Chapter Twenty-Four

The book tumbles to the ground as my back hits the floor. The Harbinger leaps on top of me, raising its long claws before bringing them down in a vicious swipe. I throw my forearm up to block my face, and my skin takes the brunt of the attack. A burning pain pulls another scream from my throat as the flesh tears and warm blood spills down my arm.

My Scylla is unreachable, caged again by some demonic magic I can't fight. I'm defenseless against the Harbinger, and I curse my stupidity at letting my necklace fall into the hands of the Moirai. It had been my only protection, and I let my emotions over Nick cloud my judgment.

The Harbinger rears back, its jaw unhinging with a sickening crack! It releases a deafening roar, drowning out yet another one of my blood-curdling screams as it plunges down to consume me. I shut my eyes and brace myself for agonizing pain. Fear overwhelms every single one of my senses, obscuring the fact that the weight of The Harbinger's body on top of me has lightened immensely.

It's wrenched off me, snapping and growling in frustration as I watch through blurry vision. I hear a strange and unsettling sound.

It's whimpering.

I blink, staring at the broad shoulders and muscled back of the man I left only a few hours ago, who kissed me senseless, then disappeared. Nick is still in his same clothes from Strega, black button down and equally dark slacks still pressed to perfection, not a damn wrinkle in sight.

The Harbinger cowers before him, Nick's presence dominating the narrow, darkened corridor with such stifling power I expect it to swallow me whole. The demon's eyes flit behind him and land on me with an unmistakable hunger.

"Mine," it hisses.

Nick takes one simple step toward the Harbinger, and it shrinks back even more.

"No. Mine. " A dark possessiveness wraps around the last word .

The demon releases an odd sound that sounds similar to a disappointed huff.

" As you wish…" it runs a bruised and blackened forked tongue over its lips, its mouth lifting in a devious grin. "Your Majesty."

I'm sorry… what?

The Harbinger disappears, and Nick crouches down beside me, his gaze flicking over every inch of my body.

"Are you hurt?"

I shake my head. The wounds on my forearm have already healed.

Nick reaches for me, and I allow him to help me to my feet. He runs an assessing gaze over me once more, then hands me the book with a quick glimpse of the title.

" Titanochamy: The Great Ten-Year War . What do you need this for?"

I take the book and raise a brow. "I think I'm the one that should be asking questions right now."

Nick shakes his head. "Don't, Rhi." He turns from me and begins walking.

"Nick!" I shout, but he continues to put distance between us. I set my jaw. " Your Majesty, wait."

Nick jerks to a halt and turns around painfully slow. I tentatively approach him when he remains silent. "We need to talk."

Caution burns bright in his eyes along with resistance, but before he can protest, I decide to make him an offer.

"Play chess with me." It comes out as a demand. "Tonight."

Intrigue edges out the caution in his gaze. "Why?"

"For old time's sake," I say innocently.

"No," is his curt reply.

"Afraid you'll lose? Again ?"

Challenge flares in his eyes as he barks out an address on the Upper East Side. "Tonight. 8:00 pm."

I hesitate, skepticism anchoring my initial excitement at his acceptance. We played in the Common Room last year, and that's where I assumed we'd play this time.

His mouth curves shrewdly. "What's the matter, Rhi? Afraid you'll lose this time?"

"Never."

Grin still plastered on his lips, Nick leans forward, his breath skating across my ear. "You should be. Though, you should be more afraid of what's going to happen when I have you all to myself, where no one can hear you scream."

Any retort I'd planned dies on my lips. Not that it matters, because once again, Nick has suddenly vanished.

For nineteen years, I've lived in a cozy suburb just twenty minutes outside of New York City - without traffic, of course. Yet, the number of times I've traveled into Manhattan within the last few months far exceeds the amount of trips I made into the city before this past year.

I stand outside a luxury building on Park Avenue, the exterior of the first floor covered in smooth, pale gray stone. The rest of the skyscraper building is stacked with red brick, stretching far into the night sky. A gold awning juts out above the building's entrance, the gilded frames of the windowed doors allowing me a clear view of the inside lobby.

A dapper gentleman in a black suit stands sentry, his smile bright but imposing. He says nothing as he opens the doors and gestures with an upturned palm for me to step inside.

My black heels clack along the ground, disrupting the otherwise unsettling quiet of the lobby. My image reflects in nearly every surface of the shimmering brown lacquered walls and polished white floor. Lights drip like teardrops from three iron spiral rings suspended from the ceiling, all interspersed down the long bright corridor.

I stop at the security desk at the end of the lobby, manned by another gentleman in a black suit who looks eerily similar to the doorman outside.

"Rhiannon, I presume," he states with an impossibly arched eyebrow.

"Rhi," I clarify.

He ignores me, his fingers clacking away across a keyboard. "Enter the elevator behind me. Mr. Cervallos resides in the penthouse."

Of course he does.

I mutter a ‘thank you' to the stoic lobby guard and make my way to the shiny black elevator door behind the desk. Only a single button labeled "PH" sits on a silver panel imbued in the wall, and the door immediately slides open once I push it.

The elevator ride to the penthouse is achingly similar to the elevator ride I shared with Jesse. A pang of guilt socks me right in my abdomen, but I force myself to quell it. Tonight, I need nerves of steel and a battle strategy worthy of Sun Tzu. Which is why I came prepared with more than just my highly equipped chess brain.

A quiet ding signals the opening of the elevator door, and I step into a hallway of gleaming ivory and onyx marble. It opens into an expansive living room, with a crackling fire flickering from within an ornate white mantle on the eastern wall.

Floor to ceiling windows run the length of the far wall, the entire city of Manhattan laid right before my eyes. The George Washington Bridge is visible in the distance, making the view I'd glimpsed in Jesse's office pale in comparison to the one right before me.

Four green velvet couches surround a glass coffee table in the center of the room, and as I make my way further into the penthouse, I spot a spiral staircase off to the left.

There's another floor to this already palatial abode? I knew Nick was wealthy. I learned from my snobby cousin Charlie last year that Nick was a year ahead of him at Dalton Prep, which is an exclusive prep school for the children of Wall Street tycoons and real estate moguls. Alystair University rivals Harvard and Yale in terms of academic prestige, and before I knew the college's true purpose, I, along with everyone else, thought it just another elusive school for the rich and aloof to secure bragging rights in having their children attend the University.

So, yeah, I knew Nick was wealthy.

But the term ‘wealthy' is a severe understatement in taking in the rest of the mansion-like penthouse.

The pearlescent sheen of moonlight catches my eye, glinting off a scintillating crystal tumbler filled with a familiar amber liquid. My body reacts to the fingers that curl comfortably around the glass, if the heat between my thighs is any indication.

Leaning languidly against a dark pillar that splits the living room and open kitchen, Nick's earlier all-black wardrobe is replaced by a snug, ivory cashmere sweater accentuating his incredibly defined biceps and illuminates his beautifully bronzed skin. Comfortable looking black slacks hug his muscular thighs, and he sips his drink with an all too intimate tilt to that sensual mouth.

"Hello, little liar." Nick straightens and approaches me, depositing the glass down on a nearby table. "Let me take your coat."

Holding his gaze, I unbutton the black trench coat with calculating indolence. Nick's lips part as I let the material slide from my shoulders and wordlessly hand him the coat. I relish the way his eyes drink me in and swallow me down, like a man unable to quench an insatiable thirst.

I chose my dress the way a warrior would choose armor, though in my case, it's the lack of material that serves as protection. Emerald silk hugs every curve, its indecent neckline exposing a generous amount of my cleavage. Though it's not backless like the dress I wore to the Eleusis party last year, the straps of the dress are so thin they are nearly transparent. The hem rests just above my knee, but the obscene slit slicing up the right side of my thigh shatters any semblance of modesty.

"Out for blood, I see." He folds the coat over his arm, his piercing eyes settling on mine.

"All's fair in love and war. Isn't that what you told me?"

"I did, but the curator of that idiom forgot one thing." His gaze flicks to my lips before he leans down so he's a mere whisper from kissing me. Which I want him to. Badly. "Love is war. A battle of two hearts who have the absolute power to cause the other to stop beating."

I press my palms to his chest, shuddering. Though Nick's hands are occupied, one holding my coat and the other at his side, it's as though I can feel phantom caresses along the exposed skin of my thigh.

"Good thing we aren't in love, then. "

The husky scent of Scotch is heavy on his breath when he says, "Vicious, beautiful liar." He takes a step back, winking out the all-encompassing heat his body radiated. His roguish gaze slides down my body one more time. "You certainly came prepared for battle."

"I came to win." Win you.

"You came for more than that, wearing that dress."

"Is that so?"

He answers with a salacious smile. "I guess we'll find out, won't we?"

Nick doesn't wait for me to respond before he does one of his notorious disappearing acts, and I huff in annoyance. Whereas it was jarring - and terrifying - when he'd first done it, now it's rude and aggravating.

Before I grow comfortable in my indignance, he reappears beside me and places a hand on my lower back. "Shall we?"

He guides me into another room, its lacquered cherry woods walls and floor to ceiling bookcase reminiscent of a study. Sconces cling to the walls interspersed nearly every three feet, timid flames burning from the candles in their grooves. Yet another fireplace, this one larger than its sibling in the living room and richer in color than the surrounding walls, boasts a roaring fire.

The entire room is lit by firelight only, casting the equally dark furniture in a somber glow, creating an intimate ambience. Two leather chairs sit across from one another, a small square table resting between them. Atop its surface, glittering in the soft firelight, is the most extraordinary chess board I have ever seen.

I step toward the board in awe, ignoring the abrupt departure of warmth on the small of my back as Nick drops his hand. My mouth parts in fascination, taking in each scintillating chess piece. They shine like stars freshly plucked from the night sky, their surface crafted with a sparkling diamond pavé.

"I've never seen something so beautiful," I breathe, as if the mere sound of my voice might shatter the fragile pieces.

"I have." Nick's low, heady timbre cuts through the air, finally pulling my attention from the alluring chess board to an equally enticing view.

Unlike earlier, his searing gaze never dips below my lips. Instead, it sweeps upward along my mouth with heated desire, then along the slope of my nose, before pausing there, perhaps counting the few freckles dotting my skin. It rests upon my eyes, and I've never felt so raw, so exposed, than right now, staring back at twin flames of the sun.

"Rogue waves," he says, his voice low and pensive.

I cock my head in confusion. "What? "

Nick draws in a breath. "Nothing. Are you ready?"

I nod, and take a seat in the chair closest to me on my left, again marveling over the magnificent piece in front of me. I scan each chess piece, as well as those on Nick's side of the board and the board itself, which is entirely made of glass.

"Does it have a name?" I ask.

"The Pearl Royale."

I glance up at him from beneath my lashes. "Sounds expensive."

He smirks. "It is."

I spend a moment contemplating why Nick owns such a substantial chess board, seeing he didn't even know how to play chess until I'd taught him. A strange feeling worms its way into my belly, a feeling that whispers, you're in over your head. I shake it off and ask my next question.

"How do you differentiate white from black?" The pieces are all made of diamond, sapphire, and emeralds, with no clear indication of which side represents the standard ivory and onyx colors.

He taps his forefinger on the apex of a pawn, drawing my attention to the white pearl crowning each of the pieces in front of me.

"The pearls," he clarifies, then sits back in his chair with the arrogance of a king. "Your move, little liar. "

For our first lesson, I'd gone easy on him. I'd opened with the Bishop's Opening, a strategy for little more than novices but not quite savants. He'd surprisingly countered it well, before I had his King in check in less than ten moves.

This time, however, I'll show no such mercy.

I open by moving the Queen's pawn two spaces, effectively beginning the Queen's Gambit.

Nick immediately pushes his Queen's pawn two spaces, mirroring my move. I stiffen, but don't make any sudden movements or sounds. It's too early to tell whether he knows what he's doing or just mimicking my actions.

I push my Bishop's pawn out two squares so it rests alongside my Queen's pawn. Nick now has two choices: he can go for my pawn, which is what I want him to do, leaving the center open for me to attack. Or, can he go an entirely different route. Since he's still a novice regardless of our lessons together, my instincts tell me he'll do exactly what I want, seeing as -

I force my jaw to remain locked as Nick pushes his King's pawn out one square, not only doing the exact opposite of what I expected him to, but declining the Queen's Gambit.

No. Declining means he would know what he's doing, and I refuse to believe a handful of chess lessons has him on par with me. I grit my teeth and release my Queenside Knight.

Nick spares no hesitation in moving his Bishop's pawn two spaces forward.

Perspiration gathers between my breasts and along the back of my neck. I do my best to appear unrattled, but it's difficult when I suddenly find myself with an opponent I can no longer anticipate and said opponent is staring at me like he wishes his fingers were between my legs instead of caressing the Queen chess piece.

Nick and I trade blows with our chess pieces for nearly an hour before I finally call him out on his bullshit.

"What the fuck is going on?"

His eyebrow arches, and he again sits back in his chair with a lazy indulgence. "I'm not sure what you mean."

"This," I snap and gesture to the chessboard. "You could barely play last year, and now you're countering the Queen's Gambit with the Tarrasch Defense? An aggressive way to decline the Gambit, I might add."

He shrugs. "Maybe I've been practicing."

I snort. "You could practice with Bobby fucking Fischer, and you still wouldn't be on par with me."

"That confidant in your skills, are you?"

"Absolutely. It's not just your knowledge of complicated strategy, it's your swiftness. You barely hesitate. You're calculating -"

I freeze as understanding smacks me upside the head. Nick's expression remained passive as I launched my tirade, but now, his mouth thins, edged with a nefarious curve.

"You always knew how to play." I sit back in the chair, dumbfounded. "Last year, the lessons…they were all bullshit. You lied." Heat creeps up my neck and floods my cheeks. He made me look like a fool.

His eyes darken. "That's a bit pot and kettle, don't you think?"

"You must have had a real nice laugh at my expense."

"If it makes you feel better, I used the chess lessons as an excuse to spend more time with you. Time I don't have."

I shove the implication of those words beneath a wave of anger. It drowns out my embarrassment, and I straighten, raising my chin. "It doesn't matter. I'm winning."

Nick's eyes drop to the board before flicking up to mine. "I beg to differ. It's a stalemate."

"I still want answers."

"No."

My first instinct is to combust, to ream into him with all my pent-up frustration, but I reign in any emotional outburst. Actively playing a game of chess has put my brain into hyper-drive, playing out situations and scenarios in less than twenty seconds. I replay our past conversations, picking apart words and sentences to see what I can use to my advantage.

I'd claimed his Queen during our match, so I pick it up and roll it between my fingers. "You said you knew about the necklace. What, exactly, do you claim to know about it?"

Nick's calculating gaze scans my face for any sign of mutiny, but I school my features. Aggravation works the muscle in his jaw before he answers.

"It's obvious," he says coolly. "You lost it."

I feel my lips curl of their own accord. "Is that what you think?"

A warning growl. "Rhi."

"I suppose one could say I ‘lost' it, seeing how it ended up in the hands of someone else."

Nick's face leeches of color. His nostrils flare, and a gasp catches in my throat as the delicate chess pieces rattle beneath his unforgiving grip on the table.

"Who the fuck took the necklace?"

"Why did the Harbinger refer to you as ‘Majesty'?"

"Rhi, tell me who has the fucking necklace."

"Why do you need to protect me from you? "

Nick stands, knocking the heavy leather chair back with the force of his movement. He towers above the table, above me, his commanding presence and sheer dominance raising him to a height beyond his six foot three.

Though I remain seated, I don't cower. Instead, I stare up at this brooding mass of muscle with my own unrelenting rage.

"I've said it before, and I'll say it again," he practically snarls. "I'm done playing your games."

I place my hands on the armrests of the chair and slowly rise to meet him. "And I've said it before: I'm not playing games, Nick. You want answers, then you have to give them."

"Damn it, Rhi, you have no idea what I've done-"

"Because you won't fucking tell me!" I finally erupt.

So does he. The table launches sideways with one flip of his wrist. Shattering glass explodes all around me as the chessboard and its stunning pieces tumble to the floor.

I sidestep the chair and backpedal as Nick stalks toward me, the space between us emblazoned with a chaotic jumble of emotions. Wrath. Frustration. Fear.

Desperation. It's the emotion that trumps all others in his eyes as I find myself in the all-too- familiar position of my back against the wall. The beast in him must relish this, having me cornered with few options of escape. Little does it know, the beast in me is equally thrilled at the opportunity to both challenge and be at the mercy of this dark god.

With only one hand, Nick secures both wrists above my head, pinning me to the wall. His other hand collars my throat, and my pulse quickens at the dominating position.

"You want answers, little liar? Fine. The man before you is nothing like the boy you met last year. That boy spent his whole life pretending to be something he wasn't, believing love was a fickle figment of the imagination, until a girl with eyes like a fucking clash of rogue waves ripped apart everything he believed to be true. He knew the lengths he would go to for her were limitless, so he gave up the one thing that tethered him to this world. To this body. To himself. "

Nick pauses to gauge my reaction, long enough for me to fearlessly repeat, "Who are you?"

He kills the distance between our mouths, our lips playing a tantalizing game of brushing - but not quite. Every molecule of air seems to be sucked from the room, every other atom charged with chaotic sinfulness.

"I am destruction. Devastation. Everything this world deems savage and wretched and unholy. Your worst impulses are fed by my hand. Your darkest desires fanned by my flames. I am the darkness that consumes even the most willing acolytes and feasts on their screams as I tear them apart." His grip on my body tightens. "Still hungry for answers, little liar?"

I hold his stare and set my jaw. "Starving."

Nick's mouth flickers with a hint of a smile. His warm breath fans my neck before his lips graze the shell of my ear. "I am the King of Hell, and I am disastrously in love with you."