“I’m sorry I’m late,” Briar says from behind us. Her voice is small, lilted with fear.
I turn, my stomach tight with anxiety as to how my mother will take her. Desona isn’t the gentle, bright goddess that the mortals envision her to be. My shoulders stiffen and heat blooms in my chest. Briar stands in the center of the hall, her petite figure draped in a black gown covered in jewels. The sparkling crystals cascade over her shoulders and breasts, down to her waist. The silk hugs the curve of her hips, pooling at her feet. A deep hunger settles in me, the kind that takes all night to sate.
Her face is covered in a grotesque, intricate mask. It's blood-red, wrinkled and scowling. The mouth of the mask is split into a frightening howl. Two horns curl from the scalp, piercing the air. Her dark hair is curled, wild, and wholly unkempt. She looks ravishing. A growl rips from my throat before I can contain it and I slip away from Desona to close in on Briar. I hear a gasp slip from her lips, barely visible in the mouth of the demon she wears. I tug her to me, a hand wrapped around her slim waist. I can hear her heart beating wildly and feel her blood thrumming. She smells like desire.
“Briar,” I growl.
“Kane, you look,” she trails off, eyes darting to Desona. “I’m sorry. Kane, will you introduce me?”
I lift my chin, feeling a thread of anger towards my mother and the ball. If I could, I would throw Briar over my shoulder and carry her to my rooms. But I have duties. I grind my teeth and then force myself to settle. My fingers curl against Briar’s hip as I guide her closer to Desona. Briar is stiff in my arms, fear oozing from her like cologne. We’ll have to work on that, she and I.
“Mother, this is Briar of Ryrn—my bride.” I stroke her hip, trying to relax her. “Briar, this is Desona, the Goddess of Life and my mother.”
“I’m honored,” Briar says as she dips into a deep curtsy.
Desona sniffs. “Tell me, Thorn, do you worship the Three? Or the Lesser?”
“Briar,” I say sharply, well aware that my mother knows.
Desona simpers. “I’m sorry, darling, there’s just so many women.”
Briar purses her lips and squares her shoulders. “I would prefer to keep my religious habits to myself, Goddess.”
“That’s perfectly acceptable,” Desona says, smiling. She spins, facing the ballroom door. “Shall we?”
My mother doesn't wait before throwing the ballroom doors open with her magic and sauntering into the red-stained light beyond. She disappears into the dim light of the ballroom and too loud applause. Briar balks, and I can feel her trembling. I tighten my grip around her waist and pull her securely into my side. Softly, I press my lips to her hair over her ear.
“Briar,” I murmur. “You look beautiful. Don’t be frightened.”
Kindness, always kindness. For now.
“Your mother is intimidating,” she whispers, taking a step towards the throne room.
“Pretend she isn’t even there.” I urge her forward. “Desona has always been a special sort of arrogant.”
“The kind that thinks she’s a god?” Briar jokes.
I cock a brow, though Briar can’t see it behind the mask. “Look at you, Briar, is that your first joke?”
I see her grateful smile inside the mouth of the mask. “I’m ready,” she says, nodding.
“The good news is that in the Underworld, they’ve had quite enough fan fair for me many thousands of years ago. Now, it’s just a party,” I say as we step into the throne room.
Immediately, we’re assaulted by the strong scent of roses and poppies, ashen and heavy. Dark fog curls along the marble floor, coiling around our ankles. The chandeliers on the ceiling are half lit and enchanted to cast a red glow around the room. It’s dark and brooding and wholly befitting of an Underworld ball. Briar is stiff as we sweep into the room. She clings to my arm as if it’s the only thing stopping her from sinking beneath the marble floor.
Slim figures sway on the dance floor, gyrating against each other. I slip my hand down Briar’s arm to lace my fingers through hers. She looks up as I walk backwards towards the dance floor. Her eyes are locked on mine like an anchor and I put an ounce of magic into my gaze. I want to take my mask off, to truly call her towards me, but the mask is part of what makes this night so easy. For a time, we don’t have to be anything other than these masks.
In the center of the dance floor, I pull her towards me. She falls against my chest and I wrap my arms around her waist, fingers trailing over the small of her back. She shudders, gazing up at me. Her breasts are flush against me, and even through our clothes, I can feel how supple and full they are. I sway to the beat of the music, my hips pressed against hers. A red flush trails over Briar’s chest and I know she’s blushing behind that mask. The knowledge brings a smile to my lips.
“Are you enjoying yourself?” I whisper, bending low.
Briar inhales the poppy-scented air, relaxing against me. “It’s different.”
“We’ve had quite a bit of stuffiness over the years,” I murmur. “Now, we’re much more interested in pleasure.”
“I’m catching onto that,” Briar says, breaking my gaze to glance at the other enthralled dancers. She bites her lips and I hear her heartbeat escalate.
“Nervous?” I ask, letting my hand drift lower until her breath catches.
She nods, following my body language to a slower, deeper dance. “What gave it away?”
“Your scent.” I breathe her in, pressing my nose to the nape of her neck. She gasps, blood thrumming. I growl, deep and
