Azazel laughed and mock-pushed me into my throne before lounging on the steps at my feet. He draped an arm over my thighs with casual insouciance, but I was suddenly hyper-aware of the fact that the fabric of my skirt was so thin there was almost nothing between us. His fingertips grazed the side of my knee, tickling me.
It was impossible to tell if he didn’t notice, or if he was deliberately toying with me.
“I mean leaving business behind for a night,” he said, looking up at me with a slight grin. “There’s an entire half a Circle you have yet to explore. Get out of the dusty old arena and come see my side of Dis.”
He pulled one of my legs into his lap, casually entangling us and leaving no doubt that he knew exactly what he was doing to me. Especially when his fingers trailed up the bare skin of my calf and back down again, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake.
I swallowed, unable to pull my eyes away from his gaze. His smile was a little forced, but now I knew it was because of the hunger in his eyes.
There was no doubt in my mind that if he lost his self-control for even a moment, he’d be peeling off my dress right here in front of thousands of demons.
“Where would you take me, Azazel?” I leaned back in my throne, bracing my elbows on the feathered arms and stretching my legs. “I’ve already seen Blackchapel and the fields.”
He took my cue, his hand stroking back up my leg. My nerves tingled under his smooth, deliberate touches.
“Anywhere you want.” His tongue darted out and ran over his lower lip. I followed the motion with the intensity of a viper eyeing its prey. “You have an entire half of a Circle that belongs to you. There’s more to Wrath than just the arenas.”
“Like what, underground pit fighting?” I asked with a laugh, but Azazel just raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
“Under the princes are the noble families of Hell. Do you think they make their money by being squeaky-clean?” Azazel smirked. “No. The arenas are mass entertainment… an easy way to gather loyal followers under your banner. Then there are the rings, the clubs… the invitation-only fights.”
I realized I was leaning forward in my throne, gripped by every word he said. “How would we manage to get one of these invitations?”
His fingers trailed back up my calf, moving only a bare inch past the inside of my knee. They lingered there for a long moment as he smiled slowly. “Is the arena not enough for you?”
I dropped my hand on my thigh, covering his fingers before he could pull them away. “You know I live for a good fight, Azazel. If there’s private fights going on, I want to see them.”
Hell, I wanted to be in them. My muscles were already clenching in anticipation of picking up a weapon.
“I know of a few procurers you might find interesting.” His hand slid higher. My breath caught in my throat at the boldness of it. “Some of the fights are limited to magic. It would be training and entertainment at the same time.”
“As long as you only bet on me,” I said with a smirk. “Make a good show of confidence.”
He lowered his hand, grazing all the way down with tempting slowness. “After what I’ve seen, I think it would be wisest to never bet against you.”
“Damn right.”
My words were lost as the door shut with a massive boom and Belial strode into the arena, grinning up at his demons.
I wasn’t sure if my lungs were frozen because Azazel was still stroking my leg languorously, or because the gleam of Belial’s wide smile still took my breath away.
A chain of hellhounds followed him. Each wore an iron muzzle, and chains kept them from bolting at the nearest bystander. The Overseers herding them held them at bay with long poles, prodding the snarling creatures into the center of the arena as Belial ascended his dais.
The Prince of Wrath finally deigned to look at me. Anger and regret battled in my chest like living things as I met his gaze, still regretting the way we’d parted the last time I saw him.
I could’ve been less cruel. He could’ve been less cold.
The moment seemed to stretch between us, everything else slowing to a halt. A thousand unspoken words remained unformed on my tongue as I gazed at him, the phantom taste of spices lingering in my mouth, the memory of how hot his lust burned still emblazoned on my skin.
Belial paused, gripping the arms of his throne with white-knuckled fingers like he was poised to get up and stride over, but then his gaze dropped to the inky feather brushing my chest. The rainbow sheen immediately gave it away for what it was, who it had belonged to.
The prince’s face darkened like storm clouds rolling in over a sunny sky.
As soon as I saw that look, I knew there was no forgiveness.
At least not for today.
My stomach started churning as he turned that black gaze on the hellhounds below. “Let’s see blood tonight, demons!” he bellowed, and the stands cheered back, waving their swords. “No bets. No daring, foolish-” he looked directly at me for a split-second when he said it- “Exploits, no losers. Because the losers will ALL BE DEAD!”
My ears ached from the cacophony the demons raised. They clanged their swords off one another, and Azazel’s fingers tightened on my thigh.
Belial’s lips drew back over his teeth, more of a snarl than a grin.
I sat poker-straight in my throne, refusing to be cowed. I had every right to accept Lucifer’s token, every right to claim the mates I wanted.
Maybe apologizing to Belial wasn’t in my future. Maybe we’d been made under stars too different to ever align.
The thought turned my own mood black despite the warmth
