully take an enemy to bed if it meant he’d gain something from it. Now I wasn’t sure that’s how he felt at all. There was a charge steadily building between us. And Wrath seemed poised to let it detonate. Because he wanted to. Maybe I did, too.
I moved a hand inside his shirt, keeping close contact with his skin. His pounding heart betrayed the response he was desperately trying to hide. My hand inched lower. The heat of him, the solidness . . . suddenly, I wanted this to be real.
One second I was standing there, and the next my mouth was on his, punishing, hard. It was damnation and salvation wrapped into one. I wanted to kiss him until I stopped being angry and terrified. Until I stopped thinking about my family being held against their will. Until the demonic world melted away, and all I had left was this one moment of pure oblivion.
Wrath was still for a beat before he met my lips with equal hunger. His hands slid down to my hips, anchoring me in place. It wasn’t nearly close enough. I pressed myself against him. He was gentle at first, then I swept my tongue into his mouth and he came undone.
He kissed me back hard, then his teeth were against my throat—in the exact spot he’d flicked his tongue over the night he’d used that spell to bring me back from the edge of death. I hadn’t been sure it had actually happened, now I knew it had. For one startling moment, I imagined him ripping out my throat. The fear quickly passed and was replaced by pure desire.
I gasped from the unexpected sensation. I swore I felt the strange heat from that first encounter simmering beneath my skin now. I wanted him to devour me.
Or maybe I wished to devour him.
I hated how good he felt. How right. I’d kissed boys before—drunkenly and on dares. Chaste kisses and passionate kisses, but none that were like this. Powerful. Savage. Sweet.
A reckoning awoke in me. The more I gave, the more he returned. We traded kisses like blows. And if this were a fight, I wouldn’t know who was winning. I understood why some thought kissing one of the Wicked was addictive. Each time his tongue touched mine, it felt as if the ground beneath me quaked. Like we were a cataclysmic event that shouldn’t be.
It only made me kiss him harder, faster. I tugged at his shirt, wanting it off. I wanted nothing between us. Buttons hit the ground as I yanked at the material. I dragged my fingers down the ridges of his hard stomach. His hands on my body felt like magic. It was more intense, more seductive than any spell. Somehow, we were now up against a column. I don’t remember moving. Maybe because all I could concentrate on was the way he was currently moving against me, hoisting me up. I wanted to rip off the rest of his clothes and see what else he could do. Discover what other feelings he could awaken in me. His hand slid down to my calf, then trailed up slowly, pulling my skirts with it. He didn’t stop, and I didn’t want him to.
I tipped my head back, giving him access to my throat again as he paused with his hand on my thigh. I leaned in to his touch, wanting him so badly I was almost driven to madness. Somehow I kept my hand on his chest, and pulled away from kissing him long enough to ask, “Was Envy lying when he said you need to deliver one more soul to gain your freedom?”
He startled away, but not before I got my answer in the form of a singular, thrashing beat of his heart. Understanding dawned before he shuttered his expression, and moved out from my reach. Anger filled the space around us, burning brighter and more furious than our passion.
“What is this, witch? Have you lowered yourself to kissing someone you hate after all?”
I stared at him, unblinking. It was true. I couldn’t manage anything besides a slight shake of my head. My eyes stung with unshed tears. Envy hadn’t lied—Wrath was after a soul. The realization hit me like a physical blow. I’d felt foolish when I discovered I’d accidentally betrothed us, but this?
I was going to be sick.
Wrath’s anger seemed to dissipate when he noticed the look on my face. He stepped forward, hand outstretched, stopping only when I shook my head again. He let his arm drop. “Emilia, I—”
“Don’t.”
He seemed ready to argue, but listened. Long seconds passed. I concentrated on steadying my breaths, letting my feelings untangle themselves. I was angry with him, but I was furious with myself more. I realized I’d wanted to trust Wrath. More than I’d even admitted to myself.
Even though I knew better, I wanted him to be the shining prince of this nightmare. I’d fallen under his spell and while there were times I loathed him, I’d also started to enjoy his company.