Page 66 of Malicent (Seven Devils #1)

Millicent

“THIS IS JUST A LORD’S estate?” I mutter to Kalix as we enter the garden. “Seems more like a palace.”

The courtyard is alive with energy. Strings of lights ripple across the air like stars caught in a web.

A violin commands the space, its high-pitched notes whipping the dancers into a frenzy.

Acrobats teeter on tabletops, somehow serving wine with their hands and feet.

How they manage not to spill it, I have no idea.

In every corner, something dazzles the crowd: a fire-breather roars the flames of applause, a magician spins light into birds, tables brim with glistening platters and flutes of sweet wine.

“This lord’s connected to some of the biggest merchant trades in the region,” Kalix explains. “He enjoys showing off his wealth.”

“Even when infected?” I lower my voice, mindful of Cage, who is no doubt eavesdropping nearby. “They’re not usually this…social.”

“It’s not typical, but some can maintain their appearances,” Kalix replies, offering his arm. His eyes tell me I need to play along. I place my arm in the crook of his elbow, letting him guide us toward the crowd. At a nearby table, I grab a glass of wine, forcing down the syrupy sweetness.

“So, what does he look like?” I ask, scanning the area for someone powerful—or dangerous. It’s hard to tell in an extravagant place like this.

“Short blonde hair. Green eyes, I think.”

“You think?”

“There’s a lot of people here, all right?” he mumbles into his cup.

“He’s here,” Cage interjects, suddenly beside us.

“Then let’s find him,” I say, excitement rising at the prospect of encountering one of these cursed beings in the flesh.

Cage shakes his head. “I can sense a void. He’s blocking me. That in itself confirms his presence.”

“I bet I can locate him.” I tap the collar at my neck in a silent request.

“Not a chance,” Cage dismisses quickly.

“But…” He pauses, then extends a hand toward me. “We can try luring him out.”

I raise a brow. “How?”

“Come, and I will teach you.”

I sneer at him but wipe it from my face. I don’t need Cage to teach me anything, but I do want to see this infected human. Cautiously, I take his hand, letting the other fall from Kalix’s arm.

Cage raises our joined hands and leads us toward the to the dance floor.

“Seriously? Dancing?” I scan the crowd. “Is he hiding among them?”

I dart my gaze over the courtyard, seeking someone with short blonde hair and green eyes. Luckily, the combination seems rare tonight.

Cage stops in an open space and turns to face me. Without warning, he pulls me close.

“For now, yes.”

He keeps one hand raised with mine and rests the other against the small of my back. I settle my free hand on his shoulder.

“Can you even dance?” I ask, wary of his toes.

He chuckles softly and begins to move us fluidly in a rhythm. All right , so he can dance.

As we glide across the floor, my eyes continue to roam the sea of faces.

“Impatient, aren’t we?” Cage smirks, drawing my attention back to him.

“I’ve never been good at patience,” I mutter, letting him spin me as the music swells.

He pulls me back, and this time, his chest brushes mine, closer than before. His hand settles low on my back again, steady and warm, and every nerve there tightens in response.

I ground myself in other sensations, the texture of his shirt beneath my fingertips, the shimmer of swirling gowns. Finding anything to focus on but him.

I refuse to meet his eyes, the same argent eyes I’ve been avoiding since our ride here. Since that night.

Feeding from him changed something. I’ve kept my distance ever since, afraid that locking eyes with him might snap the thread I’m barely hanging on to.

I remember the way he held me, the way he forced my eyes to stay on his as he guided my hand between my thighs.

Bloodlust or not, it still haunts me. Still burns under my skin.

And if the hunger had gone deeper, if the Nightmother had stirred harder, I would’ve torn his heart out and devoured it.

“A learned skill, I suppose. I’m more of a hunter myself.

Knowing a creature gives you an upper hand.

” He dips me sharply. One hand supports my back while the other slides boldly to my thigh, pulling it toward him.

My hair brushes the floor, my chest tenses with the strain, and my neck locks as I meet his silver gaze.

“If this curse has possessive traits, it might be a hellion. What emotions draw them out?”

The answer’s old knowledge. “Lust and pain.”

“Exactly.” He pulls me upright, returning us to our former stance. “Like a shark smelling blood. Shall we lure them out?”

He lifts my hand toward his mouth, slowly, giving me time to pull away.

I don’t. Not yet. I don’t flinch as his teeth graze the inside of my wrist. I prepare for the bruising hot pain his teeth will cause. His tongue follows the nip, smoothing it. Then he presses a soft kiss.

Surprise fills me when he doesn’t take the chance to inflict pain on me.

I tense and try to pull away, but his grip tightens, and his fingers thread with mine.

He bites gently at my bicep in warning. A languid kiss follows, and he trails more up to my shoulder, lingering at the hollow of my neck, where his hot breath ghosts over my skin.

This is dangerous. Baiting the hellion out and Cage.

The danger only surges my adrenaline, elating me.

His voice is low and edged with hunger. “I can see your pulse thrumming in your neck.”

His hand slides lower, gripping a handful of my ass. The sudden pressure makes my breath hitch. Lust. not pain. He’s leaning into it hard. And I am being dragged down with him.

He dips back into my throat, nuzzling a silent demand for more. For the sake of this trap, I tilt my head, obliging him. This time, his mouth isn’t gentle. His tongue drags along my skin, sending a shiver down my spine.

When he reaches the pulsing curve beneath my jaw, he sucks, slowly and firmly. My breath quickens, nipples tightening beneath the velvet red of my gown.

The room around us becomes a haze of bright colors, laughter and music. Bodies near us spin and dip, too caught up in themselves to pay attention to us.

Stray hairs cling to my flushed cheeks as he trails kisses toward the hollow of my throat. His hand on my hip shifts, grinding me into him, letting me feel every inch of how much I affect him. I almost revel in the moment.

I arch back, letting my chest press higher till the curve of my breasts rises over the neckline. I watch as he pauses. His grip tightens. The silver in his eyes darken with a deep and guttural urge that mirrors my own.

“Just a trap, my little witch.” His voice is rough like gravel.

“Just a trap,” I echo, but my voice betrays me. It’s low, sultry. And when our eyes meet, something cracks.

He releases my hand and guides his fingers up my arm, curling them into the base of my neck. My skin prickles under his touch. His gaze drops to my lips, then back to my eyes.

His jaw tenses, and he hesitates before leaning in close, our lips separated only by the breadth of an inch.

“You make me wonder who the trap is really set for.” His tone darkens. A deep rumbling timbre rolls through his every word. “I hate this gown.”

His sudden shift in demeanor hardens my posture. “Gee, thanks. Way to kill the trap.” I roll my eyes sassily, but the heat in my veins doesn’t cool.

“You mistake my words for jest, my little witch.” His voice dips low. “Then again, your kind always did struggle to discern truth from mockery.”

His hand drags slowly from the nape of my neck up my jaw with a slow reverence, like he’s memorizing the outline of my features for a drawing he can perfect. He grips my chin gently but firmly, his lips brushing over mine with each word.

“I hate this gown on you. I hate most gowns on you. I’d prefer them off you, on the floor.”

He lets the implication settle before he pulls away. My head spins between the insults and the flirting. Am I becoming some fun game to him? Or does it bother him just as much that he likes his skin against mine?

His other hand shifts roughly, sliding up my ass and lifting me off my feet just enough to unbalance me. Then it settles to my back. He scans the room.

“Did it work?” I prod, keeping my voice hushed.

“It worked,” he confirms. There’s no satisfaction in his voice, only bitterness, which only leaves me confused.

“Okay, well, where is he? Care to share?”

Kalix nods from across the room. So, Cage has shared something, just not with me. I scowl up at him. The flush of arousal burns with fury. But he can tell Kalix.

“You just grabbed my ass, and I’m right here. Try communicating with me next time.”

“Don’t screech.” He releases me, stepping back and brushing his clothes off, as if ridding himself of contact. The insult only strokes my ire.

“There, by the pillar, use your bloody eyes,” he adds, nodding toward the tall blonde man with green eyes, now being swarmed by guests.

“And touching you?” Cage meets my eyes, his voice turning to steel. “Means nothing. It gives you no power over me—and certainly no right to demand shit from me.”

His words are ice but have little impact.

“Did you expect that to break my heart?” I ask, arching a brow, “Oh, how you wound me.”

I turn and walk away without looking back. I have more interesting prey.

I slip between clusters of nobles. I make sure the lord sees me.

“My lord,” I purr, dipping just low enough to let my breasts crest over the neckline of my gown. Every inch of me is a weapon. Nora taught me that for many years. Men like their women soft, prefer shy, submissive things. I’ve worn those skins before.

“You’re a new face,” he says, offering his hand. I slip mine into his. He seizes the moment to kiss along my knuckles. “I would remember such rare beauty.” His eyes drop to the collar on my neck, then to my breasts.

“You would? I’m honored, my lord. No, we’ve never met.” I offer a sheepish smile, feigning modesty.

“The honor is all mine. What name belongs to you?”