Chapter 22

22

Aurora

“Iwould like to know what drove a thirteen-year-old to make a deal with Hades.”

I flinch. I thought we were done talking about that. I really should have known better. The rage on Malone’s face when she found out my age at the beginning of the deal was a fearsome thing. “It’s irrelevant.”

“It hardly feels irrelevant. If the rest of the territory leaders knew what he’d done, they’d string him up, leader of neutral territory or no. Especially Ursa. There are lines, even for the likes of us. What he did crosses them.”

She’s working herself up again, and while part of me almost enjoys this moment of Malone feeling protective of me, I refuse to indulge this line of talking. “We’ve already been over this.”

“I remain unsatisfied.”

I reach out and give her arm a squeeze. “I chose this. There’s nothing more untoward going on than there usually is in the Underworld, in this city. It’s not worth going in there and fighting with Hades. The worst he’s done since I moved into the Underworld is be overly over-protective of me. That’s it.”

“He’s not the only one.” She murmurs it so quietly, I’m almost convinced I misheard her. She picks up her glass and takes a long drink. “What could possibly drive a thirteen-year-old to show up in the Underworld, let alone make a bargain like that?” A question she’s asked several times now. One I’m no closer to answering.

I look away. I’m a coward in so many ways. If I can’t enact my revenge, the least I can do is shove what she did in her face. If she’s feeling protective of me, if she cares even the slightest bit, surely she’ll feel guilty for the fact that her actions put me on this path?

The moment I break my silence, this thing between us ends.

That should make me happy. She’s my enemy, after all. It doesn’t matter how good it feels to fuck her, how high I fly when we scene. She is the enemy. But that word feels flimsy and untethered. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Silence for a beat. Two. Finally, Malone says, “I don’t suppose it’s a happy story.”

“It’s not.”

The soft stroke of her finger down the side of my face has me opening my eyes to find her searching my expression. I’m not sure what she finds there, because she nods almost to herself. “Growing up as an Amazon is very different from a lot of other places. We value our children above all else. All we do—the ambition, the hostile takeovers, the territory skirmishes—are to pave a better life forward for them. We spoil them and let them have free rein until they hit high school. Then they begin training in earnest.”

I swallow hard. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because it seems that something went sideways during your childhood, and I’m sorry for it.”

She’s not apologizing for what she did to my mother. She doesn’t even know that the former leader of this territory was my mother. Still, the words echo through me. I’m sorry for it. I swallow past my suddenly dry throat. “You’re better than Allecto on the mat. Surely you had to start training at thirteen to get that good.”

“Aurora, I’m forty-one.” She gives a small smile. “Even if I didn’t see the inside of a studio before high school, I’ve still had more than enough years to become proficient at any number of things.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“No, I suppose it isn’t.” She rises slowly to her feet and tugs me up with her. “We give our children free rein, yes, but they start combat training as soon as they can walk.” My shock must show, because she shrugs. “Part of the way we settle disputes with the other factions in Sabine Valley is ritual combat during the feast of Lammas. It’s important that every one of our people can hold their own, should it ever come to that.”

I don’t know much about the pagan feasts beyond roughly when they are in the year, but even I can connect the dots. Lammas is at the beginning of August, which means it passed not too long ago. “So if Lammas is the ritual combat feast, what are the other ones?.”

“Lammas is more than ritual combat. That’s just the part everyone talks about because it’s flashy.” She leads the way down the hall toward her playroom. “Samhain is a sober feast where we honor our dead and fallen throughout the year. Everyone gets drunk and poetic and forgets we’re all enemies. Imbolc is usually when marriages and alliances and various agreements are forged. Everyone celebrates together.” Her lips curve. “And Beltane is a night when there are no factions, no enemies, nothing to hold anyone back from pursuing the pleasure they crave with whomever they please.”

It sounds like something out of a fantasy novel. I knew they followed strange paths in Sabine Valley, but I didn’t realize how strange. She mentioned a bit last night, but it doesn’t feel any less strange now. “Oh.”

“Let’s not talk about painful things anymore.” She opens the door and heads for the large cabinet that contains her plethora of toys. “I’d rather focus on pleasure.”

Malone opens the wardrobe and trails her fingers over her rainbow of strap-ons. They range from average size, if funky shapes, to downright ruinous. My gaze lands on the red one at the end—it’s shaped like a fist and is damn close to life-sized. I shiver. “Do I get to pick?”

She snorts. “No.”

I didn’t think I would. I don’t really want to. The lines have blurred, and the rules I was so sure were unable to bend no longer seem to be in effect. Better to experience the sharp edge of desire, to reestablish those careful boundary lines, than to give in to the strange emotions in my chest. The soft emotions in my chest.

The timer in the kitchen dings, and Malone strokes her hand down my spine. “Let’s eat.”

How can she show me this preview for the night and expect me to be able to concentrate on dinner? Except that’s not what she expects, I realize as I follow her out of the room. This is the appetizer for what comes after the meal. For dessert.

The dining room is smaller than I expected, just large enough for a table capable of seating four. It’s appointed as lavishly as the rest of the penthouse, but I get the feeling that it’s rarely used. It’s a little too pristine, though I don’t know what gives me that impression when everything else is equally pristine. It’s just a feeling.

Malone sets down her wine and motions for me to take a seat. “A moment.”

It’s not until I obey that I realize how wrong this feels. She shouldn’t be waiting on me, though that’s not what this is. It’s her taking care of me.

That traitorous warmth springs to life again. It doesn’t mean anything. It can’t mean anything. No matter what else is true, I simply cannot fall for Malone. It’s bad enough that my revenge slipped so easily through my fingers; half my life spent wanting to hurt her the way she’s hurt me, and the moment I get a chance to put all that pain and sorrow into action, I flounder.

But falling for her?

It would be a failure on an entirely different level. It would paint me in the ugliest of tones, would turn me traitor to the mother who lost everything, to the grandmother who sacrificed so much to ensure I was safe. Surely I can’t be that weak, that horrible?

Malone sets my plate in front of me. It’s lasagna, and the smell immediately has my mouth watering despite my tumultuous emotions. I take a bite, mostly to keep my hands busy and my thoughts internal, and moan as the taste explodes over my tongue. “You should give your chef a raise.”

“She makes quite a pretty penny for her services.” Malone sounds amused.

I realize I’ve closed my eyes to better savor the food and force them open, only to find her watching me with an expression I’ve never seen on her face. It takes several beats for recognition to filter through me. I’ve seen the exact same expression on Hades and Gaeton and Beast and Hook and Ursa. It’s a fond sort of indulgence.

And she’s looking at me like that.

The temptation to close my eyes is nearly overwhelming. Maybe if I pretend I didn’t see it, I can ignore the way it makes me feel. As if she’s wrapped me in a cozy blanket and held me close. As if she cares.

Oh, this is bad. This is very, very bad.

It’s been less than a week, and she’s already undermined everything I thought I believed in. What more can she do, given the rest of the assignation? Will I be panting after her like a love-struck fool when she sends me on my way?

Because she will send me on my way. This isn’t forever. It can’t be. Even without our history, I have no intention to stop working at the Underworld anytime soon. I love it there. Allecto and the others are the family I’ve chosen. The work is fulfilling and fun. There are plenty of people who frequent the place who wouldn’t have an issue with that, but Malone doesn’t strike me as a person who shares outside of the odd scene here and there. Choosing her means giving up all of that.

What am I even saying?

Bad enough that I can’t follow through on my revenge, and I can’t even pretend that I want to. Bad enough that I lust after my enemy. Bad enough that I now see her as a complicated person rather than the villain I’ve painted her.

Choosingher? Wanting to do more than fuck and scene, to actually spend time with her? How can I possibly want that?

Gods, I’m in danger of losing my mind. I feel like I’m standing in the middle of a storm pulling this way and that, threatening to tear me to pieces with the force of conflicting desires. It’s too much. It’s far too much.

My appetite disappears, and I spend the rest of the meal moving my food around on the plate. If Malone notices, she doesn’t comment. I hate that I appreciate the mercy. What would I say, after all?

I’m upset because I should want to kill you, but all I want to do is sit at your feet and worship you for the next ten years or so.

I really am a traitorous daughter.