I knew the harsh lines of the other one by heart. My hand trembled when I lowered it to my lap, saving the best- or possibly worst- for last.
The first note was from the Consortium, extending a formal open invitation to join them, and posing Mister Celamentum’s interest in as transparent a way as possible without being openly offensive.
Never gonna happen.
I almost tore Belial’s note when I cracked the seal and unfolded it, my hands were so unsteady. Amazing how a little ink on paper could have my heart thumping unevenly in my throat.
I regret my words. Come, let me show you atonement, my angry angel.
My throat tightened. Vyra looked up from painting my baby toes. “What’s wrong?” she asked, misinterpreting the shine in my eyes.
“Belial just sent me a note that might contain the closest he’s ever come to an apology. I just hope…”
Vyra twisted the nail polish shut and placed it back in its box. “Well, clearly there’s only one thing to be done for this.”
“What?” I gazed at her in horror as she stood up, her face grave.
Would she tell me to leave it? Did Belial apologizing mean he’d given up, that I was no longer worth the fight?
“Get dressed up so he knows what he’s missing out on.” She grabbed my hands and pulled me upright. “Honestly, what else is there, Melisande? All’s fair in love and war.”
She wasn’t joking. The dress she tied me in revealed almost as much skin as my One Thousand and One Nights costume, with even more sparkles, which I hadn’t thought possible.
I took a shallow breath as I gazed up at the Brightside arena. Red lanterns gleamed among the spires, casting ruby light over the demons streaming in.
I dismounted Capheira, patted her nose, and slipped her a sugar cube, watching it slide down her throat when she flashed transparent with ghostly lightning. “Do you miss him?”
She snorted and butted her head against my palm.
“Yeah. Me, too.”
One of my Chainlings took her reins and led her away. I steeled my nerves before forcing myself to walk inside the arena doors, still hating how it felt like coming home.
A shadow detached from the stands just inside and pulled me into a dark corner.
I looked up into Belial’s face, my heart icing over.
But unlike the last time I saw him, there was no simmering rage in his eyes. His full lips were twisted.
“You came,” he said, touching my face and closing his eyes for a moment with relief. He didn’t even sneer at Lucifer’s feather.
“You asked.” It was hard to talk around the tightness in my throat, but at least I didn’t sound shaky.
“I haven’t slept, I can’t eat- not after what I said.” There were shadows under his eyes, lines of tension that hadn’t been there before. “I was needlessly cruel. There is nothing worthless about anything you have to offer, and I know I don’t deserve it.”
It was impossible to not reach up and touch his cheek, tracing the shadow beneath his eyes. His aqua eyes stood out, glittering feverishly against the darkness.
“I wouldn’t say that,” I whispered, and the massive boom of the arena doors closing cut me off. “I know what I did was just as cruel.”
He glanced at the crowd, then leaned in close, making me shiver. “His weak spot is his back. Ask for anything you want,” he breathed, and pulled me out of the shadows and into the lights of the arena.
I couldn’t tear my eyes away from him as he led me to my dais, holding my hand as I ascended the steps. He backed away, and gestured to an Overseer as he took his own throne.
What the hell did a weak spot have to do with anything?
All I wanted was to call a stop to the fights and talk to him, but several new blood fighters were already streaming onto the arena floor, eyeing each other suspiciously and flexing for the crowds.
I didn’t even hear the screaming spectators. Belial caught my eyes, the depths of his agony visible and cutting right through me.
Anything, he mouthed.
Hope reared its ugly head.
The fights passed in a blur. One of the new bloods went up against the new Nephilim, Adranos, who tore through them like a hot knife through butter.
I didn’t see anything. Not the blood, the flash of blades, the technical perfection of a battle. My eyes kept drifting back to Belial, and my hands clenched the arms of my chair so hard they ached.
Finally, he rose to his feet and clapped, pulling on the mask he wore when he wanted to rile up his followers.
“I have a proposition for my Lady Wrath,” he called across the arena floor. Every eye in the place flicked my way, weighing on me. “A bet.”
Take it, he mouthed.
I nodded and stood up, smiling at the demons held back by my Chainlings. The little girl from my first-ever fight was there, wearing the veil I’d given her, her father pushing through the crowd to get closer.
I twinkled my fingers at her.
“Our champions against each other, to third blood. Winner takes their choice.”
A flash of pale hair caught my eye. Tascius.
He slid into the spectators’ box next to Belial’s dais, midnight eyes burning into me. Blind Luck and Razorclaw both watched the fights like they were bored, their arms crossed over their chests, but Luck was tense as well.
He’d said anything I wanted.
My need to touch Belial had never been stronger. “Bring your best, Belial.”
I managed to sound haughty and careless, but I was shaking inside. He was giving me everything I wanted to make amends.
I wished I could make amends as well, make him see that I hadn’t left because I hadn’t wanted him.
“Oh, I will, my Lady,” he said, his familiar wicked grin spreading across his face. “For my champion, I choose…”
He let the moment draw out, the demons leaning forward as
