Page 21

Malice

In The Dark Fates, everything has a distinct smell.

To say the least, it’s been a while. But aromas have a way of sticking around, jogging memories quicker than all the other senses.

So the second they cross into The Hollow Chamber, the traces of ink and sepia flood his lungs, as if Malice has never left this place.

A sphere hangs overhead. A globe of sterling celestials that provide light.

Beneath the fixture, a subterranean hall digs deep, multiple levels corkscrewing into the earth like a drill, each one cramped with book-lined aisles. Essays, scriptures, lexicons, periodicals, manuals, and tomes. Among a hundred other formats of narrative, it’s all here.

Built and fashioned by history’s original Fate Court, The Hollow Chamber is an underground repository, housing ancient volumes of superficial importance, information that has overstayed its welcome, supposedly outlived its value. That is, if one discounts certain forbidden areas.

Their loss. His gain.

A sigh drifts from Wonder’s mouth. Glimpsing her profile isn’t a good idea, but he scratches that itch anyway. She’s beaming like a rainbow, her sparkling eyes doing something weird to his chest. The annoying sensation clamps down and squeezes like a vise.

Fuck. She loves it here. No shock there, but for some reason, Malice wishes he didn’t know this.

They stand at the railing overlooking the levels. Although he saw Wonder once or twice in these parts, and only in passing, he’s never been here with someone else. Strangely, it’s like being self-indoctrinated into a mortal fandom, sharing the high of a mutual addiction.

What’s her favorite branch of this complex? Which titles did she read?

Wonder tucks a lock of smooth hair behind her ear. She glances sideways, giving Malice zero warning before he swerves away, his gaze hunting for someplace to land. Scanning the Chamber, he leans over— far over the railing—while choking the bar until the veins in his wrist inflate.

Shit. She caught him.

The goddess returns to the scenery. “When I was young, The Archives was my playground,” she whispers. “My temple, my school, my home. Every safe and scandalous part of it.”

Because unanswered questions have never been his vibe, and because curiosity is a tenacious motherfucker, Malice can’t help himself. “Which do you care about most? The safe or the scandalous?”

“I’m starting to think they’re one and the same. At first sight of this place, I became obsessed.”

“Obsession is healthy.” Malice flaunts the ghost of a smile, aware she can’t tell if he’s being serious or sarcastic. “First time I came here, I made a beeline for the Chamber and tried to steal a book.”

Disapproval muddies her tone. “Naturally, when you could have borrowed it.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

“Why a text from this area? Was it from the restricted section?”

“Nah. I raided that place later. But the rest of the collection? These books aren’t given a chance; they’re dumped like toxic waste. I fancied the idea of reading the ones nobody else gave a shit about.”

“That’s what attracted me as well. The books people underestimated or overlooked.”

Malice nods. “Which of them stuck with you?”

A moment ago, she looked ready to chastise him for looting reading material. But in the next instant, something about his question provokes a different response. “Oh, no,” Wonder quips, swerving toward him on a whim. “That’s far too personal. We’re not ready for that stage.”

“Well, well, well. I’m impressed. The Goddess of Wonder is capable of teasing her enemy?”

“Let the record show, impressing you is low on my priority list. However, let’s assume I’m having a moment. Be thankful to this location for enabling the impulse while it lasts.”

“Noted,” Malice wisecracks. “And we’re moving in stages, are we? I’ll hold you to that.”

“Don’t you dare!”

His lips twitch. Like bait, her eyes latch onto the divot in his cheek.

Oh, but he’s fully aware of this trait, since it’s hardly the first time a deity has admired Malice’s features.

But the magnitude of Wonder’s gaze is a hell of a lot more impactful, her attention straying over the crease before shooting to his eyes.

Static crackles in the air. The energy is palpable, intense enough to power these halls.

Malice likes exercising his healthy imagination. Also, he prides himself on having the most direct stare in existence, reaching places that should be off limits, probing spots this female never gave him permission to explore.

Not that he cares about staying in his lane. Why not play instead?

He envisions a scandalous buzz spreading like a chain reaction from Wonder’s lips to the slim groove in her thighs, blood swirling to the pert little clit hidden under that skirt.

And fuck it all. Her short intake of breath enhances the delusion, a mental image of that tiny stud poking from her pussy inserting itself into his cranium.

Inevitably, Malice’s dick goes rogue. Every inch stretches, his rock-hard cock inflating to the point where it’s going to need its own room.

Jesus. Is he that sex-starved? What’s it been? A few months since the last threesome? That’s a paltry amount of time for someone who lives forever.

His talons cleave into the railing. Sexual attraction is one thing. But if he can’t get his shit together, Malice will end up breaking his wrist in the next twenty-fours.

Since he’s incapable of discretion, this is an ample opportunity for Malice to take the lead. He should call Wonder out for ogling, definitely before she has the chance to accuse him of the same felony.

But then she steals the initiative. “Anyway,” the goddess dismisses primly.

“Sure,” he echoes, deadpan. “Anyway.”

Dead silence. He would push this further, mow through her attempt at chaste civility, if she weren’t on the fringes. Wonder holds herself as stiff as a ruler, something fragile clutching her features.

She’s scared. But not of him. This female doesn’t have a single cowardly bone in her body.

No. She’s afraid to ruin this moment, the long-awaited return to The Archives. Until now, they’ve been at each other’s throats.

Getting this arrival right matters to the wildflower. Rectifying her connection to these walls is important.

Dammit. Maybe he’s in a rare mood too, which has nothing to do with preserving that earlier glint in her eyes. Coddling Wonder isn’t on the agenda. Malice is just feeling generous since there are plenty of weeks ahead to mess with her.

Besides. His cock needs a time-out.

As if to compensate for his lack of a conscience, the appendage in question relaxes. “Anyway,” he repeats. “When I stole that book, a scribe caught me. Shithead grabbed me before I got outside.”

Tension leaks from Wonder’s face, a sight he refuses to memorize. “You almost succeeded.”

“I hate to break it to you, but almost doesn’t count.”

“Well, I don’t condone thievery. But in other aspects of life, almost succeeding is better than never trying.”

He flashes another grin, his divot likely making a reappearance. “How didactic of you.”

Wonder glances at his cheek, then grumbles, “Vexing god. Why do I even bother?”

Excellent question. He’s been asking himself that since they met.

Sleep is the next order of business. It’s been a rough journey, so they exit the Chamber and take advantage of the vacant librarian dormitories.

A winding staircase in the north tower leads them to a common room full of sofas, reading chairs, celestial tapestries, a massive fireplace with a six-foot-tall hearth, and a narrow passage of sleeping quarters.

In the hallway, Malice and Wonder gravitate to separate rooms. Inside her circular suite, animated constellation renderings drift across the domed cupola ceiling, and bookshelves embed into the curved walls, which encompass a round central bed.

Along one edge, a concave window offers a forest above a writing desk and beside a wardrobe painted with a quarter moon.

As Wonder sets down her archery, Malice looms on the threshold, shoving one leather shoulder against the trim. “So this is where you’ll get undressed, eh?”

“Absolutely,” she answers, wheeling toward him with saccharine sweetness. “Right after my arrow amputates your ballsack.”

“Christ, that’s grotesque. I like it.”

“Go to bed, Malice.”

Instead of taking the hint, he rakes his gaze over her. “Which bed?”

Virginal pink suffuses Wonder’s throat, the color spreading like a rushing rapid to the tops of her tits. In the sort of fiction Andrew writes, this is the perfect scene in which to insert a spicy, fan-favorite trope. Except there are too many mattresses in this library to make that a reality.

Unless of course, Malice decides to burn them. All except one. His wrap-sheet is already long, so why not add arson to the list? Especially if it means his question will get a different answer later.

Only one thing stifles the temptation. Instead of being voluntary, those actions would force her to sleep next to him. Although Malice isn’t above coercion or bending this goddess to his will, for some reason he’d rather she made this particular choice willingly.

Does she sleep naked like he does?

Fates kill him now. Malice chops apart the question before it takes up residence in the hippocampus part of his brain, then keeps him awake late into the night. If that happens, his hand will be functioning on autopilot, strapping around his dick on a nightly basis.

Wonder recuperates, strides up to him, and holds out an upturned palm. “We’ve arrived. Hand it over.”

Ah. This is more like it. “I said I’d give you the corsage when we got here. I never gave an exact date.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I don’t know, but it sounds clever.”

“I can break into your room and take collateral too. Try me.”

Because the resourceful goddess isn’t bluffing, Malice anchors one arm high on the jamb and leans in. “I’ll never stop trying you. Not until you break.”

“You’ll be exhausting your efforts for a very long time.”

“Then it’s lucky we live forever.” His mouth twists. “Sweet dreams, Wildflower.”

As if they’re hate-flirting, Wonder fakes a grin. Which falls into a glower as she slams the door in his face.