Page 12

Gluttony

“You look good on your throne.” “Yeah, you like that?” “I like it better when you’re naked on it.” “I’m your servant, Gluttony. Undress me.” “Whatever you wish, my king.”

I don’t make it back to my room, Lazarus waylaying me halfway there. “Come with me.”

“Do I look like your lackey?” I ask with a scowl. I don’t take orders; I give them. And I’m busy.

“You’ll want to see this.”

Under normal circumstance I might have told him to go fuck himself. However, he isn’t prone to exaggeration, not like Nero. Has to be serious. That or he wants to get fried.

He leads us down to the security suite and into one of the many rooms filled with cameras and other equipment that keeps the estate safe from physical threats. The supernatural kinds are dealt with differently.

“See that?” Lazarus says, pointing at the screen.

Dropping my plate of sandwiches, I lean down. “What are we looking at?” The video shows our two guests in their cell. One on their back on the floor and the smaller one, Seth, curled up on the bench. They’re sleeping. Riveting. This better not be what Lazarus brought me here for.

“Give it a second.”

That’s a second too long. I don’t have time for this bull—My veins turn to ice. The shadows are moving , wrapping themselves around the figure. The one who calls himself Seth. As if I believed for a second that it was his real name.

“Well, that’s not normal,” Lust says, striding into the room and catching the tail end of it. “I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s like the shadows are embracing him.”

“Not human, then. What do you think he is?”

The shadows. Son of a bitch . “Turn it off,” I order, anger swamping me. “Don’t turn it back on.” I stalk out of the room before they can question me. My fury rises with every step I take. Are all my brothers and I destined to be surrounded by manipulative men? Whoever— whatever —this “Seth” is, he fucking knows what he’s doing. Did he get caught on purpose? What the hell does he want with me? With all of us?

He’s hiding something, and I’ll find out what it is even if I have to take him to edge of death to do it. I’ll break him down into nothing and get the answers I want.

The second I burst into the cell, both men wake from their slumber. Seth scrambles into a sitting position, and the other one—his protection?—moves to shield him. A burst of lightning forces him to move, and I throw him against the opposite wall, out of the way.

Seth reaches for him, mouth open like he wants to say something. He doesn’t, of course. He’s not speaking on purpose. Too afraid that I’ll recognize his voice. That smoky tone whispered in my ear? Damn fucking right I would have.

I’ll hear it now.

Seth backs up as I advance, huddling against the wall as if it’s going to protect him. Nothing will. He’s my prize, and I don’t give up anything that’s mine. He was mine from the moment he gave me a gift.

Wrapping my hand around his throat, I lift him and pin him to the wall. He’s not a mirage in the shadows now. Real flesh and blood under my control.

“Leave him alone!”

“If you don’t stay where you are, I’ll kill him and then you,” I growl, not looking away from my target. “Speak. Now.”

He swallows hard, his throat working under my palm. Still silent. Still trying to hide himself. There will be no more hiding. I’ll strip him bare until I know every single thing about him.

“I know who you are,” I say, lowering my voice and speaking through gritted teeth. We’re so close I can see the spark of fear in his blue eyes and something deeper, impossible to interpret. “Is this how you help me? By sneaking into my home under false pretenses? By harming my brother? By lying to my face and trying to hide the truth, like you honestly believe it wouldn’t eventually come out?”

“No, I—”

I let go, and he drops to the bench. My anger twists until it’s dark and dangerous and all-consuming. I knew I was right, but hearing the voice, confirming it, crashes reality against me like violent waves in the ocean.

“What are you?”

“I told you—”

“You’re a friend,” I repeat with a sneer. “You’re no friend. Try again. Tell me your real name.”

He hesitates before curling his legs up under him, jamming his hands between his calf and thigh. “Saeran.”

Saeran.

The name settles inside me. It feels foreign and yet somehow familiar at the same time. It suits him more than Seth. Better. A piece of him that I take ownership of.

“What were you doing with Greed?”

“We were trying to get him out. I didn’t know—I didn’t know if Deacon would find a way to use the orb.”

The orb. The one he gave me. The one snug in my pocket even as we speak. “Where did you get it?” How does he even know who Deacon is? These glimpses into our life are private and not something we’ve made public in any way. As far as the world is concerned, Deacon ceased to exist the moment he stepped through our doors.

Saeran doesn’t answer me, and I’m thoroughly sick of his silence. I’ll have him sing like a canary whenever I fucking want him to. “Do friends keep secrets, Saeran?”

He shudders, muscles in his arms flexing as he tenses. His reactions to me are intriguing, drawing me to him like a moth to flame.

“Ones that protect them,” he answers, hint of husk to his tone.

“You think I need protection?” Conor and his wannabe group of rebels will be nothing but a black stain on the ground once I’m finished with them.

“I think that I do.”

Not a wrong assumption; I’m close to ripping his lying throat out, among other things. “Show me,” I demand. He knows what I’m talking about.

He doesn’t hesitate, and it’s the only thing saving him right now. He opens his hand, an orb slowly manifesting in his palm. Instead of taking the offered gift, I wrap my fingers around Saeran’s wrist and tug him forward.

We’re so close now that I can see flecks in his eyes. Blue sparks, almost like lightning. Like my own.

“Open it.”

His eyes flit down to where I hold him. “It’s for you.”

Satisfaction roars in me. My gift. Mine. “No key this time?” I still can’t open the last one. If he’s given me another one that I can’t get open, he’ll have something else to regret.

“Not for this one.”

It opens the second my lightning crackles over it. Not a music box, nor one like the original. It expands, a small storm brewing inside. Lightning and rain and dark clouds giving off a thunderous noise that echoes around the cell. A perfect representation of my magic. “What are they? Toys?”

“They’re—” Saeran stops, clamming up. More secrets. He infuriates me with his secrets. I’ll have them all until every inch of him is uncovered. I’ve never felt more of an urge to know a person. Who is he, what is he, where did he come from? Why does he keep coming back to me?

“Get up,” I growl, pulling him to his feet without waiting for him to do it. Closing the globe, I shove it in my pocket next to the other one. My property now. “Let’s go.”

“Wait, where are you taking him?” The other man in the room—the one I completely forgot about—tugs at my forearm. “He’s given you what you want, let him go.”

“He hasn’t begun to give me what I want. Get your hand off me before I kill you, and be grateful that I’m giving you a warning.”

“It’s okay,” Saeran says gently. “Please.”

The hand slips off me. An order obeyed. Interesting. Without glancing back, I shove Saeran through the door. “Move.”

“Where are we going?”

“Wherever I want to go.” If he isn’t willing to give real answers, neither am I. “Now walk.”

Disappointment thrums in my chest when he complies. I wouldn’t mind putting him over my shoulder.

“How do you do that with the shadows?”

“It just—it happens.”

“Bullshit.” I’ve scoured the books, searching for so much as a hint of that magic in all the creatures and species that call the Fae side of the shroud their home. I found nothing.

“Giving you an answer that you don’t want doesn’t mean I’m lying.”

Doesn’t mean he’s not either.

His steps are smaller than mine, slow and measured. He’s still wearing the clothes we found him in. Soft black pants that cling to him, matching sneakers that blend in, and a loose-fitting, black long-sleeved linen shirt with four laced buttons at the collar, string hanging free down his chest. Comfortable, good for moving around unhindered. A deliberate outfit. One that allows for hidden weapons. Along with the toned and sculpted shape of him, that shows he’s clearly trained. The need to know who he is only strengthens as I learn more.

“This isn’t necessary,” he says, breaking the silence. “I’m trying to help you. I’m not trying to escape, and I won’t.”

The last of my control snaps, and I shove him against the nearest wall, crowding him. Leaning a forearm on the wall beside his head, I lean in until our lips are almost touching. He sucks in a harsh breath. “Your word means nothing to me. Less than nothing. I don’t know what you consider ‘help,’ and frankly, I don’t give a flying fuck. I don’t trust you, I don’t trust the one with you, and I will find out what you’re doing here. I’m not like Lust or Wrath; your pretty face won’t sway me.”

Saeran’s pupils dilate, and all my muscles freeze as I study him.

What I can scent in the air isn’t fear, it’s desire. When I lay my hands on his throat loosely, it only deepens. The sweetest smell I’ve ever encountered. Like black raspberries and melted chocolate. His skin is so damn soft . Certainly not dead and more than real. Not lying about that, at least. I don’t know how he blends into the shadows like the wind. I’ll find out, later.

Stroking my thumb up his throat is like opening the floodgates. Saeran’s eyes flutter closed, his pulse point throbbing under my touch. Likes danger, does he?

“You want me,” I whisper. There’s no denying it.

“No, I—”

“I’m getting sick of your lies, Saeran. I want a truth.” Just one. For whatever reason, I need to hear something come out of his mouth that shows that some part of him is trustworthy. Not enough to trust, but enough to start.

“I can’t,” he says brokenly.

It feels like the truth. A half-truth at least. Not that he doesn’t want to, but that he can’t. An important distinction, though not one that pisses me off any less. I refuse to accept half anything.

“All of your secrets, give them to me.”

His fingers skim my upper arms before they drop. He’s holding himself back, the restraint in every tense line of his face. His eyes open, and the blue is worse, flickering in them like a storm is held within. They pull me in, and I hate that I don’t know why. Hate that I have no answers . “You can’t have them.”

“I don’t respond well to being told I can’t have something.” I respond with violence, and destruction, and flaying skin from bones until the screams linger when the soul is already gone.

“I know.” Light panic flits over his face as soon as the words leave his mouth.

“You know?” I ask, a threat in my voice that he better heed, or things will get worse for him very quickly. “And do tell me, Saeran, what else do you know?”

“Stop saying my name like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like it means something.”

It feels like we’re having two different conversations. A mirror image of the same words. How do I step across to his side and find out what he’s talking about? His riddles have riddles and a lockbox surrounding them.

“You visit me in my room, in the dead of the night. You give me gifts. Tell me you want to help me. What does that mean to you?” It’s a pattern that’s starting to take shape, and the final image intrigues me. He’s beautiful, and his presence appeals to me in a way it never has with anyone else. Ever.

He falters, searching my face. I shift away from those eyes, grazing my beard over his chin. The shudder reminds me of the one in the cell, when I first spoke his name. Neither were because he’s afraid of me. Stupidity or something else? Other than my family, there isn’t a person alive that isn’t afraid of me.

Now I can add someone else to the list. Someone with secrets, the face of an angel, and an ability to lie without giving anything away in his expression. A deadly combination I refuse to trust. One that I can’t seem to stay away from.

“Touch me,” I whisper in his ear. “Like you did last night.”

“No,” he moans. A flutter against my arms that disappears before I can properly feel it.

“Do it.” He’d explored me in the shadows, and now I’ll have him do it in the light. I’ll feel that soft skin against my own, with nothing between us.

The contact is firmer now, sliding up my arms with trembling fingers. They dip around the curve of my elbow, tracing the same path. One we both remember vividly. My chest, lingering and shaping me before moving down to my stomach. An unfamiliar pool of arousal follows in his wake, chasing him. It’s a new experience for me, exhilarating. Another piece of him that’s mine alone?

Our eyes meet when he travels back up to my throat, brushing over my beard. His cheeks are flushed, chest heaving, his eyes glazed over, with desire in every facet.

“Please don’t,” he says, so softly I almost don’t hear it. More a whisper on the wind than spoken words.

Don’t what? Touch him? Kiss him? I’ve never kissed a single person in my life. I know the mechanics and how to avoid it. Instead of repulsing me like everyone else’s do, his lips beckon me. Smooth and lush, begging me to lean forward. I don’t deny myself what I want.

I’ll taste him, and he’ll let me. He’s all but throbbing with need for me. And I want , for the first time in my life. A flutter of an unfamiliar sensation in my stomach. Pleasing, satisfying.

“Why should I stop?” Our lips brush with every word. I apply a fraction of pressure before retreating. Not enough. He trembles, chin tilting to reach for me.

“I don’t know,” he says on a shuddered breath. “I need—I need—”

“Yeah.”

And then our mouths meet, lips open enough that he’s breathing into me. The intimacy staggers me, both addictive and uncomfortable. He waits, patient, while I learn the foreign feel of him. He’s unbelievably delicate, like a flower glancing over skin. I give an experimental lick inside his mouth, tasting him. It’s even better than he smells. When I coax his mouth open further, he presses closer, fingers curling against my throat as he stretches, chest against mine.

The small whimper he lets out urges me on, an uncontrollable need erupting inside. I line our bodies together, trapping him securely against the wall, and deepen the kiss with an overwhelming urgency. His small tongue flicks over mine, and I’m hard as steel from those tiny, hesitant flutters. What does the rest of him taste like? I want to know. I’ll strip him bare and feast on him. I grip his shirt, intending to tear it from him and see what’s underneath.

Cold metal presses to my collarbone and I freeze, almost proud of his move. What does he hope to accomplish here?

Saeran’s face is devoid of emotion when I pull back, though the flatness of his lips gives away his inner turmoil. The blade he holds in his hand has my familiar carvings on it. Well, well. The prisoner has some bite, then.

“What are you going to do with that?” I can have it from him in a matter of seconds, slit his throat with it, and leave him here bleeding out on the floor. Does he think he’s a match for me? That stealing my own weapon and threatening me with it is going to do him any favors?

“Get away from me,” he says shakily. There’s an edge to it, simultaneously hard and vulnerable. He responds to me like someone deprived, eager and pliant and needy. He doesn’t want me to get away from him, not really. And yet the determination in his gaze tells me he’s not kidding around. Not playing “hard to get.” Once again, I have the distinct feeling that I’m missing important pieces of the puzzle and can’t see the whole picture.

The blade cuts into me as I move, the sting easy to ignore. It clatters to the ground when I grasp his wrist and slam him back against the wall with a hand around his throat.

“Checkmate, Saeran. What’s your plan now?” His lips are still red and a little swollen from earlier. I did that to him. Even after this, it’s all I can think about. He’s so pretty, especially like this. I want to take him to my rooms and put him on a shelf as a decoration. A possession. Mine . Might even give him his own space and display him like a focal feature.

“Don’t.”

Don’t what? Display him? Kiss him again? Force him to kneel and do as I tell him to? I’ll do whatever the fuck I want, and there’s nothing he can do to stop me.

“I think it’s time that you and I have a little chat.”

If he plays his cards right, we both might enjoy it.