Page 52 of Realm of the Wicked

He barked out a laugh. ‘Of course she did. My own puppeteer.’

I didn’t pretend to understand what he meant. All I focused on was right now, Damien was touching me.

‘At any given moment, I’m stopping myself from going too far. But I always think, maybe a taste would sate me. Or maybe it would drive me insane.’ He stared up at me, open and vulnerable, as if I held the answers he needed.

‘Maybe… maybe it would help us both,’ I whispered.

Before I could stop myself, I leaned closer, and with every inch I covered, I expected him to pull away, to grow cold. He didn’t pull back. Didn’t grow cold.

Until sharp clapping separated us. We froze, both of us whipping our heads around at the sudden intrusion.

‘How… romantic,’ Clarissa drawled. She stood in the doorway, looking as elegant as ever in a pitch-black dress, her blonde hair twisted into a tight bun on top of her head. The only contradiction was her pinched face, like she’d just sucked on a lemon.

‘Clarissa,’ Damien greeted her, getting to his feet. ‘I thought Agatha was escorting you to the dining room.’

‘Yes, well, I wanted to say hello first, and good thing I did. Otherwise I would’ve never gotten to see this side of you, Damien. Titillating, truly.’ Clarissa looked like she’d actually prefer to bleach her eyeballs at this point, but I wasn’t about to offer up that information. She turned her scowl in my direction. ‘Stella. How wonderful to see you again. Soul intact, no less.’

Well. I guess that answered that question. ‘Hello,’ I said, aiming for the perfect blend of demure and respectful, while making sure there was just enough venom injected into the words that she would understand I wasn’t a pushover. Tired, yes. Exhausted, even. But I spent years protecting myself and Grace. I was not a wilting wallflower.

Her smile tightened, and despite her beauty, it was artificial to the point of grotesque. She was going to say something cruel, acknowledge the acidity in my words, and send me straight to Hell. I could see it in her cold eyes.

Before she could, Damien interrupted smoothly. ‘Yes, well, now you’ve said hello, let’s be off, shall we? Agatha would have my head if we let her dinner get cold.’

His tone left no room for debate, and he pressed his hand against the small of my back as he led us out of my bedroom. His touch was warm, pressing into the smooth silk, and I leaned into him, my blood still singing with the thought of his hands tracing every square inch of my body.

‘I thought you had a plan,’ I whispered, eyeing Clarissa walking ahead of us.

‘I do,’ he muttered.

‘Some plan if she already called me out on still having a soul.’ I tugged at the slit of my dress, suddenly feeling very much on display.

‘My plan is not reliant on her thinking your soul is missing. There is no fooling the Council. My plan involves making Clarissa see the fault of her requirement in the first place.’ His fingers dipped along the low back of my dress, teasing.

I blinked. ‘Will that work?’

‘We’ll find out soon enough.’

I huffed. Damien was entirely too unbothered by this whole situation, as if it wasn’t my soul and his entire identity on the line. Shouldn’t he at least show the slightest bit of concern to keep up with my racing nerves?

Clarissa met up with her two lackeys at the dining-room door, and they disappeared inside. I tried to remember their names. The one that looked like a rock person was Lars, I thought. He was currently spreading dust everywhere with every step he took. The taller one, Silas.

Damien pulled my chin up to look at him. ‘It’s going to be fine. Above all else, I promise you that. I will not let them hurt you.’

I tried to breathe. Agatha told me he cared about me. I had to believe that. Finally, I nodded, pulled my hand out of his and entered the dining room first.

Despite having had dinner in here for weeks, I was overwhelmed by the table now formally set for six instead of three. Black ornate candelabras dotted the space, the flickering flames emphasizing the shining silver platters, where Agatha’s dinner proudly sat. I went to round the table and take my seat next to Damien, but Lars stopped me, pulling out the chair next to him, ash lingering from his touch. Agatha was not going to be happy.

‘Here, Stella, sit next to me.’

I glanced up at Damien, who offered me the smallest nod. So I sat, shifting my weight as far to the opposite side of the chair from Lars as I could get. Damien sat across from me, although his blank face offered me nothing. Lars stared at me as he passed me the platter of salmon, roasted with lemon and herbs. For a moment, it was peaceful. Nothing but the sounds of eating and silverware clanking. Temporary, though. It had to be.

Agatha had gone all out for dinner. The salmon. Zucchini baked with parmesan. An orzo seasoned with something I’d never tasted before. The demons sharing our table picked at their food, barely tasting anything.

Sure enough, Clarissa set her cutlery down delicately on the side of her plate and cleared her throat. ‘Delicious as always, Agatha. As much as I warned Damien not to develop such strong unnatural attachments to your kind, I have to admit it’s worth it for food like that.’

Agatha’s face could’ve been carved from stone. ‘Thank you,’ she said, sounding anything but.

Clarissa turned her eyes in my direction, and I forced myself to swallow the spoonful of raspberry mousse I’d just lifted to my mouth. I wouldn’t let her see me sweat. Couldn’t. Now that I saw through her false skin, I saw the weak points of her appearance.