25. Sin

25

Sin

choking on lemon

The hairs on the nape of my neck stand on end as the door closes behind us, a click that feels like burning iron on my wrists.

The rose-scented air of the church’s grand entry clings to my skin like a thorned shroud. My heart pounds.

“Stop fidgeting,” I tell Nat, prying her fingers from coiling in the gauzy train of her dress and wrapping mine around them.

Anger kindles in her eyes, radiating out in a palpable force, lemons and lemons and lemons . So fucking sour, my mouth waters. Her glare crackles with an intensity that matches the electric charge before a slamming storm.

It calms me. Her palpable displeasure.

Nat does not hide who she is or what she thinks.

She doesn’t belong here.

Playing dress up, pretending to be leashed when she could topple this building with a toothpick, a pen, and a pepper grinder.

I wish we were back on our hill, I wish her skin was dew-dropped orange, I wish onion ring salt stuck to her lip, and grime caked my hair.

I’d have done anything to wipe the tears from those big brown eyes. Being indebted to Zeus, as pathetic as his rain storm was, didn’t cross my mind as a deterrent. I’ll probably owe him my firstborn.

Ask me if I regret it.

She wants me.

She might hate herself for it, but she can’t lie.

She kissed me.

Not some drug, not some power.

I wish I could make her see. She’s not a nightmare. At least not one that ravages and throws you from sleep. She’s my lovely nightmare, a paradox I can’t resist. In her presence, I am lost and found, both trapped and set free. She’s so ferociously herself, she makes me want to kiss her until I’m the same. Until I stop smiling for others. I only want to smile for her. She dominates my sleep, leaves me waking soaked in sweat, aching, desperate for more. A nightmare.

A fantasy.

Challenging me, testing the limits of my soul, driving me to confront my own demons, and not balking when they bare teeth at her too.

I squeeze her hand.

Her voice is as sharp as a dagger. “Stop dressing me up as a fruitcake. No one’s here. It doesn’t matter.”

“This is by design. Lesenia’s watching.” I twirl her to face me, keeping one eye on the arched hall, a deepening unease clawing into my skin.

Gently, I stroke a finger from her silver and gold crown to her chin. “You’re lovely.”

She’s deadly.

Cobalt silk draped to the floor, strapless, her long dark hair pulled from her cheeks with metallic clips and flowing down her exposed back.

Nails bite into my thumb. “I’m going to soak this suffocating, ridiculous dress in ether and make you eat it.”

“I don’t know which I want more. You wet in that dress or my mouth on it.”

Flames whip in her glare.

I grin, smug, indulgent. Hopelessly honest.

“No one’s looking at me, not when you look like …”

A glorious shock of pleasure skates through me at the annoyed sweep of her gaze.

I may have taken extra time to preen tonight. May have leaned into Nat’s obsession with all things Underworld.

Black slacks, precisely tailored midnight button down, sleeves rolled to show the glow of my skin, a chunky sapphire bracelet over my tattoo. Hair shoved back with a dab of gel, stubble sprawls over my face in a dark shadow.

The kicker: an ode to Nat’s favorite gleaning vambraces, a cuff of shiny gold is fitted to the curve of my ear.

I’ve never been to the realm of the dead, but I think I’d fit right in.

“Care to finish that sentence, love?”

“Hades,” she hisses, unable to lie.

I smirk. “Ooh, a daddy kink. How unoriginal.”

“Gods, I need to scrub my eyes out.”

“Hate me, Bloodspiller, but don’t deny you appreciate the view.” I rest my chin on the apple of her cheek, fingers cradling her nape. “Zeus knows I do.”

Her responding stare is hungry, something flickering behind the brown. She wets her bottom lip.

I pull her into me. “I don’t give a fuck what you wear, love. The armor, your shorts, the finest gowns money can buy, or the splash of mud up your throat. I crave you in all of it. I’m entranced by all of it.”

Her irises are nearly black with arousal. But there’s no glint of joy in her expression. She sucks in air. “Sin …”

I recognize the tone. She's letting me down.

Gods, I prefer it when she stabs me.

“There you are,” a posh voice greets.

Dread slices up my chest. I force myself to maintain eye contact with Nat, beseeching her to see the turmoil raging inside, silently pleading for a temporary ceasefire, a respite from the tempest that brews between us. The desperation in my voice as I whisper the word “ truce “ is a testament to the fear that lingers in my bones. “Please. I acknowledge you’ve never felt fear before, but tonight, this female—”

“Late. As per usual.” Lesenia waltzes into the vaulted foyer with perfectly calculated intrusion, ever the puppet master, blonde hair coiffed perfectly, lips painted sweet pink. “But at least you’ve got all your buttons fastened this time.”

Her voice is sugary, and the rolled ends shoot violent rage through every fiber of my being. I swallow hard, trying to keep my composure intact, aware that any misstep could lead to a resurgence of her claim. Nothing but a mutt good for one thing.

“Lesenia,” I greet, bitterness coating my palate. “What a pleasure. Thank you for the invitation. You remember my partner, Natasa.”

Partner , Gods, how she used to beg for me to call her that.

Changed her mind when I was on my knees for her. Decided she’d prefer to be my master.

Light blue eyes dash to Nat. A muscle jumps in Lesenia’s cheek. They’re in the same exact shade of blue. And Nat wears it much, much better. Even without the ruffles, the layers, frills and accents.

Lesenia hasn’t changed. Petite frame, subtle curves, those blue eyes, and falsely sweet features. It occurs to me I once imagined Lesenia beautiful. So beautiful, I had sought her out. Now I know what beauty is. How it hides inside in the margins of strength and pride and purpose with eyes the color of the earth.

Vaguely, I’m aware we’re moving from under the vestibule’s glittering chandelier to the cathedral ceilings of the main gathering area. All the while, Lesenia bemoans the limitations of the venue. My fists ball with the urge to release the overwhelming wrath that gathers under my skin.

Every cell in my body feels energized and ready for action.

For revenge.

For blood and—

Fingers tightly grip my hand, not the delicate touch of a courtesan. Rough, callused, Nat forces our fingers to intertwine and clutches me until my rings pinch. Her low voice is piled with derision as she scoffs, “What a bitch.”

I tighten my hold on her. Hard.

Lesenia’s definition of intimate remains unchanged.

Over the top.

Creatures gather in cliques, drape along pews, spill tequila on the grand center altar. Among them, Diakonos wander with gleaming pewter trays perched high on their heads.

If that weren’t blasphemy enough, I follow the tilt of Nat’s head to the painted ceilings, where vicious lightning bolts have been slashed across cherubs and apostles and silver rain cascades over the Virgin Mary.

“It’s a more accurate depiction,” Lesenia remarks dryly, ferrying us toward a buffet of drinks. “Wouldn’t you agree? Come, I must introduce you, or perhaps just reacquaint you.” She curls her arm in the crook of my elbow. I taste licorice. Bitter and salty, sticky sweet. Vindication . “Are you still able to perform, my Lord of Sin?”

“ My Lord of Sin,“ comes Nat’s throaty growl. The Fury winds around us, obtusely creating a barrier between me and the harsh flavor. Uniting us.

The realm’s least likely allies.

Lesenia’s delicate features click, a fleeting sign of annoyance before she conceals it. “For now,” she hisses at Nat, but the message is directed at me. “What a … surprising selection she is. So unlike your usual preferences.”

Nat’s smile is devious, all teeth and upturned corners. “I was about to say that about you, but then, you weren’t his choice, were you?”

Her grip on my wrist becomes clenching pressure. She rakes a hand through my curls, territorial.

Possessive.

I inhale sharply.

Watching it unfold, a series of unsettling emotions flicker over Lesenia’s face. Nat’s taste is too strong for me to discern precisely which and I’m thankful I don’t have to choke on them.

“I am being hailed,” Lesenia murmurs, tight-lipped, ever the courtesan. “Find me Sinis. I long to catch up.”

I suck down air the moment she’s gone, twisting into Nat’s hold. Memorize how her soft lips scrape across my cheek, soft and steady breath in my ear, lemon on my tongue.

“I can’t prove it,” Nat mutters, hands sliding down my stomach. “But I think she’s the worst person I’ve ever met.” She presses closer to me, smelling of cool, damp earth and tasting like sharp, sharp lemons. “Forget her. We need to work.”

I manage it in stuttered, stocky movements.

I shake hands, spill charm across the room. I drink and mention an interest in another, more uncommon creature than mine. I drink and plaster Nat against me. I drink and smile and hate myself.

Gradually, the evening disintegrates in front of me, transforming into a battleground. Series of superficial interactions, underhanded compliments, and hidden agendas. Passive aggressive questions, hostile glances. Undercurrents of power swirl around us, suffocating, stains every smile with deceit.

I drink with Nat glued to me, my fingertips branding her hip as she whispers white hot fury directly to me, everything she’s going to do to them.

“Bind his hands, ladle molten iron down his throat.”

“Rip her teeth out, then her tongue, her tonsils, whatever else I find in there until she drowns in her own blood.”

“Clamps. Industrial saw-toothed clamps. Everywhere.”

In the midst of unrest, she becomes sanctuary. Makes me feel light, gives me a center to return to, reminding me that I’m not Lesenia’s, and she doesn’t control me. My past is no longer who I am.

It’s late when we find ourselves alone. Nat’s fingers hover above the pedestal of holy water, elbows braced on the ledge of the bowl.

“Bremen has a collection,” I tell her, watching her break the surface with her nail and chase the rippling water. “She bragged about it. Wouldn’t delve into particulars. We need to find a way to be alone with her.”

“Hmm.”

“And Clancy claims he has contacts in the south, whatever that means. But Phoenix like warm weather, right?”

“Right.”

“Reinen is holding back on me. I’ll let him breathe and we’ll continue to press on him. I’ll throw plenty to force the truth.”

“ Sin .” Her gaze slices to mine. I still at the harsh tone. “I can’t do this right now.”

Her hands are shaking, clutching the vessel.

Her forehead is dotted with sweat. Her jaw is clenched.

“You’ve used my name, so I know something’s wrong.” I pour the last of my chianti down my throat. “What is it?”

“Don’t annoy me when I am so close to …”

The swells of her cheeks suck in against the word, but I hear it.

I hear everything Nat refuses to admit. She’s tumbling into the thrall.

Drake’s words batter my mind. Always fighting it. Can you imagine?

No. I absolutely cannot.

Eyeing the exit, I grasp her elbow. “Let’s leave.”

“No.” She clutches the bowl harder, making it look less like an holy offering and more like a toilet. “This is the most progress we’ve made in one night.”

“So what?”

“So Theia .”

I grind my molars. “Theia would rather you alive than dead. Wouldn’t you say?”

“I’m not going to kill myself .“ The emphasis on myself is so insubordinate, so bloodthirsty, I almost smile.

“You can’t kill a church packed with creatures. One to fifty. There’s not a weapon on you.”

In her silence, it’s clear she feels differently. Something akin to pride bursts in my chest at her absolute unabashed confidence.

She squeezes her eyes shut, jaw popping. And I can’t help myself from stroking knuckles over her shoulder. Her skin is warm beneath my touch. Hot. “My poor Bloodspiller.”

She shudders, a half gasp spilling from her mouth, and I retract, hovering close.

“Is it painful?”

She locks eyes with me and worry knots behind my sternum. Her pupils have devoured her irises. “No it’s—” She shuts her eyes against an onslaught of lemons, clenches her jaw. “It’s consuming.” Her voice is charged with a potent mix of desire and violence. “Overpowering. Bone deep yearning. I can taste it.”

She blinks at me, but she doesn’t see me. Her gaze sticks to my mouth, primal, an inferno threatening to destroy everything in its path.

Raw lust slashes through me. My wine tastes like lemonade.

Without the sugar.

“It’s agonizing and tantalizing being in such proximity. I want it,” she rasps brokenly, almost resigned to it. As if she’s both drawn to and repelled by the power of her desire. “I ache for it. Uncontrollably, I want to shred her apart.”

I feel it too. My lungs losing air, my skin heating caught in the grip of her gaze.

She stares at me as if I hold the key to her survival, as if I am the only one who can understand the magnitude of her struggle.

Maybe I am.

“I’ll do it.” Her whisper is a fragile thread connecting us. And in her words lies a plea for understanding. She fixates on my mouth, as if it’s the lone view that doesn’t inspire death. “Not for any of this. Not for the Diakonos. I’ll kill her for you.”

I think it then for the first time. Three words clawing up from the depths of my heart to sink into my thoughts like water through the earth, spreading, stuffing pores, feeding life.

If Nat’s a monster, then I’m a beast.

Because with her swearing death at me, I feel an uncharted ease in my stomach.

And I take advantage of it.

Of her.

Of this scenario. Of her inability to tell me no, to cast the truth at me.

No more waiting. I want her rabid and fighting. I want her vindictive and deadly.

I want everything she is. Every drop of lemon and hate. If she can fight her instinct, I’ll fight too. Harder, and with every weapon in my arsenal.

I know she doesn’t want me.

It doesn’t change anything for me.

I frame her face in my hands and take her lips with mine.