Page 56

H.A.Z.E

T he air is heavy, the tension so thick it's almost suffocating. The only sound that dares to break the silence is the sharp clink of silverware against porcelain.

I sit at the long dining table, the polished wood gleaming under the dim chandelier light, my fingers lazily toying with the stem of my wine glass. The ruby liquid inside swirls slowly as I tilt it, catching the flicker of candlelight like blood.

Across from me, Seth glares at me. His jaw is tight, the muscles flexing as though he's physically restraining himself from lunging across the table. I meet his anger with a smirk, tilting my head just enough to catch his eye, daring him to say something.

Reece sits to his left, her expression carefully schooled into neutrality, but her eyes—oh, her eyes—tell a far better story.

Hate rolls off her like heat, her lips pressed into a thin, bloodless line.

Every time I so much as breathe, she flinches as though I've insulted her by existing.

I catch her gaze for a moment, letting my smirk widen just enough to see the faint twitch in her temple.

"How's the wine?" Kyrian, who's seated beside Seth, wonders. His voice cuts through the tension like a blade slipping between ribs. Seth and Reece both glare at him, but he simply waves them off as his amused eyes find mine.

"It's delightful," I reply, my tone smooth and mocking. I swirl the glass again, watching the liquid spiral. "Not quite as bold as I expected, but it has a certain… bite."

I hear the faint clatter of silverware; Seth's grip on his knife falters, no doubt imagining it sinking into my chest instead of his steak. My smirk deepens.

Reece's glare hardens. "I'm surprised you even drink wine," she says, her tone sharp, her disdain barely masked. "I thought you had a more bitter taste."

"Oh, I do," I say sweetly, "but it's good to indulge once in a while, don't you think?"

The doors snap open, and Mia strides in with an almost unnatural poise, her every movement a carefully rehearsed performance of elegance and control. Her regal posture is flawless—shoulders back, chin raised, steps as fluid and deliberate as a dancer. But as her eyes connect with mine, I catch it.

Disdain. A sharp, unmistakable loathing that simmers just beneath her polished exterior.

It's the kind of disdain reserved for something vile, something she wishes she could squash beneath her heel.

But there's something else, too, something she can't quite hide behind the icy guard of her expression.

A flicker of fear so faint, it would be invisible to anyone else.

It's in the tightness of her jaw, the subtle hesitation before she looks away, the way her fingers curl ever so slightly at her sides.

Alissa follows close behind, quieter, her movements smaller, as though she's trying to shrink into herself.

Her gaze never once strays in my direction—not directly, at least—but I sense her awareness of me like a pulse in the air.

Her shoulders are stiff, her hands clasped tightly in front of her, and though she walks with a measured sort of confidence, I sense her nervousness, too.

Fear rolls off her in waves, heady and raw, and I savour it.

There's nothing more satisfying than the quiet, unspoken dread; the knowledge that no matter how hard she tries to ignore me, I'm still there.

Watching. Waiting. I let my smirk widen just a fraction, knowing she won't see it but hoping she can feel it.

Without a word, they take their seats—on the opposite side of the table, as far from me as possible, like the others. It's an obvious move, a statement in itself.

I take a leisurely sip of my wine, my gaze drifting lazily between the five of them. Their silence is delicious, their discomfort a palpable thing that settles over the table like smoke. No one looks in my direction again, but they don't need to; I already have their attention.

They think they're safe on that side of the table. They think they're stronger, showing a united front against me. How quaint.

"Why is she still alive?" Seth finally breaks the silence, voicing his thoughts through gritted teeth.

"Right now, she's a guest." Riot finally speaks, his voice calm, almost lazy. "So, behave."

He's seated at the head of the table, perfectly composed, as though he's completely unaware—or simply uninterested—in the daggers being silently exchanged around him.

"Seriously?" Mia grits, her hands clenching around the silverware.

"Relax. I'll be on my best behaviour until the Saviour finds a way to break the news to the Supreme Court that he's had Valadez's murderer locked away in his castle for three weeks," I drawl, as all eyes turn to me. "And in exchange, your Saviour will remove the enslavement mark."

"What?!" Almost everyone yells.

"Sounds fair to me." Except Kyrian, obviously.

"Can I kick his ass out of the castle?" Seth snaps, glaring at Kyrian, his tone dripping with exasperation.

"We made a deal, actually," Kyrian says with a shrug, then turns to me, one dark brow raised in curiosity. "Speaking of which, do you have a plan?"

"Well..." I sigh, toying with the rim of my wine glass. "I did, but now I'm not sure how that one feels about laying naked on his desk." I lift my hand lazily, pointing to Alissa without bothering to look at her.

The room falls into a stunned silence before Alissa's wide, mortified eyes flick between Kyrian and me. Her cheeks burn crimson, but I don’t understand why she looks even more terrified than she did earlier. "W-What?! Y-You can't… I-I would never... What the hell are you talking about?!"

A sharp thwack cracks through the air, cutting off Alissa's poor attempt at a response. I glance lazily towards the source of the noise; Seth, standing over Kyrian with a look of utter disbelief, his hand still raised from where it had just smacked the back of Kyrian's head.

Kyrian winces, rubbing the spot with a slight grimace but no real anger. "What the hell is wrong with you?!" Seth hisses, his voice low and sharp.

"What's wrong is that my Best—"

"Shut up," Riot finally says, his voice smooth but carrying an unmistakable weight. "You and I are sparring after this."

For the first time, Kyrian looks downright afraid of the Saviour. His eyes widen, his jaw slackens, and his shoulders tense. He tries to back out with an excuse. " I have a court meeting…"

"Cancel it."

Kyrian clamps his mouth shut and turns back to his food, worried. Seth speaks, staring furiously at the Grand Arbiter. "You can't still believe she's going to kill Damien?"

"I do," he says, his eyes narrowed on Seth, "and she promised to behave."

"And you believe her?" This time, Reece speaks up, her words hard. "You don't know her, Riot!"

I simply watch, quietly amused and sipping on my wine, when a wave of raw, unrestrained power surges over the room.

The air grows heavy, oppressive, the kind of weight that forces you to bow whether you want to or not.

Around the table, bodies buckle under the pressure, gasps and muffled groans filling the sudden silence.

The door slams open with a deafening crack, and the room plunges into chaos.

Mia steps forward, her hands pressing together in silent prayer, her lips moving in hushed devotion.

Her fingers begin to shimmer with a silvery glow, pulsing in time with the rhythm of her breaths.

The faint shimmer builds brighter and brighter until it blazes out like stardust.

The light, silver and pure, spills from her hands like molten metal, cascading outward in warm, rippling waves. It engulfs Alissa and Reece, wrapping around them like a protective cocoon. Their breaths come easier, and their trembling limbs go still.

Kyrian steps in, his presence sharp and unwavering. He lifts his hand, tracing runes in the air with swift, precise movements. The symbols flare to life, glowing deep violet, their edges crackling with raw energy.

The darkness recoils, hissing, but the runes expand, forming a shield around them all. A pulse of power surges outward, deflecting the chaos with a thunderous crack.

I don't need to look to know who's here. The heat of his rage presses against my skin like an open flame—the dark, seething energy twisting the very air around him.

I turn my head slowly, savouring the moment as his shadow looms over me. His eyes, black and endless, are locked onto mine with unrelenting fury. The chaos around him feels alive, snarling and hungry, yet it's nothing compared to the storm in his expression.

I don't flinch. I don't cower like the rest of them. I simply smirk, low and knowing, as I meet his gaze.

"It took you long enough," I say, my voice light and teasing, deliberately designed to provoke.

And it works.

He doesn't speak. He doesn't hesitate. His fist moves faster than I expect, and then there's a sharp, blinding pain as his knuckles collide with my face.

The force of the blow sends me flying from my chair, the world spinning in a blur of shattered glass and splintered wood.

My back slams into the far wall with enough force to crack the plaster, and I crumble to the ground, tasting blood as it trickles down my lips.

The room is deadly silent now, except for my ragged breathing and the faint crackle of his chaos swirling in the air.

I lift my head slowly, my grin dark despite the throbbing ache in my jaw. My tongue flicks out to catch the blood pooling at the corner of my mouth, and I laugh softly, low and dangerous.

"I guess you’ve found your answer," I croon, my voice dripping with mockery as I pull myself up, unsteady but defiant. "Give me doom, Demon."

Mammon's rage flares, his hands trembling at his sides, his eyes wild. But before he can take another step, a sharp voice cuts through the tension like a blade.

"That's enough."

Riot steps forward, his eyes swirling that heady mix of fire and gold. His presence somehow manages to push back the suffocating chaos radiating from the Demon. His tone is calm, but there's steel in it, a command that even a being as furious as this can't ignore.

Riot stands beside him, laying a hand on his shoulder with a simple command that leaves no room for argument: "Reel it in."

The Demon's shoulders tense, his fists clenching tightly. His eyes flick to Riot, then back to me, his chest heaving with barely contained fury. But he does as he's told; I feel his presence pulling away from me, detaching itself from my skin, the air, until it is easier to breathe again.

I press my hand against the wall, pulling myself fully upright, and flash him another grin—bloody and unapologetic. "Touchy, aren't we?" I taunt, wiping the blood from my mouth with the back of my hand.

"You killed him," he growls, the sound so low that a rumble reverberates through the room. His fists clench so tightly that blood drips onto the floor. "You killed my brother."

All eyes turn to me as the weight of his words settles over the room. It’s a thick, suffocating weight of disbelief. There's a collective pause as everyone grapples with the truth of what I've done.

And their fear; there's no hiding it now.

It hangs in the air like smoke, curling around the edges of my mind, stifling and oppressive.

Their gazes burn into me—wide eyes, tense shoulders, a few mouths slightly open in shock.

No one speaks, but the unspoken words scream between them: That isn't possible.

"Y-You…" It's Mia who speaks and breaks the silence. "You killed… Death?"

"I wanted to die," I say, my voice low, almost intimate. "You'd think Death would oblige me. He didn't. He was disappointing." My gaze meets Riot's swirling red one. "Like all the others."