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Ramanu grins. “That right there is why I am. You’ll do right by her. I have no doubt about that.”
I don’t ask about the other territory leaders, though curiosity threatens to sink its teeth into me. I may not know them on a personal level, but I know how they operate. Some of them will fare better with their humans than others. Still, Ramanu’s confidence in me smoothes something jagged in my chest. “Thank you.”
“Wear that dress for your party.” Their smile goes mischievous. “If she doesn’t have a heart attack from shock, she won’t be able to keep her hands off you.” There’s a slight pop as the air pressure changes, and then Ramanu is gone.
I glare at the space they just occupied, but the expression is half-hearted. “Dramatic to the bitter end.” I move to my bed and pick up the dress they tossed there, then run my claws carefully over the slick fabric. They’re right, of course. This dress is meant to seduce and may even be enough for Belladonna to forget her shame and see what it could be like on the other side...
It’s perfect.
9
BELLADONNA
Ikeep expecting Rusalka to return, but they don’t. Not through the long afternoon hours where the sun creates lazy beams through the window that I can hear people moving about the square through. Not as the sky deepens to a dusky blue color and stars begin to appear. Not when dinner is brought to my door by a cranky, short woman named Jitka who demands I eat the whole plate before leaving and slamming the door behind her.
That makes me wonder if I’ve upset Rusalka.
No, that’s not the truth.
I know I’ve upset them.
I want to pretend I don’t know why, to cling to some indignation at the fact that I’m giving her what she wants and now she doesn’t want it. That would be false indignation.
Rusalka is a good person. Maybe I haven’t known her long enough to make that claim unilaterally, but it’s hard to argue otherwise. In the same situation, my parents and Pastor John wouldn’t have hesitated to accept my sacrifice as their due. Even Ruth wouldn’t question the necessity of it, though it might bring her more sorrow than she’d show to anyone but me. Of course one person sacrificing to benefit the whole is the way to go. Of course we don’t need to worry about that single person. They’re doing the right thing.
I’m so distracted, I can’t even enjoy the rainbow of clothes that showed up in my wardrobe while I was out this morning. I’m nearly certain they’re the same as those options from Azazel’s castle, which raises questions I’m not sure I’m brave enough to ask.
I manage to pull on a pretty deep-red dress with an overlay that floats around me as if by magic and a fitted, shorter sheath bottom layer. Even as I pull my hair up into some semblance of order, I pretend I didn’t pick the dress because it’s red and made me think of Rusalka. I tell myself I don’t care what they think of it.
In short, I lie.
A knock on my door has my heart leaping into my throat. I rush over and throw it open, but my smile fades as I don’t find the person I’m most looking forward to seeing.
Instead, there. are two strangers. One is a few inches taller than me and has dark-brown skin, an athletic body, and flames flickering around their form. Succubus, then. They wear loose black pants that taper to their hooves and an equally loose gray shirt with a daring deep V that leaves most of their chest exposed.
The other is nearly as tall as Rusalka, with a mass of dark curls that seems to move in a wind I don’t feel and skin that’s a patterned combination of medium brown and a color pale enough to be termed literally white. I know what this is called. It takes a moment for the term to come to me—vitiligo. No flames to be seen. Is this an incubus? They have on a flowing set of robes in a deep orange that simultaneously shows off and hides a curvy body depending on how they move.
I realize I’m staring and clear my throat. “Hello.”
“You are a pretty little thing, aren’t you?” The curly-haired one takes a step toward me, but the succubus pulls them back. They give the succubus a pouting look. “I was just being friendly.”
“Save it for the party.” The dark-haired one turns to me and offers their arm. “I’m Danik. This is Zhenya.”
Zhenya jerks a thumb at Danik. “He/him.” They point to themselves. “Ze/zir. Rusalka said you would ask.”
To my shame, I’m already so overwhelmed, I don’t know if I would have remembered to ask.
They’re both beautiful in a way I don’t know how to define. It’s not necessarily the kind of beauty I grew up feeling shame from wanting to strive for—too sharp, too off-kilter—but it draws me all the same. “I’m Belladonna,” I finally manage.
“We know.” Zhenya doesn’t say it unkindly. Ze smiles. “Come play with us, pretty human.”
I set my hand on Danik’s arm in a daze. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“So polite.” Danik’s smile is a little too wicked to be comforting. It makes my whole body go tight. I try to fight the feeling; it feels like a betrayal to Rusalka. From the way his smile widens, he senses my desire the same way Rusalka always seems to.
I’m too overwhelmed to come up with a response as they escort me down the hall to the stairs. This house is larger than any I’ve been in to date, Azazel’s castle excepted. It looks like something out of a movie, all luxurious carpet and deep greens on the walls and brown of the trim. The stairs are wide and curving and take us down to the foyer. There, we turn inward again, and go through yet more halls to a wide set of double doors.
Inside, the air smells of cloves and cinnamon, and it’s several degrees warmer than the rest of the house. There are strangely shaped couches and chairs arranged around the area, and a large chest is tucked in the corner near a wardrobe that’s easily twice the size of the one in my room.
