Standing on the edge of the slippery fountain is very hard in heels. And even with the added three inches, it’s still difficult to see over everyone as they dance and talk and smoke and drink. There are just so many of them. Every time a flash of blue catches my eye, I turn, but it’s not Iceman. Dark skin, but not Jerif. Blond hair, not Crux. Tattoos, not Echo.
“Delta! Delta!”
People call my name, holding drinks and hookah-looking pipes up at me, but I just wave them away and try to turn full circle to continue to look. It’s so damn loud in here, made worse with the pulsing music, the atmosphere making me slightly dizzy. Or maybe that’s all the Stupor smoke people keep blowing toward me.
Where are they?
For some reason, I grow more and more frantic. Red’s words come back to me, and I can’t help the sick feeling that rolls in my stomach like rocks covered in biting acid. What if they are...imbibing in the sins like Red said?
Where else could they be? Either the Abdicated are fucking liars and led them away, or the guys are down here somewhere, joining the party. Otherwise, wouldn’t they have been waiting for me at the foot of the balcony stairs?
Tightening my hold on the scythe, my eyes scan to the right, snagging on the demons gathered around what look like maypoles. There are eight in total, all arranged in a large circle, and the black poles are at least fifteen feet high. They all have multiple red silken ribbons hanging from the top, and there are beautiful demons below them, all naked, dancing, using the ribbons and the poles and each other.
In the middle of the circle of maypoles, there’s a giant orgy. Skin. Movement. Mouths open in ecstasy. Thrusting, curling, bending, arching. They’re just a writhing, living piece of erotica. I have a hard time looking away.
Could my guys be in there?
It’s definitely possible. It looks like there must be at least a hundred participants, and that’s just this orgy. I know I saw more of these groupings from the balcony. Some of the participants are winged, some not, and my eyes bounce around from body to body, but when my eyes get caught on a tanned, muscular, wing-free back with shaggy blond hair, I freeze.
Crux?
The acidic rocks in my gut soften and curdle like soured milk.
I watch as he thrusts into someone right there on the ground, next to the maypole dancers. It hurts me more than I anticipated, and my eyes burn holes into his head.
I just got them back. They just returned from the dead. After my vocal claiming inside, I thought that Crux would at least be intrigued. He’s let me know right from the start that he’s interested.
But then I remember Jerif’s words back in Hell’s Embrace—about how once Crux added my notch to his bedpost, he would drop me faster than a hot potato. Maybe Crux isn’t interested now that I blurted out my claiming in front of everyone. Maybe he was just in it for the chase.
That motherfucker.
I spin on my heel, ready to climb down from the fountain and stomp over to him, orgy be damned, and give him a piece of my mind. Except in my anger, I’m not careful, and my heel slips on the wet edge. I try to compensate by stepping forward, but my long lavender dress gets tangled up in my feet, and then I go pitching forward, right for the water.
I squeal, arms spinning, but instead of falling face-first into the fountain, my wings suddenly lash out on either side of me, and I’m lifted off the ground.
“Oh, shit!” A loud girl-scream pops out of my throat, and I can hear people below me cheering, like I’m doing some kind of funny fucking trick.
My wings flap of their own accord, lifting me up higher, making the bystanders cheer louder. I scream again when my body tilts forward, and I do a fucking cartwheel in the air, three times in a row, and then my wings just start doing loops.
At another terrifying loop de loop, my dress gets all tangled up around my waist and I nearly flash everyone. I grab my skirts just in time, much to the disappointment of those below me, and stuff the fabric between my thighs.
Without warning, I’m forced into a dive-bomb. I’d squeal again, but the sudden g-force I’m experiencing only allows for me to grimace and for my lips to flap in what feels like a supersonic rush of wind. The scythe nearly gets ripped out of my hand, so I stuff the thing between my legs and ride it.
Like a fucking broomstick.
Too late, I realize that I probably look like I’m the boss bitch witch, Winifred, from Hocus Pocus. A hysterical, is this really happening laugh pops out of me that sounds way too close to a witch’s cackle.
But you know what? This walking stick-scythe-broomstick has turned out to be fucking versatile as shit. It’s really helping my center of gravity right now too, so I’m not gonna move it, no matter how it may look. Instead, I grip the scythe in my hands, tighten my thighs around the middle, and embrace the fact that I’m Hell’s first Nihil demon witch as I lean on it for support while my wings continue their scary fucking joy ride.
I swoop right past the maypoles like a fighter jet, and I realize too late that I’m heading for the orgy, and my wings’ missiles are locked right on Crux.
Oh, shit.
“Wings…” I admonish, but they don’t listen.
I get closer and closer, and the wind is rushing at my face so fast that it’s blowing tears in my eyes. I grip the scythe tighter and try to tilt away, using the scythe like I can steer it, but my wings tilt the opposite way to ruin
