III

A fter a second and then third debriefing on what to do, Stella saw her friends out and prepared herself for the single most important mission of her life.

Don't psych yourself out before you've begun. You have a plan. Trust the plan.

She moved on autopilot, conscious of noon's fast approach now that she was alone. Because of the hour, there wouldn't be much of a crowd in the Styx, which meant there wouldn't be a large audience if she failed.

Or if you succeed.

Stella kept the thought in mind as she went to her closet to find something more appropriate to wear. The black dress she chose was simple but luxurious. Its velvet sleeves clung to the tops of her shoulders and cut down in a modest V-neck, and its hem hit just below her knees. By the Styx standards, it was no better than a chastity belt, but Stella felt good in the dress. It made her feel sophisticated and older than she was.

But it wouldn't do to enter the viper's den without curtailing to at least some of their standards. Stella rooted around the collection of shoes she'd amassed and plucked out a pair of red stilettos that oft left blisters on the back of her heels. They weren't her style, but they made the outfit more Styx-appropriate—and hopefully, Lunar Court appropriate.

Once dressed, Stella examined herself in the full-length mirror leaning against one of the corners of her room. She fussed with the ends of her wavy hair. She'd given herself an impromptu haircut five months back, cutting off several inches of her signature icy white hair. The experience had been surprisingly cathartic, enough so that Stella kept the shorter length. It hit just above the tops of her shoulders.

"You can do this," she told her reflection. "You walk in, ask for Davina, and remind her about Deval's favor. Simple. Easy ."

Stella took a deep breath, counted to three in her head, and then left her apartment before she lost her nerve as the minute hand swung around to ten past noon. She kept toward the walls, even with the hallway and grand staircase mostly empty. Her presence at this time of day was unusual, and she caught more than one pair of eyes following her descent.

Finally reaching the sixth subfloor, Stella deftly stepped off the staircase and off to the side. The Styx was more crowded than she anticipated. It made her stand straighter.

"You can do this," she whispered to herself and tucked her hair behind her ear. Stella eyed the behemoth doors situated opposite the staircase and her stomach dropped.

There was a man guarding the door.

A sorcerer.

Stella's mouth ran dry as she spied the two bejeweled metal gauntlets covering his hands. She'd never seen a sorcerer use gauntlets as their magical conduit. Bo staffs, wands, and even canes like Jax's, were more commonly used. Stella eyed him more surreptitiously as his features became familiar to her.

His name was Michael, and he was without a clan. If she remembered correctly, he arrived only a few months ago with his partner. Stella's forehead furrowed in concentration as she tried to remember his partner's name and if he was a sorcerer, too.

He was, she remembered, also dead. Killed senselessly and without warning here in the Styx. Stella swallowed roughly. She had heard the news from Deval. Someone had slit Anker's throat accidentally. Their anger for another courtier having missed their intended target.

Yet Michael stayed. She wondered why. The thought niggled at her until Stella shook her head.

"Focus." Stella flattened out the thick material of her dress.

She would simply walk past him and through the doors. All she had to do was act confident.

Act like she belonged.

A cascade of nerves flooded her even as she tucked up her chin and strode across the hall. One step at a time, she closed the distance between her and the door until it was only a few—

"Where do you think you're going, banshee?"

Stella cleared her throat. "I was just going—" Michael shook his head preemptively and held out a hand, silently ushering her back. "But—"

"Is your residence beyond these doors?"

Stella flushed at his patronizing tone. "No."

"Are you a member of the Lunar Court?"

"No, but—"

"Then I suggest you do a 180."

His words were a sucker punch to the gut. When she lingered, he raised an eyebrow with something akin to pity in his eyes. The look made something in Stella harden. She was tired of people looking at her with pity or in cruel amusement.

More than that, she wasn't willing to admit defeat so easily. She needed to get past the doors by any means possible.

"I heard about your lover," she blurted out. Michael's face contorted as his cheeks erupted into a violent shade of red. "I'm sorry for your loss," Stella continued with far more tact, her tone laced with genuine sympathy. "How are you doing?"

The anger fled Michael's constitution. His shoulders slumped as his authoritative hand dropped. "I thought it would get easier." He shot a meaningful glance at the gaming tables. "But it hasn't. I sometimes wonder if they stationed me here, just so those despair demons could get a taste of my grief every time they come in and out."

Both Stella and Michael stared at each other in silent astonishment at his candid words. Stella let her body posture relax in a small mimic of his own.

"There is no end to grief. No time limit. Just a sort of… softening as grief gives way to bittersweet memories."

Michael's gaze slipped to the floor as he pondered Stella's words. She wasn't exactly sure what she hoped to achieve by her kindness. It wasn't the way to get one's way in the Dark Court. Violence, scheming, blackmail, the list of ways went on and on that were more effective. But kindness, she learned, typically left courtiers suspicious of ulterior motives.

Which in this case, Stella supposed, would be warranted.

Michael's eyes lifted to meet hers. "No one's bothered asking how I've been since… since it happened. Thanks, I guess." A crinkle disturbed his brow as he gave the doors behind him a sidelong glance. "What'd you want to go in there for anyway?"

Stella kept perfectly still under his inquisitive stare. "I was going to make inquiries about joining."

"The Lunar Court?" Michael's expression turned skeptical with a dash of the same pity entering his eyes as before. Stella bit her tongue as familiar frustration simmered inside her. "You sure you wanna—"

"Positive." Stella looked at the door expectantly, refusing to meet his gaze again.

Michael heaved a sigh so loud Stella felt the attention of curious eyes lingering on them. "If you think you've got what it takes to be a member of the Lunar Court, then by all means."

The door swung open as Michael took a step to the side. A thrum of anticipation rippled through Stella. She'd done it—well, part of it. The first part of it to be precise. Stella stepped past the threshold of the door when Michael's voice boomed out, making her flinch to the side.

"Make way for the wailing wench!" he bellowed. "Or risk your chance at living to see another night."

Stella froze as a mixture of laughter lit the air. A moment of kindness met with cruelty. She should have expected it.

Don't let them get to you , she thought fervently. Keep it together. You're stronger than this.

She breathed slowly in through her nose and exhaled in long, slow breaths. Several seconds later, she managed to block out the majority of their cackling and stood taller. These people mean nothing to me , Stella reminded herself calmly willing her anger and hurt away. Therefore, their words mean nothing to me.

Stella spared Michael a withering glare, stuck up her nose, and channeled her inner Irina. "Good ev— ahh! "

Suddenly an all-consuming rage burned through Stella, and in the next instant, her insides seized, and a great burning tore through her lungs. The sonic scream she'd only used in careful practice with Nova and Deval was released without restraint at Michael. He was launched backward. Courtiers shouted in fright as he landed in the middle of the hall. The crack of bone accompanying his final descent.

A wave of sick satisfaction slid over Stella as she cut her scream short.

Yet, just as soon as the visceral anger and cloying satisfaction came, they fled her system leaving her drained and breathless. Stella's hand wobbled to her mouth. She stared in horror as Michael rolled onto his back clutching his arm to his chest. He sat up slowly, growling at the few courtiers who came to offer him assistance.

"You stupid bitch ," he snarled as he pushed onto his feet. "If you think you're gaining entrance now, you belong in a mental institute."

Lightheadedness struck Stella. "I didn't mean to."

A high-pitched gasp sounded at her back. Stella startled forward with a short yelp; a husky laugh chasing after her. "You didn't mean to? Forgive me, banshee, but I find that hard to believe."

Stella whipped around, her heart skirting at a dangerously fast pace as she teetered on her heels. Kat, a wrath demon well known for her love of bloodshed, smirked at her.

"You made me do that," Stella accused her hoarsely.

Kat's smirk settled deeper, dimpling her cheek. "I only enhanced that which was already there; your hatred for poor Michael." Kat tsked and shook her head as she stalked closer to Stella.

"I don't hate Michael."

The demoness stopped and tilted her head to the side, appraising Stella with unsettling somberness. "Perhaps not," she conceded before the wicked slash of her smirk reappeared. "But your loyalties are questionable regardless. The Lunar Court would never consider a vampyré lover like yourself."

Stella was acutely aware of the area around her growing silent. She forced herself not to falter. Not now when she was so close. "I'd hardly call it questionable, seeing as I just completed a contract—"

"With the Corvinas?" Kat snorted and crossed her arms over her chest. "The same Corvinas who drool after the Vranas' cock?"

Flames scalded Stella's face and neck in affront. "Don't you dare say another word about them or I'll—"

"Or you'll what, banshee?" Kat covered the distance between them, and foolishly, Stella met her gaze head-on. At once she was consumed by a rampage of heat and ire that made every muscle tense. In her mind's eye, she imagined raking her hands across the untamed beauty's face. Kat gifted her with a wide smile as if she sensed her thoughts.

Then she fed from her.

Stella's eyes widened in shock before a small gasp fell from her lips. The sensation was like having her skin peeled off, only it wasn't painful. Disconcerting and skin-crawling most certainly, but not painful. Stranger still was her anger climaxing inside her, only to be snuffed out like a candle's flame. The swiftness of the act left her stumbling back as she wrenched her gaze away from the demoness. Stella slammed her eyes shut as embarrassment and shame flooded her system.

She'd fallen for Kat's baiting without a thought.

Stupid , she scolded herself, so stupid .

When she opened her eyes, Kat was gone. Stella swallowed and quickly scanned the hall. Courtiers eyed her with knowing smirks. Some she found still chuckling over the scene. She looked away, biting down on her tongue to tide her swelling emotions.

The door to the Lunar Court and auxiliary courtier rooms was still open. Hope sparked in her chest. Stella hustled to the entrance, only for cold metal to yank her back by the shoulder.

"I don't think so," Michael growled.

Stella wobbled precariously on her heels as Michael released her with a forceful push and landed on her ass with a thump. He sneered down at her, his injured wrist cradled to his chest while his other hand fisted at his side. Electric sparks danced across the gauntlet's jeweled knuckles.

"Go back to whatever hole you crawled out of." Michael's sneer deepened as he raised his magically charged gauntlet. Stella froze, all her self-defense training abandoning her.

He flicked his wrist and the electric magic discharged into the air. Stella threw an arm up to cover her face, but no shocking rebuke reached her. She peered over her forearm. Michael's magic had only shut the monstrous doors…

And her chance at infiltrating the Lunar Court.

Stella's heart dropped to her stomach as her arm lowered. All the emotion she'd curbed until that point surged upward and blurred her vision.

Don't cry , she pleaded with herself. Not here .

"Hey!" Michael's sharp outburst captured Stella's attention, but it wasn't directed at her. She discreetly wiped at her eyes as she got to her feet, watching warily as a gloved hand from the other side of the door kept it open. "Oh, uh, sorry about that." The words rushed out of Michael's mouth as he caught sight of the hand's owner. With another flick of his wrist, the door swung back open.

Curiosity kept Stella from retreating as Michael hurried out of the courtier's path.

"Much obliged—Michael, isn't it?"

Oh, Gods, anyone but him . Stella's nervous system went on high alert as Raphael stepped through the door. He was impeccably dressed in dark pants, a matching shirt, a red houndstooth blazer, and of course, his signature gloves.

He's too handsome for his own good. A flush drew up her face at the unbidden thought. He might be attractive—Stella wouldn't deny him that—but it didn't mean she was attracted to him. His personality, after all, left much to be desired in her opinion. He was always so on , so effortlessly charming . It was unnatural. How could anyone know if he was being genuine or not? As always, her eyes were drawn to his ox-blood horns. They'd grown significantly since their first encounter months ago, and now boasted a scattering of golden embellishments near their base, which was mostly hidden by his hair.

Stella didn't like to think about what it could mean for them to have grown so quickly but assumed it was something nefarious. She caught her frown before it could manifest.

Raphael, like Jax, inspired a love-or-hate reaction from the other supernaturals in court. Or rather, a lust or hate reaction. Whereas his demon brothers and sisters firmly resided on the hating side, the rest of the court seemed to find his peculiar set of demonic gifts beyond alluring.

Vampyrés, shifters, and sorcerers alike made no secret of their desire to know Raphael's unique touch… even if it came at the cost of a king's ransom. Not even his audacious selectivity hampered his appeal. If anything, his projected unattainability made him even more desirable.

Stella chewed on the inside of her cheek thoughtfully. His means of making a living didn't particularly bother her. There were far more scandalous and depraved ways to earn one's keep at court. If she was honest, it was his demon background that made her uneasy. Stella wasn't proud of her prejudice against his kind, especially with the way the court treated her for being a banshee. Yet she couldn't shake her inherent distrust of them.

She couldn't stop her cringe, however, as she caught sight of Michael nodding eagerly at Raphael. "Yes, I—I didn't realize you knew my name."

Raphael offered him a lazy smile. "I make it my business to know everyone worthy of knowing at court."

Michael's chest puffed up and winced as the slight movement jostled his injury. Raphael paid the telling gesture no mind, giving a cursory glance about the hall and those who were visiting the Styx. His chestnut eyes zeroed in on Stella.

" Stella ." Her name rolled off his tongue like he savored the taste. Raphael's smile grew wider as he stepped toward her. "What a surprise to see you here."

She didn't return his smile, because there was one more glaring detail about Raphael that unnerved her.

He was her soulmark.

Stella's heart, if possible, sank even lower. She would never forget the moment she discovered it. It was the night they first met when he'd interrupted her practice with Bailey in the training room. During that brief encounter, Raphael only had eyes for Bailey, and Stella's presence had been relegated to an amusing sidekick or afterthought. A typical experience until it was anything but.

Raphael had stripped off his shirt to begin his own session, and Stella hadn't been able to contain her gasp at what she saw. Her soulmark. Their soulmark. It lay at the bottom of his sternum—in the same spot as her own—and blended seamlessly among his other runes. No one who saw it would ever guess what it truly was. Unless, of course, the recipient who laid eyes on it was the soulmark's other half, as she was.

Her visceral shock in the moment had been taken as schoolgirl embarrassment by Bailey and Raphael; Stella was endlessly grateful for it. The last thing she wanted was for Raphael to know. That she'd confided the secret in Bailey was more than enough people to harbor the knowledge for her.

Thank the Gods, I've never been shirtless around him. Now, she glanced at the doors as the men eyed her expectantly. "I was just—"

"She tried tricking, then forcing her way into the Lunar Court." Stella scowled at Michael, lips pursed as her previous embarrassment and hurt returned. "The bitch broke my wrist."

Only when Michael made mention of his injury did Raphael deign to look back at the sorcerer. His eyes narrowed casually on his offended limb before returning his full attention to Stella. Raphael leaned forward, mischief alight across his features.

"Impressive," he mock-whispered and winked at her. Stella's lips parted in shock. "Don't worry, Michael. I'll escort this dangerous woman back to her quarters."

He offered his arm to Stella. She could only stare.

"I… can't. I need to—" Stella glanced at the doors meaningfully. "I really need to get inside."

"Not happening." Goosebumps broke out over Stella's back at Michael's icy reply.

"Best not to press your luck," Raphael advised. "Unless you're looking to give everyone here front-row seats to a second round between you and Michael here." With reluctance, Stella rested her hand in the crook of Raphael's offered elbow. "Excellent choice," he murmured.

More like only choice . A well of despair conjured itself inside of Stella, attempting to swallow her whole. She'd failed. Irina and the others would undoubtedly hear about it before dusk.

"What way are we going?" Stella asked as Raphael guided them through the throng of gamblers instead of back up the grand staircase.

"I assumed you'd prefer to take one of the side passages upstairs after whatever happened between you and Michael. Fewer gawkers."

The crush of bodies grew thinner the farther Raphael steered them down the hall. Stella swallowed as her anxiety rose. She was familiar with the passageway he spoke of but wasn't a fan of the dimly lit spiral staircase.

"I think I might go back and try to speak with Michael again." Stella dug in her heels and Raphael slowed to a stop. His brow furrowed.

"He won't let you through those doors," he informed her.

"But he might if you were with me. Can't members of the Lunar Court bring guests in with them from time to time?"

Raphael's features smoothed. "I'm sure they can, but I'm not a member of the Lunar Court. I imagine my application would go about as far as yours, which is to say, it would immediately be thrown in the trash."

Stella couldn't keep the shock off her face. "Wait, you're not a member?"

"No. Nor is my presence in it welcome."

"But you just came from—"

Raphael shook his head once and folded his arms over his chest. Stella's hand floated down to her side.

"I was there regarding a business arrangement," he told her. "Whatever it is that's compelled you to make a bid for membership; put it to rest. Michael's known for his pettiness and holding a grudge. If you really did do him physical harm—" The look Raphael spared her conveyed his skepticism on the matter. "Then you've not only managed to sabotage your chances of entry but also made an enemy."

Stella's eyes widened in alarm. "An enemy?"

Raphael shrugged. "Small men will go to great lengths to find significance, even making enemies out of those who don't deserve it." Raphael cocked his head to the side. "Did you really break his wrist?" Stella hesitated before nodding. A wicked smile split his face. "My, aren't you full of surprises? Shall we? The passageway is just over there."

He made a brief gesture with his head toward the end of the hall. Stella eyed the portrait that concealed the passageway with trepidation. The scene depicted two men fighting to the death in the nude, with one biting viciously into the other's throat and their knee speared into their opponent's back. It had been acquired the year before, much to the excitement of the court along with a slew of others by Bouguereau.

Stella took a step back as she recalled her last experience using the passageway. "That particular staircase isn't the best." Her toes curled. "I almost broke my neck the last time I used them." And I wasn't even in heels .

"I wouldn't dream of letting a hair on your head be harmed by those stairs," Raphael assured her.

The thought did nothing to ease her worries. If what Raphael said about Michael was true, then she needed a new plan to secure the demon blood sample. A legitimate plan that would ensure the Vranas' didn't rescind their offer after hearing of her failure.

Stella held Raphael's expectant gaze, her pulse rising with adrenalin as his cordial manner faded to one of strained annoyance the longer she stayed silently in place. He held out a gloved hand to her.

"Coming?"

She licked her lips. "I need your help."

"As I've already explained, I can't help you gain entry into the Lunar Court." Quick as a snake, he latched onto her arm and tugged her forward. Stella stumbled into Raphael's chest with a small gasp. "Now, shall we?"

He gave her no time to respond before ushering her onward.

"Let go of me."

Raphael made no reply. It was the final straw for her patience and temper. With a grunt, she twisted her forearm in his grip and yanked her arm back toward her face. The move worked and had Raphael whirling around to face her as she broke his hold.

"Is this how you typically react to someone who's being kind to you?" Raphael demanded.

Stella made an affronted noise. "Getting dragged around the Styx isn't what I'd call kindness."

"I'm trying to escort you home without causing more of a scene than you've already made."

They stood in a standoff. Raphael recrossed his arms over his chest as he looked down his nose at Stella, while she glowered back at him. Irritation and desperation warred inside her chest, making each breath feel more burdensome than the last.

"I need your help," Stella repeated through gritted teeth.

Raphael scowled. "I told you—"

"Not with the Lunar Court." His mouth snapped shut as he raised an expectant eyebrow. Stella swallowed. In her haste to instigate a new plan of action, she hadn't thought one through. She only knew that Raphael was the key.

"Well?" Raphael drawled.

"You're a houseless courtier," Stella stated, her mind running a mile a minute.

"Yes, as are you."

Stella wiped her palms against her dress, the motion flattening the wrinkled fabric down. "But no one gives you any trouble like they do me."

"And yet you've managed to survive, which is a talent in and of itself in this bloodthirsty tomb." Stella let his patronizing tone roll off her shoulders as she took a step toward him.

"I'm tired of just surviving," Stella spoke carefully as she held his gaze. "I want to be more here. A true courtier… like you." One who can hold their own in court politics and games without always being a throwaway pawn , Stella continued silently in her head.

Raphael's answering laughter bounced off the walls, drawing eyes to the pair. A furious blush flared over her pale skin.

"Impossible," Raphael said, quieting his laughter with effort but allowing his amused grin to stay. "Come now, let's end this foolishness and I'll escort you back."

"I'll make it worth your while," Stella blurted out. Raphael stilled, his gaze calculating as he eyed those around them watching their interaction.

"No offense, sweetheart, but you aren't my type."

A few chortles and laughs broke out nearby. "That's not what I meant."

"Oh? Then do explain your offer in full."

Panic scratched at the back of her neck, but Stella stood her ground. "We play a game." Stella's gaze latched onto one of the tables where only a few people sat. "Liar's dice."

"And if I win?" He purred sideling closer to her. "What will you give me if I win?"

His words were low enough that Stella was forced to inch closer to hear them. "If you win," she managed to get out, albeit breathlessly, "You get a favor."

"A favor? That's all?"

Stella glared. "Don't forget, demon , I have powerful allies in this court."

Raphael narrowed his gaze. "And if you win—"

"You help me," Stella filled in, conscious of the supernatural ears no doubt listening to their tête-à-tête. Several seconds passed by while Raphael contemplated her offer. He glanced back at the passageway, a frown combing his brow down.

"What? Afraid I'll show you up like I did Michael?" Stella injected as much haughtiness into her voice as possible, drawing back Raphael's glare. Stella dragged her gaze down him meaningfully as she took a step back, allowing the courtiers still watching with interest full view of her taunting. "I wouldn't have thought you to be so small -minded."

A muscle in Raphael's jaw ticked as a fire raged behind his eyes. Then in a blink, the expression was gone and replaced with cool stoicism. He swept out an arm toward the Liar's Dice table.

"After you."