5. Nat

5

Nat

spear coated in atropine

Instantly, I’m aware of how far a hand as big as his can stretch and how little my dress covers.

I struggle harder against Sinis, refusing to suffer his touch, prepared to wreak havoc when the frayed hem slides lower, pulls taut across my backside, and his hand plants flat on the material.

He’s covered me.

Ensured that despite the chains and rough contact of our bodies, no skin is shared as he carries me up the stairs and stalks down the hall, entering the first available room.

The private suites are for entertaining only.

Nothing like the freezing cold cages Oberlin houses us in.

The Nymphs have whispered to steal a pillow or a blanket, to relax on the indulgent king beds before the paying customer leaves and it’s back to the kennels. Their auras are the sweet filmy green of poplar bark. Innocent, but sensuous, tempted toward aggravation if trod upon. Rarely jealous, but often envious.

I’ll get them out too.

I came for Theia, but I’ll leave with them all free of Oberlin’s ownership.

“Put me down,” I demand as the door swings shut. “Or I vow—”

“You have made a dozen vows and promises in your head already. If you add another to the stack, I’m not sure you’ll remember them all.”

As he talks, he dumps me onto the bed with my head at the bottom. His hands land above my shoulders. He smiles. “Should I fetch you a pen and paper? Perhaps a feather quill and the blood of your enemies?”

Golden hair drips into his forehead, and upside down, he’s just as symmetrical.

I show him my teeth.

Behind his head, on the ceiling, a mirror shows me the entire room. A blur of red and gold, imitating a brothel from a Renaissance painting, a place where secrets are exchanged, and desires fulfilled. An overlarge, gaudy chandelier hangs from the ceiling, casting a soft glow over the enormous bed and its mountain of pillows. Provocative and erotic artwork adorn the walls, and a small dresser at the far corner holds bottles of massage oils and booze.

Sinis only looks at me. “This is the part where I tell you I’ll not hurt you,” he says. “In fact—”

I throw my body forward, restraints tearing at my skin as I ram my forehead into his and relieve him of two more knives, one for each hand. Armed, I vault to the metal headboard, feet sinking into the rich burgundy comforter. “Choose your next words wisely.”

“Adorable.”

Ah. Wrong. “Odd choice for your last words.”

He folds arms over his chest, the leather of his jacket taut on his biceps. “What are you going to do? Stab me?”

“Love to.” I launch his blade end over tip with enough force to pin him into the walnut door and, beyond all reason, he snatches it from its mission, plucking it out of the air as if no more than a wandering leaf.

With a flick of my wrist, I put a spin on the next knife, aiming low. Not fatal but compromising.

As if charmed metal, he retrieves the blade from the air, inches from his thigh. Smirks as he flips it between his fingers. “I can do this all day, sweetheart. All. Day.”

I’ve ended males bigger than me, creatures stronger, braver, bolder, but … the combination before me.

Infuriating.

He’s butting up against seven feet tall, if not more, with shoulders as wide as the door, but not bulky. He’s set with a tapered solid body, and possesses reflexes quicker than a shadow.

An unheard of combination.

Odder yet, his aura doesn’t cling to him like most. It hovers off his skin, as if it’s afraid to dim his shine.

Centuries of training make me itch to clear the air of such unholy darkness.

Casually, he slots the knives in their sheaths on his belt and leans against the door. “Where were we? Oh right. Ice breakers.” He’s still smirking, nonchalant. “I’m Sin, as in the seven deadly, and let’s see.” He steeples long, ringed fingers against his chin. “Pineapple on pizza is sacrilege. I’ve pet a unicorn, and not one, not two, but three positions in the Kama Sutra were invented by me.”

I stare at him—at Sin.

“Go ahead.” He tips forward, tongue sliding over his bottom lip. “Take your guess.”

I lift a brow. “Narcissist?”

“Pineapple, actually. I don’t love it on pizza, but it’s not the great evil people say it is and when sliced thinly, it offers the perfect acidic bite to the unctuous—”

“Wrathful Gods, give me back a knife so I can use it on myself.”

Ignoring my outburst, he frees himself from his jacket, taking care to pull the sleeves of his turtleneck down his wrists as if he can’t feel the heat pumped into the rooms to entice stripping.

“It’s your turn now,” he says. “Two truths and a lie.” His voice is calm and pitched low, almost flirtatious.

When I offer only silence, he frowns. “We’ve got time to burn, darling. I’d rather spend it getting to know you than dodging flying blades.”

“Then stand still.”

“You are a firecracker indeed.” His purple eyes flick to my feet and stroke all the way back up. Slowly. “Would you like me to go again?”

I don’t understand him, his attitude, his skill. I dig my toes into the mattress, confusion making me weary and restless. “Afraid I’ve other plans. Retribution doesn’t sleep.”

“How pesky retribution is in that way.”

“Are you still talking? Step away from the door.”

Without dropping his amused smile, he straightens his form to a slab of hard muscle. “Sorry dove, I can’t allow that. I’ve got my own schedule to keep, and it does not involve bloodshed. Not on this night. I will free you of your chains I promise, but not a moment before I’ve got what I want.”

Free me?

I stare into his aura, searching for a vein of white, of honor. “And what is it you want, precisely?”

I wrap the excess chains hooked to my wrists around my knuckles.

“Relax, sweetling. As tempting as it may be, you are not on tonight’s menu.” He taps his wrist. “On the clock, you see. No time to deliver unparalleled pleasure.”

“But time for icebreakers?”

“Darling, passion swallows time like a starving black hole. Icebreakers take three minutes. One if the lie is obvious.” He offers me his hand at the edge of the bed, cupped in an elegant cradle. Waits.

My choice.

He hasn’t undressed, hasn’t made demands, hasn’t even locked the door.

Ignoring him, ignoring the rattle and rub of my restraints, I jump to the cushioned rug, absorbing the impact with a slight bend. “Do not condescend to me.”

He makes a show of lowering his hand and returns to the door, folding his arms once more. “I’d never dream to. I was just spreading my knowledge. Like, for example, if you try to kill Ephesus Oberlin, I will stop you.”

Any other male I’d dismiss for sheer lunacy, but Sin’s aura is a pulsing pitch black and there are few things that stain an aura as dark as that.

He’s a decorated killer, and I’m still in chains, still weaponless, still have no idea where Theia is.

My butt hits the bed.

Hades, I miss her. Miss her terrible baking.

I miss the smack of her hand on my arm when I’m stubborn for stubborn’s sake. I miss venturing out on my quests and her clomping two steps behind wrapped in some neon atrocity, yapping that if I don’t get on with the death making, her stomach will implode like a black hole.

Evan … my heart twists painfully.

Evan was wonderful, undeserving, but he, in all his numerous virtues, he was never my happy ending.

It’d been Theia.

In our stolen craptastic apartment, spending our days ridding the world of filth and our nights deep diving on Bravo.

And they took her from me. Males like Sin.

I can’t imagine her like this, weighed down by chains. I can’t stomach the image of Oberlin zapping her skin, of her getting locked in a room with an unknown male, expected to—

Sin takes advantage of my distraction, abruptly reaching out and pressing the warmth of his palm against my cheek.

I exhale, fighting back a shiver at the contact.

No one touches an Erinyes without permission.

No one wants to. No one wants a vicious creature addicted to hate in their bed. The slightest offense can provoke us, and the more attached we become, the more volatile and dangerous.

It’s been so long since I’ve been touched.

Since someone was brave or stupid enough to offer comfort.

He has long fingers, prominent knuckles, rings of the highest quality, gold signets and bands.

“Have no fear. I won’t let Oberlin hurt you again.”

An aura like obsidian and words like polished silver.

I don’t believe a thing he says, not as I lift my eyes to him, and swallow to channel my best Theia impression. Innocence and sugar. “You’ll really free me?”

His chin is tipped down, steady gaze fixed on me. He no longer looks like the spoiled deviant wasting his time. He looks dangerous. “If you promise to run. To leave Oberlin and never return, I’ll free you the moment I can.”

I fold my hand over his, fit my fingertips over his knuckles. “Now.”

This close, I can feel the heat radiating off him. Waves of spiced clove fill my nose.

“I cannot, my sweet. But soon. I vow this. And when I'm able, I’ll allow you to take your revenge as you crave it.”

Allow me?

Fucking joke.

It’s fascinating how his aura ripples with his words, as if it’s reminding me that each one is fake. An empty promise.

Creatures lie.

My eyes do not.

Slowly, I drop his hand and stand, walk to the corner of the room on bare feet, and lift a decanter filled with a thin amber liquid. Jostle it, sniff the top. “It’s not revenge,” I tell him as I fill a plastic tumbler. “It’s justice. Judgment has been cast, and Ephesus is guilty. I’m here as executioner.”

I take a drink and shake my head against the burn of alcohol.

“It’s for sipping.” Sin’s back, the male from downstairs, drawling and careless as he stalks behind me, places a cup beside mine and sets his hip against the stained wood to stare at the bed. “Brandy is not intended to be shot. It’s meant to warm a late night conversation or be indulged between lovers in the aftermath of bed sport.” Purple eyes drift to me, soft, warm. “Tell me your name, beautiful.”

“What’s the point?” I grind out, twisting away from him, pouring him three fingers and corking the decanter. “As much as I adore another of your elitist lessons—”

“Please, darling, I need a name to dream about, to groan in my fantasies.”

“You’re disgusting.”

He clinks his glass into mine. “I’m asking,” he says, low, as if he could choose not to ask.

Could make me tell.

Call a spade a spade and he’ll still be a piece of shit.

“Natasa,” I admit, sucking my teeth. “And as I was saying, this isn’t brandy.”

A line digs in between his brows. “It isn’t?” He sniffs and tips his head back, pouring smooth liquor down his throat.

Grins at me. “My darling Natasa, if that isn’t brandy, then I am not …”

He stops suddenly.

His knees buckle, his elbow smacks the dresser and I step aside just in time to watch him face plant onto Oberlin’s fancy carpeting.

I lick at the ichor pooled beneath my cuff. The skin scratched raw from simple movements. Dagger throwing, jumping from the bed, pouring drinks. Silver and viscous, the blood of Gods is sweet on my tongue.

“Oh honey,” I coo at Sin’s prone form. “Poison’s really more of a shooter.”

I check his cup. Half empty. Which means he’s taking a long dirt nap. Soon to meet my sisters, maybe even my aunts.

Good.

Working quickly, I flip Sin onto his back, surprised to find that he’s warm all over. Warm and hard and smelling like a fancy spice he’d probably like to mansplain to me. Allspice and something sharp, filling.

I dust a forlorn tendril of gold hair off his forehead. Click my tongue.

He is gorgeous. Shame his personality couldn’t match.

I don’t have time to lament. My crusade is getting out of hand. The body toll keeps rising and without Theia to help, the trail is becoming long and bloody in my wake.

It’ll be fine.

I’ll figure it out when I get her back. She’s an expert in loose ends and hiding bodies.

Still , she would’ve said, shame you couldn’t enjoy him a bit. Not even a taste.

I glide my fingers over his full mouth, the strike of his cheekbones. Sigh. He might be the most handsome male I’ve ever seen.

As soon as I think it, I rear back.

No. I’m not mourning a guy because he’s got amethyst eyes and a sexy smile.

He’s not an innocent bystander. Even if he seemed earnest about helping me. The aura doesn’t lie.

Killing him was inevitable.