Page 22

Wonder

The deadbolt clicks into place, echoing through the Chamber. Wonder flips around, her back hitting the facade. From the opposite side, his presence is a phantom, a dark shadow that steals beneath the door crack.

Malice has not moved, has not retired to his chamber. No, he idles like an incubus, waiting for innocent prey to fall into slumber. A two-inch panel of wood separates them, the notion fizzing her skin like embers.

The faint cadence of his breath penetrates the distance. It’s steady and contemplative, hinting at indecision, which isn’t usually his style. Typically, this demon has a plan, arranged years ahead of time. Yet he’s also impulsive. In these precious seconds, he’s deciding something.

Walk away. Or don’t.

Leave her in peace. Or break down the door.

Call this bluff. Say something through the divide. Tempt her to let him in, so far in until she cannot tell the distinctions between right and wrong.

Though perhaps Wonder is projecting, imagining, fretting. And Stars forgive her, fantasizing.

Every thrust of his breath reaches her flesh like a rough and possessive brush of fingers, rendering the door useless as protection. Worse would be if he spoke, provoking her into action.

Wonder’s head lolls sideways. She glances at the doorknob, anticipation gripping her breastbone.

Yet it does not move, does not shake. If it were a mortal fixture, he could easily blow apart the lock and charge inside.

If the same were possible here, Malice would enter her room unbidden. But not necessarily unwelcome.

Wonder despises this fact. Because if he found a way into this sanctuary, her body would make a grave, unforgivable mistake.

He would not be gentle, would not be subtle, and would not be predictable.

This demon would use tactics on her, use words and instruments and kinks the likes of which she has never envisioned.

He would tie her up and wield sharp, illicit objects to rip cries from her lungs.

Those taloned fingernails would scrape over her skin, drawing blood to the surface.

Willingly, she would let those acts damn her eternal soul while ensconced in the one location she treasures most.

She hates herself for this. Just as much as she hates him.

This emotion, along with his presence, fuels a physical response. Wonder’s pulse beats everywhere, an incessant percussion throbbing in her temple, her throat, her wrists, and her chest.

Not only there. The cleft between her legs pumps blood, imbuing her pussy with that same incessant, contemptible sensation. The aggravating tempo pounds deeply inside her, between the tight lips, and treads a dangerous path to her clit.

The door quivers, giving the slightest perceptible motion. As if his forehead has landed against it, as if he needs the support.

As if he knows.

Wishful thinking. Malice cannot know what’s occurring in her body, and he does not capitulate or suffer things he cannot have. He merely steals them away, takes them in his fists. Besides, this line of thinking implies he actually wants her beyond the obvious.

Yet. He’s still there.

The demon is standing too near, too tall, too solid. They have slept in close proximity before, in the human library. But this is different. They’re isolated from the world, stuck with each other. Even if he abandons her door, less than fifteen feet divides their chambers.

Wonder closes her eyes, willing him to leave, to go away, please.

And finally, tragically, blessedly, he does. The shadow covering her toes vanishes, slipping beneath the door like something draining, leaching away. Footsteps thud across the hall, a set of hinges squeak, and a door closes.

Shut. Finished.

Sweet dreams, Wildflower.

Wonder sags against the frame and jams her wrists into her eyes. The palpitations thumping in every vital part of her testifies to the hard truth. Her dreams will be anything but sweet.

Eventually, the onslaught subsides. All except for one place, her cunt swollen and aching, irritation with herself only exacerbating the problem. If she does not calm herself down, her sheets will be soaked in minutes.

The culprit could be lust, driven by animosity and yes, involuntary attraction. Or it could be long-suffering yearning from memories that refuse to die, to leave Wonder alone.

The answer to this is inconclusive. But at least it succeeds in tiring her out.

She abandons the door, peels off her clothes, and slips naked between the gossamer sheets.

The fresh linens alleviate the knots in her muscles.

The soft caress of fabric eases the pressure in her private slit, relieving Wonder of certain threats, such as the urge to fondle herself, finger herself, fuck herself to prohibited thoughts of him.

Soothed at last, she curls into the mattress and latches onto productive thoughts. Yes, she wants her corsage back. And yes, she’ll take it by force if she must. But that’s a plan for tomorrow, among a million plans.

Malice might have his own agenda for coming here, his own answers to seek. That aside, the crusade to overthrow The Court is in his favor. He hasn’t said so, but he’s going to help, in as much as he’ll try to use her for his own purpose. And he’ll keep her corsage hostage until then.

What he hasn’t grasped—or perhaps what he’s counting on—is Wonder’s rebellion. If he’s plotting to bait her, she’ll bait him back.

Since slumber will come quicker with meditation, Wonder empties her mind until the world darkens into a void. For the first time in ages, she isn’t plagued by his wails.

Wonder is positive. While she won’t have sweet dreams—because dreams of him are never merciful—the demon also won’t have a nightmare tonight.

***

At dawn, Wonder knocks on his door. Then she knocks harder, pretending it’s his skull.

Receiving no answer, she hisses. The remnant keepers have long since departed, Wonder having witnessed them from her window as they stepped into the forest, their robes blending into the mesh. Thus, she’s allowed to make noise.

Wonder marches to The Hollow Chamber, where she finds Malice reclining in a chair just inside the entrance, with an open book spread across his lap like an offered sacrifice.

He’s got his booted feet propped and crossed on a neighboring tabletop, and he tilts his head at her, mussed layers falling into his face like rumpled sheets.

The negligent pose, unkempt hair, and creased t-shirt clinging to his inflated biceps gives him the appearance of someone who just rolled out of bed after a night of orgiastic sex.

So this is how Hades looks at the break of dawn, when he’s free to roam as he pleases.

Someday, Wonder will slap that smirk into the next century. But not yet, not this soon. Otherwise, it will only verify his expedited effect on her, and she refuses to let him win whatever game they’re playing.

“Tardy on your first day?” he instigates. “Overslept? Dog ate your homework?”

“We were supposed to meet outside the dorms,” she bristles.

“By definition, this is outside the dorms. Neither of us said how close we had to be.”

“If you insist on making every sentence into a conundrum, this venture will take longer.”

“You telling me you actually want our time here to go by fast?”

Sigh. Yes and no.

The quicker they succeed, the less likely they will encounter danger, and the fewer days they’ll be forced to stand one in solitude. On the other hand, the demon understands her desire to savor the library for as long as possible. Who can say when she’ll get another chance, if ever?

But how dare he leave without her. How dare he create an arbitrary schedule, act like some prized pupil, and then admonish her about tardiness.

How dare he beat her to it!

To cool her heels, Wonder weaves her hair into a tousled side braid. Meanwhile, Malice watches the motions of her fingers like it’s the bonus scene of a pornographic movie. Unlike Wonder, he’s not ashamed to scroll over her attributes without repentance.

Industriously, he has already procured breakfast. Beside the chair, another side table balances a steaming pot of peony tea, threads of steam coiling from the pot’s spout. Beside the vessel stands a cornucopia overflowing with bloated cherries and blushing peaches. No pomegranates.

Wonder frowns. She loves the selection. In fact, they’re her favorites. Though considering she had mentioned this to him recently, it must be a ploy.

She steps forward and pours a cup of tea. While balancing the dainty ceramic in her hand, she takes a sip, then pauses in consternation. “What?” she asks when he stares at her with the laser focus of a sniper. “What are you doing?”

Malice’s gaze makes a long, indulgent quest from the teacup’s rim to her damp mouth, the effect spiking her with adrenaline. Then his eyes lift back to hers. “Watching you swallow.”

Her fingers clutch the handle. She abstains from drinking more, avoids the cherries, and snatches a peach with her free fingers. “Let’s get to work.”

He vacates the chair. Gaining his feet, the bastard leans over and bites the orb propped in her hand, then straps his mouth around the rim of her tea, guzzling the contents.

Licking his lips, the demon sets the half-emptied cup back in her palm. “I thought you’d never ask,” he intones.

Still holding the cup and fruit, Wonder wrinkles her nose.

She observes him striding away in dark jeans that rustle against his narrow waist, the rough material accentuating every flex of his ass.

Because the leather jacket has been omitted today, that shirt pulls across his torso with each step.

Any second, he’s going to bust out of that garment.

And alas, she cannot decide which article of clothing is the least disturbing, his present choice or the prior open jacket flashing his bare chest.

Wonder regards the refreshments. Each one has been violated, impinged upon by his mouth… his tongue…