Page 26 of A Match Made in Hell

Time passes in bursts and fragments. The more I sweat, the thirstier I get, and the more I need to do to distract myself.

I can barely see through the blinding lights, the stinging in my eyes, the crush of people surrounding me.

There are hands everywhere. On me. Next to me. I can’t bring myself to care.

It was like this whenever I lost Sasha in a club and I had to find new friends for the night. They’d talk and I’d pretend to listen, feeling like the whole world was spinning round me while I stayed completely, utterly still, not knowing what direction to take.

All I ever wanted was for Noah to come and find me. To take me home and press a kiss to my forehead and tell me everything was going to be okay.

I want someone to tell me that now.

My stomach tightens. I stop dancing. I sway, lost and lonely, on the floor, bodies bumping into me and making me trip. Tears prick my eyes. The dancing isn’t enough, being touched isn’t enough, I want . . .

I want, I want, I want.

You want another drink, Willow. What harm could it do?

It could do plenty. One more drink is how I ended up on that cliff top. How I ended up here , with demon voices in my head I need to ignore at all costs.

Despite all that, my gaze drifts to the throne.

It’s empty.

My eyes widen. I whirl round, furious he’d leave without saying goodbye, without giving me another drink ; thirst claws at my throat, and where has he gone, I need him, I need him to help me, because without the distraction of dancing all I can think is I’m alone, and I’m thirsty, and he’s the only one who can fix this.

Several turns around the dance floor and I finally find him, standing with a group of girls on the edge of the room.

They’re young, and beautiful, and don’t have the usual panic in their eyes at being near him.

His head is bent low to allow one of them to whisper in his ear. What is she saying? Why is he –

‘There you are!’ Harper clamps her hand around my arm. ‘I was worried.’

‘Sorry,’ I mumble. I can’t bring myself to look at her. Sath’s laughing. He’s laughing in a way he’s never laughed with me, not that I can remember, and I don’t know why I care, why it matters; he’s my ticket out of here, I’m going to get him his concession and he can laugh with whomever he wants.

I’m going home to Noah and forehead kisses and the ring that’s waiting for me.

That doesn’t make me feel any better. I don’t want Sath laughing like that with them; I want him to laugh like that with me. I’m the one he shares secrets with, the one who’s been in his quarters, who he has game nights with, I’m the only one.

Unless I’m not.

The thought hits me like a freight train.

A cold chill sweeps down my neck at the idea I’m not special at all.

Taking care of business , that’s what he says when I ask where he goes the nights I don’t see him.

What if he’s with one of them? What if he’s with all of them?

Maybe he has hundreds of us trying to fulfil his tasks; maybe I’m not special after all, because why would I be, I’m just a girl who died after doing something idiotic, who ignored her boyfriend’s perfectly sensible advice because she couldn’t cope with what happened to –

Copper fills my mouth. I’ve bitten my tongue, but I barely feel the sting of pain.

‘Willow,’ Harper tries again. ‘Are you okay? Do you want me to take you to your room?’

Yes. No. My head pounds. I try to pull her into the throng of dancers, but she slips from my grasp like an unspooling rope, leaving me unmoored and drifting in a sea of demons.

Claws scrape my dress. Fangs graze my neck.

My heartbeat thrums to the beat of drums. I don’t like it here any more, but I don’t know how to escape.

Something tugs at me. Hard. I want it to stop.

My mouth is dry. I can’t scream.

I’m pulled, back and forth, side to side, like a boat caught in a storm, and they’re going to tear me apart, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it; maybe that would be better than staying here, doing Sath’s tasks, feeling important when I’m not important at all, the bastard –

‘Enough.’

The floor rumbles beneath my feet at the sound of that voice.

Immediately, I’m released. Demons scatter; the pressure on my body dissipates. Without anyone holding me, I topple, but then hands catch me and spin me round, pulling me against something firm. I breathe in the scent of rain and peppermint, and I hate the relief that smell instils.

I glower at Sath. I refuse to be grateful he’s come to my rescue, because it’s his fault I needed rescuing in the first place. ‘Protecting your investment?’

He raises a brow. ‘Do you not want me to?’

‘I’m not sure you need me.’ I scowl as we begin to sway on the spot. ‘I saw you just now. How many others have signed up for your tasks?’

‘You sound jealous.’ Sath smirks. ‘Well, that bodes well for envy.’

My scowl deepens. ‘Answer the question.’

‘Some recent arrivals who have yet to see my capabilities stopped to talk to me,’ he replies. ‘Sometimes I can’t help but indulge in the fantasy I’m not something to be feared. They’ll learn otherwise soon enough. As for the tasks . . .’ His head dips lower. ‘You’re the only one, Willow.’

I shudder, wanting to believe him but not knowing if I can.

If he’s that desperate for someone to succeed, he’d want the best odds possible.

I should have thought of it sooner. But I am the only person he’s danced with tonight.

That must mean something. Much to my dismay, the music’s slowed, and it’s less distracting this way.

I’m all too aware of how close we are, of the way his hand presses lightly but deliberately against my hip.

I don’t remember putting my hands around his shoulders, and yet there they are.

Everyone around us is too distracted to notice the Devil’s in the middle of the dance floor, and it feels as though we’ve been sealed inside a bubble no amount of laughing girls can pop.

I’m warm, and I’m not sure why.

‘You’re sweating,’ Sath murmurs.

His other hand is on my back; he must be able to feel the moisture through my dress.

I can’t bring myself to be embarrassed. The thirst is returning.

Maybe that’s why he’s here, dancing with me, touching me, maybe this is all part of his temptation, because I’ve never wanted to ask for another drink more.

I have to have it. The longer we stay like this, the more I’m gasping for air, my fingers tightening around his shoulders, digging into his shirt, curling themselves around the silken fabric.

‘Talk to me,’ I pant.

‘About what?’

‘Something. Anything.’ My brain scrambles to form a coherent sentence. I need more wine. ‘The other tasks. What’s left. You said something about anger, and . . .’

‘Wrath will be last. First you’ll have envy, then lust.’

‘Lust?’ I echo. My voice sounds high-pitched.

A ghost of a smile flickers over his lips. ‘A personal favourite.’

My throat feels more parched than ever. What will I have to resist for that ?

Maybe he’ll bring me Noah. I’ll have to prepare an apology for before we get down to the tempting.

I’ll tell him I’m sorry for being so exhausting, for all the times my moping dragged him down, for being dumb enough to die, and then I’ll show him how sin-free I am by passing the test with flying colours.

It’ll be easy. And then I’ll pass wrath just as easy-peasy because despite what people say I do not have anger issues , and then I’ll go home, having proven myself perfect and ready to live my perfect life.

My cheeks hurt from smiling. I have no idea why Sath is frowning at me.

‘What?’ I ask.

‘I’ve . . . never seen you this happy,’ he says. ‘I wasn’t aware the idea of spending the night with me was so appealing.’

I freeze. Humans and demons gyrate around us like glitter in a shaken snow globe, while we’re the miniature figurines glued to the bottom. I gape up at him. ‘What do you mean, spend the night with you ?’

He cocks his head. ‘Who did you think would be tempting you?’

Noah. My perfectly safe boyfriend, who Mum chose for me for that very reason.

With Sath, the only safe option is to run in the opposite direction.

‘Well, that should be easy,’ I lie. ‘Because I have no interest in being tempted by you.’

‘Really?’ His hand slides down my back, settling on my waist and pushing me closer. The material of my dress is far too thin; I can detect every inch of his muscled body lined up against me. He leans down to murmur in my ear, ‘Then why aren’t you breathing?’

‘I’m dead,’ I remind him. Not that that’s stopped me from breathing before.

I hope he can’t feel how fast my heart is racing.

A knuckle skims up my ribcage. ‘That’s not why.’

‘Fuck you.’

‘That’s precisely what we’re trying to avoid.’

I really think I might hate him. He sounds endlessly amused, completely unaffected by everything; his mouth is still against my ear and I can tell his lips are curled, like I’m some silly human getting flustered over nothing.

Which I am. It’s nothing. His wine is making me hot and bothered, and thirst for that is making me thirsty for everything , and as soon as this night is over I won’t have any interest in the way he feels warm and solid against me, his knuckle resting just below my breast, his other hand holding me against him like he’s the only thing between me staying upright or falling to the floor and never getting up again.

Okay, so that last part might be true. My knees are very shaky.

He spins me round, my back flush against his chest, and his hands – those damn hands – are moving lower, down my waist to the top of my legs, the material of my dress bunching in his fists as he drags it upwards.

Instinctively, I arch against him, reaching round and threading my hand through his hair.