Page 9

Gluttony

“Let’s play a game.” “Not now, Saeran.” “What if it’s a naughty game?” “… fine. One.”

The two figures in the cell talk quietly to each other, unaware they’re being watched. Too low for our speakers to pick up, however. Smart. Deliberate. Why don’t they want us to hear them?

I barely notice as the security room fills, unable to look away from our new “guests.” There’s something about the smaller one. I can’t quite put my finger on it. They’re dangerous, that I’m certain of.

Envy collapses into a chair, spreading himself with zero finesse. He’s wearing another hoodie, this one saying “no need to drive me crazy, I’m close enough to walk.” At least it’s a truthful one this time. Wrath moves in behind him, leaning a hip against Envy’s shoulder.

Lazarus comes in next, observing from a spot against the far wall. Keeping his distance. Lust arrives last. He and Lazarus have been with Greed, getting him comfortable and running tests to find out what might be in his bloodstream that’s keeping him from waking.

“What do you think?” Lust asks immediately.

I cross my arms over my chest. That answer should be obvious. “We torture them, find out what they know, then kill them.” A tried-and-true plan. The words feel like ash in my mouth for an unknown reason.

“That’s your answer to everything,” Envy says with a lopsided grin.

“Don’t fix it if it isn’t broken.”

Envy spreads out further, stretching his arms back and behind his head. “Break it first?”

“Precisely.”

“There’s something about them,” Lust says, eerily close to my feelings. “What do we know?”

“You mean other than the fact they were found in a hidden facility with Greed strapped to a fucking bed with drugs in his system?” Wrath asks, flames flickering in his gaze and heat pouring off him in waves. “Nothing.”

“Has Greed woken up?” Lazarus asks.

“Not yet. Deacon is watching him; he’ll let us know when he does.”

Flames flicker in Wrath’s hair, signaling his loss of control. “Said the spider to the fly.”

“Wrath, go cool off,” Lust tells him. “Gluttony, walk with me.”

Envy mock salutes us and goes back to watching the feed.

I want to stay, a niggle in the back of my mind telling me I need to. Instead, I force myself to look away from the two conversing men and follow Lust out of the room and into the hallway.

“I want you to speak to our guests,” Lust says immediately, turning to face me.

“Speak to them or speak to them?” I know which option I’d prefer. With the smaller one, especially. Get him alone and make him talk.

“Let’s keep violence to a minimum for the moment. Envy is… off-kilter right now, and it’s unusual enough to be of concern to me. Wrath is particularly volatile as well, and I’m actively trying to keep Deacon out of your sight. And his.”

“Good to know.” Smart. If it were up to me, he’d be right in that cell beside the strangers. Trust is in short supply right now.

Lust stops me with a hand on my forearm. “Gluttony, I know you don’t like him—”

“I like him just fine. I simply don’t trust him.”

“He saved Zara’s life. He saved mine. Is that not reason enough to try?”

“He came in here—”

“To save his brother. You would have done worse.”

I refuse to give that the consideration it deserves. Whatever Deacon’s reasons, he almost got us all killed. Changing his mind and redeeming himself doesn’t alter the fact he intended to do us harm. “That’s not a sufficient argument.”

“I’m not debating this with you. Please.”

The sneer comes automatically. “This is going to bite us all in the ass. You can feel it in the air, can’t you? Something is shifting, and I don’t fucking like it.”

“We need everyone back under the same roof, so we can face whatever the storm is together.”

“You’ve always been too sentimental, brother.”

“It helps balance you and Wrath out.”

Now there’s an argument I won’t win. “Tell me when Greed wakes up. We need to find out what he knows, and what they did to him.”

Lust tilts his head in acknowledgment, and I switch direction, heading for my rooms. I’ll let our prisoners sit and sweat for a little longer. Silence and isolation are useful tools when breaking someone down.

The second I open the door to my bedroom, I feel it. A presence that’s familiar to me. A swift kick traps us in there together. The light remains off.

“Back again.” Is he following me? “Do you have more gifts for me?” I mean for it come out as a snide comment, to throw these visits in his face. It doesn’t, because I want another one. All of them. Anything he has.

“Do you want another one?”

Yes. “Why do you keep coming back here?”

“Did you find what you were looking for today?”

Circling the room doesn’t reveal my quarry. They blend completely into the darkness. I still haven’t found an answer for what can do that. No creature I know of. The temptation to turn on the light isn’t strong enough to act on it. I know what happens if I do. For reasons I can’t explain, I want him to stay. If only so he can answer my questions. And give me more gifts.

“Do you expect me to believe you don’t already know?” He knows a lot more than he’s letting on.

“I’m not all-seeing.”

“Just a shadow in the dark.”

“Your shadow in the dark.”

My chest clenches at the intimate words. What does he mean by that? It has to be a lie. A trick. A way to manipulate me. “You don’t visit other men in their bedrooms?” I ask derisively. I don’t know why the question slipped out.

“No.”

The answer shouldn’t please me. Or send a thrill down my spine. Or make me want to flick on the light, only so I can see his face. He’s a stranger to me and can’t be trusted. Pretty words in poisonous wrapping. That’s all they are. My brothers and I have suffered enough by baselessly trusting strangers whose only goal is to destroy us from the inside. Just because this whatever-he-is has shown his ability to get in here undetected and hasn’t used that knowledge against us doesn’t mean he isn’t biding his time to do it later. His entire plan could be to gain my trust for nefarious purposes. Just like Conor. Just like Deacon.

I refuse to fall into the same trap. Especially not with someone I’ve never set eyes on. I don’t know this man’s face, only how his presence feels, what he sounds like in the dark. His smell. All senses bar two. What would he taste like? How would his skin feel under my lips?

“Are you real?” I ask.

“I told you that I’m not dead.”

“That doesn’t make you real.” The distinction sits heavy between us.

“I’m real.”

“Prove it.” The same words I threw at him another day. Prove it. What I really mean is touch me , and we both know it.

I remember the featherlight hand against my arm. Like wind settling over skin. Not nearly enough. If he’s not dead, if he’s real, and he speaks the truth, then I want to feel it. Prove it. The orb came from him, Fae energy or not.

Whoever hides in the shadows, beckoning me, can’t be Fae. Has to be something else, based on the lack of anything radiating from him. The orb isn’t his creation, but he possesses it. And now so do I. I’ll never settle for anything less than what I want. This man will give me more gifts, and he’ll touch me because I ask. It’s as simple as that.

“Where?” the smoky voice asks.

The familiarity of it irks me. A secret being kept from me.

“A dangerous question,” I rumble.

“It was a dangerous request.”

Was it? “Who are you? What’s your name?”

No answer. Not that I expect one. He’s not particularly forthcoming with information that may reveal his identity. Careful to remain anonymous.

The barest hint of a touch brushes across my back, traveling from my shoulder blade down and around to the curve of my hip. A small hand. The smell of strawberries and something subtler, like melted caramel, flavors the air. The stranger. Will it taste as good under my tongue? I’m tempted to find out, for the first time in my life.

They circle around my arm and to my front, over my stomach and up my chest. He’s exploring me.

I’ve never once allowed someone to be this close to me. Not outside of my family. If someone is close, it’s because I’m about to kill them with a personal touch. I certainly haven’t let anyone treat me like this. Like I’m theirs, even in a small way. I have no use for sex or intimacy. Lust uses it as a weapon, and I have more than enough of my own without needing to add to my repertoire with that bullshit.

I lick my lips, imagining that I can almost taste the sweetness in the air. The shadow continues, gliding the pads of his fingers up to my throat, over my cheeks. My eyes close as he drifts up across my nose and my forehead. It’s as though he’s mapping out my face. If he’s as small as his hands, he’s not touching the ground. Not if he’s reaching this high. I can’t feel the heat of him against me. If I try to gather him close, will be run?

He puts distance between us, the pleasant sensations disappearing before I can truly enjoy them. It leaves me cold. An orb appears in front of me before I can examine the feeling. Hints of fingers wrap around it, translucent black like a shadow come to life.

“What is that?”

“A gift. You wanted another one, didn’t you?”

Yes. All of them. “Another music box?” Will it sing the same melody?

“No, this is something else.” The orb floats through the air and lands in my larger hand. How small would his look in mine? I almost reach forward to find out. “To open it, you’ll have to find the key.”

What the fuck does that mean?

I can’t ask, because I’m alone again. The presence is gone, and the feeling of ice in the air gets stronger, everything bereft of warmth.