She sweeps her purple eyes around the graveyard boredly. “Still feeding into that overwhelming jealousy of Lucifer, I see,” she comments evenly, and a tic starts in Morax’s jaw.
“Still an arrogant, heartless bitch?” Morax asks Nefta before his white snake eyes land on me.
I’m still trying to blacklight this fucker up, but I’m either not doing it right or it’s not working.
“Nice try, little one. I’m immune,” he purrs at me, and I have to chase away the goosebumps that want to rise up on my arms like I’m a grumpy old lady armed with a fly swatter. “You know, you could save everyone’s life here and cooperate,” he adds, and he suddenly doesn’t seem so appealing. Nope, there’s definitely a creepy stalker, murderer vibe about him now.
“You know, you could just fuck off and then nobody dies. There is that,” I counter.
He chuckles as if what I’m saying is just too hilarious for him to keep a straight face.
“What are you doing, Morax?” Nefta asks, drawing his attention back onto her. “You’re going to try and overturn Lucifer? For what? If you think you’re going to change how things are done, you’re in for a rude awakening. Heaven will never allow it.”
“I guess we’ll find out then, won’t we?” He strikes out so fast that I can barely track it. One second, he’s ten feet away, and the next, he’s right in front of me. “Wait right here. I’ll be back for you soon,” he tells me, and then out of nowhere, the sound of metal-on-metal starts ringing in my ears as Morax brings a massive sword with a curved blade down to slam against Nefta’s light-filled weapon.
The swords hiss as they clash, like the contact hurts them both somehow. They strike and parry, dodge and slash, faster than anything I’ve ever seen. Nefta and Morax are a whir of deadly movement, and surprisingly, I hear Nefta laughing as they go, maneuvering around in the demon-made circle. I’m not sure if I respect the badassery of it or if I think she’s batshit crazy.
Maybe both.
“You’ve always been one-sided,” Morax growls as he twists back, narrowly avoiding Nefta’s Heavenly blade.
I notice that while she has the scythe in her hand, she’s not striking out at him with it. I watch them like a double Dutch jumper, just waiting for the right time to sneak in and make my move.
Several of the snakes on Morax’s head lash out at Nefta as she steps inside his swing and finally bats at him with her scythe.
“You know you can’t reset me,” Morax taunts.
“No, but I can end you,” she counters with a backhand swing of her sword.
Like a ray of sun breaking through the clouds to light my way, I see my chance. I take three strides forward and swing at Morax’s winged back. He whirls around tornado fast until he’s facing me. I raise my scythe to swing it toward him, ready to hook around his neck. One quick pull and they can call me the Queen of Hearts, because it will be off with his motherfucking head.
“You don’t want to do that, little one,” he tells me smoothly, his tone vibrating with an undercurrent of something that makes me pause.
His eyes flash with determination as he takes me in, and I find myself oddly drawn to him. Why am I trying to kill him instead of trying to understand what he needs from me?
Out of the corner of my eye, I can see demons converging on Nefta, but the sounds of the battle that’s still raging all around me are muffled. Morax steps closer to me, and I can feel his large hand snake around my waist, making my lips part on a gasp.
“Mmmm, so responsive,” he purrs, and he’s so close I can feel his breath on my mouth. I lean in, my eyes staring at his face greedily.
My scythe is hanging limply at my side, and something about that pulls me from my thoughts of Morax’s full lips and why I don’t want to kill him. I stare down at the blades, feeling like there’s something really important that I’m supposed to do with them, but I can’t for the life of me remember what.
“You’re so ripe for the picking, it’s almost wrong. Too bad I’ve never cared much for wrong or right. You’re so quick to abandon your will,” he says, his hand cupping my cheek and his thumb grazing gently over my lips. “Not even an ounce of fight,” he observes, tilting my head back as his white snake eyes study my face and trace the lines of my lips. “You want to be owned, don’t you?”
Bewilderment sparks somewhere inside of me. I’m not sure exactly where it comes from, just that it’s there. Morax leans down like he’s going to kiss me, but instead of responding to that like it’s a good thing, all I can think is that he’s not one of my Guardians. I don’t want to be kissing anyone but them.
Their images flash through my mind as the Ophidian’s chest presses against mine. I can feel my heart steadily beating, and that strikes me as odd too. When my demons touch me, hold me, my heart always picks up the pace with excitement. But now, it’s almost like it’s anesthetized.
Will.
Fight.
Owned.
The words rise to the surface of my foggy brain, and I clench my hands as I become aware of the scythe again.
This is wrong.
He’s not...them.
In a move so quick it rivals the speed of the demon who’s somehow fucked with my mind and is closing in on my lips like a predator does prey, I flip my scythe in my hand so the straight blade is leading. Morax tracks the movement, but I’m sinking the blade into his chest before he can so much as try to take a step back from
