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Remove the collar, Princess, and your runt goes back into the Chasm.
I want to scream Noralice, but I know I can’t return to Thanatos. Part of me wants to dissociate. Go deep into myself and become some wild, dark creature in his arms he desires—his pretty pet sitting on his lap on his throne for his satisfaction. I could play the role. I could even enjoy it and welcome the caress of his hands on my naked flesh. But I am stronger than Neoptolemus’ games. Tonight, I will harness his power, whether his Destruction or manipulative mind games. He thinks he can drag me down? I will bring him to his knees in his own Court of Destruction.
He lets the prisoners stew on the floor for another few moments and accepts the dinner provided on an iron platter. Venom-spiced wine for me and blood wine for him, juicy grapes, and succulent pork slices, which he proceeds to feed me. At first, I clamp my mouth shut, refusing to oblige him until he hums the reminder in my ear, “Supping with me every evening…” His words shoot into my blood like a projectile, and I arch back from the sudden stabbing right before I close my teeth around a grape, splitting its juice into my mouth.
Shoving my face back to him, my eyes are lethal when I solicit my own reminder. “No touchies…underthe measly pittances of lingerie you’ll have me wear.”
Slowly, Neo huffs and removes his hand from my thigh. “Have it your way, Princess.” Instead, he forms lingerie from his flames for me—the barest of lingerie that reminds me of fiery lace that hardly covers me but purrs a warm promise against my skin. Instead, he removes the robe, and I snarl at him.Pretentious bastard.
The Prince nips my ear and seethes while feeding me a plump slice of pork, “Check, Elysia.” I bite his finger with my angel teeth, and he taps my nose. “Naughty little halo.”
“Bring the prisoners closer,” he orders and toys with the gaps of skin on my breasts where the flames break. I grit my teeth.
Neo will not shatter my chart tonight. No way in hell, even if this is pretty damn close. While Neo waves a hand forward so the knights bring the prisoners closer, I devour the rest of the food, refusing to be daunted by Neo’s little game. I register the sweetness of the grapes, but they might as well be arsenic.
Once the bitten vampires bow low before him, Neo charges his shades all around the prisoners, his power yanking their necks up so they may gaze right into the Prince of Destruction’s eyes.
Up close, I recognize the differences between these vampires and the Court O’ Nines. Their pale heads are all shaved except for the few tufts of hair that form a single stripe down the center of their scalps. A status symbol but one much lower due to their mere scout position. Branded into the center of their foreheads with molten silver blood tech, no doubt, and because that damn warlord could care less if anyone recognizes his soldiers is the Court Mordere symbol: a sabertooth skull.
“Yes, feast your eyes, Mordere scum. Only one of you will be leaving with them, so take a goodlonglook.” Neoptolemus swipes his hand down my stomach to my thigh to tempt fate with the lingerie’s trim. I hurl a tiny throwing star from my chest to embed itself in his hand, singing his flesh and causing him to flex his fingers and pull back.
The Prince loosens their tongues, prompting them to speak, but all one can muster is, “My Lord Prince…”
“Oh, how respectful,” muses Neo, turning his face to me and capturing my mouth, his tongue licking the insides of mine until I bite down on it, drawing his silver blood. He groans inside my mouth from the action, but I shift my hips from side to side in his lap and suck it up—every last drop of that silver blood, then down the venom-spiced wine in one gulp.
Knowing he’s lost this little round, he shifts his gaze to the Mordere scouts and mutters, “Has Mordere gone soft? Sending just two little scouts with proper manners to beg for my mercy when he knows Destruction allows for none? Not even from my bride who begs for mercy from me each night…” He drums his fingers across my knee, tapping like a war drum.
Careless of my lack of manners, careless of how it will reveal my sex through bare flaming lace, I spread my legs as far as they will go, knocking his hand against the skeleton throne. Then, I throw my face back to his, glaring because I willnotplay his game.
“We are but humble messengers, my Lord Prince,” the bitten vampire utters, his eyes roaming along my gold-dusted body. Nothing more than little constellations on my skin because I’m preserving my energy, energy I’ll need.
“Mordere wishes to go to war?” chuckles Neoptolemus because I know this is a familiar dance they’ve engaged in for the past century. As the Father built his Court O’ Nines, Mordere formed his in the Deep South, a warlord society trafficking blood and flesh. “I will give you a message.Oneof you will tell him my dance card is wide open. But first…”
Neo suddenly cups my hips and rises, bringing me with him, gripping my legs and urging them around his waist. I buck, but Neo deadpans, his shades becoming bars imprisoning me while his hands slide to my rear to anchor me against him. Bile churns in my stomach, and I snap my angel teeth, but Neo’s collar tightens against my throat, forbidding me from sinking them into his flesh.
Check, Elysia,he purrs in my mind, hardens against me, and carries me down the staircase and to the Inner Circle.
Supercilious ass!I hurl at him.
Saucy minx.
Another after-memory but one I can’t even take pleasure in. We are mere inches from the bowing vampires. I cringe when Neo places his boot on the back of one’s neck and leans over, one arm stationing me while the other reaches down so his fingertip traces one scout’s wing. In that fingertip treads his force of destruction, his dark energy branching out. The scout screams and screams, and I slam my eyes shut, listening to the torture, scenting the burning flesh, the membrane melting away.
“Where will Mordere attack first?” Neo interrogates the scout and taps the wing, restoring it, only to destroy it again when he receives nothing but silence. Now, I understand why he is the Father’s perfect executioner, why he wears the title better than any other. Gifted with this singular power of restoring whatever he destroys, it becomes the best brand of torture. Just like he has built me up, broke me down, and raised me up again.
Shrieking and screaming and whining like a trumpet in these catacombs, the scout crashes to the floor and begs for mercy.
“Where will Mordere attack first?” repeats the Prince of Destruction before slow-destroying the other wing.
Neo, stop!I plead, burying my head into his shoulder, rubbing my lips up to his neck, his muscles thickening, silver veins nearly thrusting a predatory threat.I can read their minds. I can get you the answers you need.
You will not upstage me in my Court, Everblood. You will not weaken me. Tonight, you are my pretty, pretty Princess.
Oh, no, he didn’t. That fucker did not!
This is not my Neo. This is not the Neo who refused to trade in flesh and blood and protected the tribute girl in Court. This is not my Neo who bid me to rise higher than the Father in his Court to protect the Steward’s daughters. Not my Neo, who bowed low to the floor before me after I’d gifted him a new heart. He raised Nita and me high on each side of his throne while he lowered himself before battling ten thousand demons for me.
“Mercy, mercy, mercy!” screams the scout.
