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I turn on my foot before she can see the smile on my face.
CHAPTER 8
Nyssa
Igrind myteeth as I stand by the long table that holds food and carafes of wine, awaiting the arrival of… well, I’m not sure who’s coming. I think I remember Amell saying it was a council meeting, but I’m not sure. It was hard to pay attention with the king’s proximity to me while I was bathing.
It’s not that I was shy about being naked. Showing my body has never bothered me.
It has more to do with the fact that he’s a man—no, a fallen angel—who elicits a wide variety of emotions.
First and foremost, I hate him for no other reason than he’s the source of my current state of flux.
But I’m also intrigued because while he rules Hell with an iron fist and could throw me in the Crimson River whenever he feels like it, he’s given me a reprieve. And that standoff with Rhynda over the spilled sugar was mind-boggling. He stopped her from beating me and ordered her to have a care. Granted, he considers me only a possession, but I could tell by the look on Rhynda’s face, he’s never done that before.
And then, there’s the problem that I find the man—beast—far too attractive, which makes me more intrigued and dampens the hate. There’s no other way to describe him—he’s simply beautiful. From his massive body, rippled with muscle covered with golden skin, to the perfection of his face. The classic square jaw, full lips, and mesmerizing eyes. He’s a fucking romance novel hero who happens to sport two massive black wings that, when spread, have to be at least fifteen feet wide. They arch higher than his head and are so long, the feathers drag along the ground. When I was following him earlier, I had to be mindful not to step on them.
I wonder what they feel like. Are they as soft as they look? So black they shimmer blue anytime the light hits, and in this monochrome world, the tint to his wings is actually quite brilliant.
My teeth grind even harder that I’m sparing more than ten seconds of my energy to think about his physical appearance or the way he gave me a hot bath, because I did indeed stink. It’s awful living in these conditions, but I suppose I better get used to it.
I can’t trust him, though, and I have to remind myself what Will told me… everyone here is evil, and I shouldn’t utter a single word or take an action without remembering that.
So I order my brain to shut the fuck up and stop thinking of Amell in any way other than being the wicked ruler of the Underworld who would see me cast into the river without a moment’s pause.
The double doors open, and I turn to see people—or whatever they are—filing in.
All look human, for the most part, although one tall man has bluish skin that makes his long blond hair seem almost white.
Yes, they look human, but in a way… they do not.
They’re actually all too beautiful to be human. Like Amell, they have perfect bodies and ethereal faces without a single thing out of place to make them look a fraction of ordinary. Are they so beautiful because they’re fallen angels? But I don’t know if that is indeed what they are. They could be Dark Fae who descended from the original fallen.
The only one I know for sure who is an original is Amell, and whether I’m biased or not, he’s more stunning than all the others.
A large oval table seats twenty—I know, because I had time to count—and the guests take seats. By my quick perusal, there are only eleven—six women and five men.
“Girl,” a deep voice says, and my head turns that way. One of the fae waves a hand. “Bring me wine.”
I’m a bartender by trade, at least that’s what I was at the time of my death, and serving alcohol is second nature. But it’s intimidating being in a room full of large, unearthly beings that could crush me with one strike of a fist. Will told me that a fae has the strength of a hundred men and could break me with nothing more than a firm grip.
Grabbing one of the metal wine carafes, I hustle around the table. The fae is impossibly handsome with jet-black hair and even blacker eyes.
Those eyes roam over me from head to toe, and I hate the clothes that Amell left for me. When I got out of my bath a few hours ago, my rough denim uniform was gone and a dress was lying across the bed alongside a platter of meats, cheese, and fruit. I had no doubt it was all for me. While I ate, I studied the gown draped over the large mattress, but I couldn’t figure out why I should dress up to serve drinks.
After I ate, I put the dress on. White folds of silk gathered at the shoulders and under my breasts in a classic Grecian style. Not sure why that’s the style down here, but there was a pair of gold braided sandals too. Even though they’re thin soled, it’s better than being barefoot. I combed the tangles from my hair and let it dry naturally because in Hell, they apparently don’t have hair dryers.
“You must be the new plaything I heard Amell saved from the river,” the fae says when I reach him, his hand slapping my butt before squeezing. I try to skitter to the side, but his hand slides to my waist and he pulls me in closer. “I can’t wait to try you out.”
Nausea hits and I react on pure instinct, jamming my elbow hard into his ribs. It’s not hard enough to hurt him, despite using all my strength. It does surprise him, though, and he loosens his hold so I’m able to wrench away. The wine in the carafe sloshes over the edge, spilling to the floor.
The fae’s hand shoots out and grips my wrist, jerking me back in. My stomach drops as I see the fury in his eyes. “You dare strike a noble?” he growls, squeezing my wrist so hard I’m afraid it’s going to snap.
“Jago!” My head whips toward the door to find Amell striding through, his eyes pinned on us. “Release her immediately.”
Chairs screech as they’re pushed backward, the fae around the table standing in deference to their king.
Except the one holding my wrist as he lifts his chin in defiance. “She’s a lowly human.”
