Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

T he carriage lurched forward, its wheels crunching on the cobblestones. Belladonna clutched the velvet seat cushion, her heart pounding in her chest. She was disguised as a wealthy noblewoman, her face masked by a veil and her identity hidden beneath a wig and elaborate gown.

Desmond, dressed in a tailored black suit, sat beside her, his arm casually draped over the back of the seat. "Ready?" he asked.

"Ready as I'll ever be."

As the carriage trod through the village, she couldn't help looking at him. Desmond in that tailored black suit was a sculptor's dream, his form a masterpiece of muscle and bone. The fabric clung to him like a second skin, revealing the hard planes of his physique. She wondered how his body looked like underneath. The image conjured in her vision, and she mentally slapped herself.

Focus, she told herself.

"I hope Lucretia doesn't find out it's me," she said.

Desmond gave her a long look. "Well, she most certainly will notice you. It is hard not to." His heated gaze lingered on the golden tresses of her wig, her black and crimson laced gown, the choker around her neck. He nearly devoured her the way he looked at her. She looked away, breathing hard.

"You look beautiful," he said, his voice low.

Belladonna's cheeks flushed. "Thank you." She tried to sound nonchalant, but her heart was racing. "I was curious…"

"Yes?"

"What happens after we find the cult?"

"Then we shall eliminate them swiftly, of course."

"That's not what I mean." She dared to glance up. "What happens after that...?"

"I trust you haven't forgotten our contract terms."

A soft, bitter laugh escaped her. "So it all ends then."

Desmond paused for a moment. "Yes, mistress."

His words stung her like a lash. "How will you take it? Does it hurt?"

"Goodness, aren't you full of questions. A demon can extract a soul in numerous ways. Some methods are excruciating while others... are the complete opposite." The creature's mouth quirked for a second, as though he was privy to his own private joke.

"Do you have any reservations?" he asked.

"Do you?" she countered.

"What a question to ask, mistress." His tone stirred.

The carriage lurched again, and Belladonna leaned against the window, her heart pounding. She was playing a dangerous game, but she was determined to see it through.

Desmond escorted Belladonna to the ballroom. It was a cavernous hall adorned with a tapestry of stars on the ceiling. The walls were draped in velvet curtains of midnight blue, and the air was thick with the scent of burning candles, their flickering flames casting dancing shadows on the polished floor.

The atmosphere was electric, a symphony of whispers, laughter, and the soft clinking of glasses. The crowd was a sea of faces, but two stood out.

At the sight of Lucretia and her husband, Belladonna clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. A spark of anger raged within Belladonna, a wildfire igniting in a parched forest and threatening to engulf her in its heat. She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. This was not the time to act rashly.

"How can we get close to them?" asked Belladonna.

"Simple," said Desmond. "We seduce them."

Belladonna snorted. "Of course, that would be your solution."

"It's quite an easy thing to do with humans. Shall I demonstrate through a dance?" His thigh grazed mine. He wrapped one hand around her waist while the other held her hand, pulling her closer.

"Do not jest with me, demon."

"I am perfectly serious," he said, eyes boring into hers. "Humans are creatures of desire. All it takes is a little charm and a touch of manipulation."

She had always known that demons were slippery creatures, but his cavalier methods made her stomach knot. He was doing the same to her, wasn't he?

"Come," he said, leading her onto the dance floor.

Desmond was a master of the dance, his movements fluid and graceful. The music swelled, and he pulled her closer, his breath warm against her ear. "Trust me," he whispered, his voice a seductive caress. "Together, we can make them pay."

She inhaled a deep breath. "I trust you."

He was a serpent slithering through the garden of her heart, his charm a poisonous apple that she was all too eager to bite. And she knew, deep down, that she was willingly surrendering to his temptation. She couldn't resist his words, his charm, his power. Him.

Desmond dipped her suddenly, and she drew in a sharp breath. Her fingers grasped his lapels, clinging them for a few moments. She drew in his scent, the scent that plagued her dreams and lingered throughout the day. She quickly released the fabric.

His lips stretched into an amused smile. "Can you not handle this proximity?"

"Nothing of the sort," she said, her cheeks aflame.

But can you, demon?

Tchaikovsky's soft, tremulous Winter Dreams faded into Vivaldi's breathless Winter. Glissandos filled the air. The enticing sounds seduced Belladonna's mind, and a strange intoxication crept into her veins. Maybe it was the biting, heady strings. Maybe it was the way Desmond's smoldering eyes bore into hers. No longer did she control her restraint.

Like a dam unbarred, her unseemly thoughts flowed with vengeance, a trembling flood, and she purposely channeled them to him. Her spell worked, for the beast's eyes sharpened.

"What do you think you're doing?" he whispered dangerously.

"It's like you always say," she said. "The game becomes boring if it lacks thrill.

Desmond's eyes glinted, a flicker of hell-fire. His hold on her waist tightened. One hand inched further and further behind her back until it rested on her tailbone. Slowly, he rubbed the erogenous spot. Belladonna could feel his sharp nails clawing through his glove. Digging into her.

"You're playing with fire, little witch."

"And you'll be the one to get burned."

His mouth twisted in a sharp smile. "We shall see about that." His fingers slipped from her waist, and then dipped lower.

"What are you-"

"Shsh, mistress." His other gloved hand rested on Belladonna's lips. "Did you know? The base of the tailbone is an erogenous zone." He began tracing it, unbearably slow. "A small touch here can have the most profound effect. "

"Enough of this debauchery."

Desmond didn't bother to take his hand off, and he continued the dance. Belladonna could've swore Desmond's slippery fingers inched even lower as the music increased its pace. She gave the demon a sharp, warning glare, but curiously, made no protest.

The rhythm builded up to its climax. The crescendo hit, and Desmond dipped Belladonna without warning. Back arched, Belladonna drew in a sharp breath, his eye patch loosening, and involuntarily grasped Desmond's lapels by both hands to steady himself.

For longer than a few decent moments, the duo stared at each other, holding fast to their positions. Obsidian tendrils of hair fell upon Belladonna's forehead. Desmond's face hovered over hers, the scent of eau de cologne, Twinings tea, and that distinct musk of Desmond wafting under her nose. Intoxicating.

Desmond withdrew himself from her, and she suddenly felt empty, her hands falling to her sides.

"And that," he said, "is how you seduce."

"Sod off."

"Your awaited guests are here, mistress. Follow my lead."

Lucretia, dressed in a gown of shimmering emerald green, was laughing with a group of friends. Her husband, a pompous man with a smug expression, stood nearby, sipping champagne.

Belladonna approached them, her voice a honeyed drawl. "Excuse me, but I couldn't help but notice your lovely gown. It's quite exquisite."

"As is yours," said Lucien.

Lucretia narrowed her eyes at her husband, then flicked her gaze to Belladonna. "Thank you. It's a new acquisition." She paused, her gaze lingering on her face. "You look... familiar. Have we met before?"

Belladonna's heart skipped a beat. "No, I don't believe so."

Desmond stepped forward. "It would be impossible since we're new to the city, my lady."

Lucretia studied him, her eyes growing dilating as if to take more of him in. Belladonna ought to be used to that reaction by now, but it still pricked her whenever she saw ladies—and on occasion, gentlemen–giving Desmond those particular looks. She waved away her annoyance. For now, at least, they had managed to fool them. But she knew that her disguise could only last for so long. She would need to find another way to get close to them.

Desmond was already on it.

"Would you care to switch partners?" he said, his voice dripping with a casual charm that belied his true intentions.

Before Lucien could agree, his wife quickly answered for him, her eyes heavy-lidded with desire. There was no denying that Desmond was utterly handsome, and Lucretia, clearly affected by his charm, was eager to dance with him. A serpent coiled around Belladonna's heart as she watched them begin to dance.

"I hope I can distract you from them," Lucian murmured into her ear, his voice low and smooth.

"You're already a pleasant distraction," Belladonna replied, choking the words out. She forced a coy smile at the vile man as she took his offered hand.

He pulled her in for a waltz, his body pressed against hers. She bared it, the man that had destroyed her family now touching her with his filthy hands. She would need a scorching bath after this.

"How do you find this town so far?" asked Lucien, his voice a smooth baritone.

"I am finding it has a lot of interesting sights, my lord." She looked at him coyly through her lashes, trying not to flinch at his disgusting smile. "Perhaps you can suggest other pursuits one might indulge in here?"

He grinned and gripped her waist closer to him. "That depends what you are looking for, my dear."

Bare it. It will all be worth it.

She traced a button on his shirt, my fingers lingering a moment too long. "I am told, my lord, that you head a special society for a select few."

Lucien's eyes narrowed. "Who told you this?"

"A witch-hunter I met recently." Her gaze lingered on Desmond purposely, and Lucien believed her ploy.

"I see," he said. "But I'm not sure you are right for the organization, my dear."

"Aren't I?" She gave him a twisted smile. "I know that witches exist. One of them hexed my family. Spawn of the earth, they are, and I wish to eradicate them."

"Is that so?" Lucien's eyes darkened as his smile deepened. "In that case, take the staircase to the underbelly of this manor after the ball commences. I shall be waiting for you." He paused, taking in Desmond dancing with his wife. "And bring that witch-hunter of yours, as well."

"I look forward to it, my lord."