Page 66

Malice

During their weeks-long fuckfest, Wonder had shared a host of choice memories. One of them had been at Malice’s request. He asked her to list every time she’d been hurt.

Physically. Mentally. Emotionally.

Not counting their past-life saga. Nor the times he’d kink-smacked her, chained the goddess up naked, and made her come on his fingers, to name only a few deviant antics.

However unholy their sex life had been, it had also been safe. Experimental. Pleasurable. Malice would sever every artery in his body before actually harming Wonder. And he would massacre anyone else who tried.

Except others had already done damage. Aside from when her crew was commanded to torture Wonder, Malice had wanted to know who else to slaughter on her behalf.

Her answer had been short. Never.

Cue this moment. It’s one thing to be struck by a fellow deity or a Guide. It’s another thing to be the target of a ruler’s hand.

Wonder’s head flings sideways. The smack practically knocks her fucking skeleton out of alignment, twisting her at a severe angle.

The impact floods Malice’s vision, coloring everything blood red, metamorphosing him into the monster she once associated with him.

He still agrees with that classification, only he embodies the archetype to full capacity now, a roar shredding apart the room as though his vocal cords have been shoved through a sieve.

Fuck the arrow primed at his throat. Fuck the glass wedged like a lever in his chest.

He lunges, thrashes against the ruler, eager to rip open every royal throat with his teeth and talons. But then he freezes in place as Wonder staggers upright and casts him a glance that warns, Don’t.

Don’t play the alpha. Don’t make it worse. Don’t fuck this up.

Only her silent plea and the tactical rationale behind it stop Malice from committing five counts of first-degree murder. He disengages. But for good measure, his gaze skewers the ruler, marking his internal calendar for the day when his claws retaliate.

The bitch of a monarch pays Malice no heed, only waits for Wonder to collect herself. Because his wildflower isn’t made of paper, it’s a short intermission. Straightening, Wonder inclines her head in acknowledgement.

Malice withholds a grunt. One of the greatest insults to a fellow Dark God is to steal their archery. Worse, to wield it.

But for shit’s sake. The formality—in other words, the hypocrisy—makes him want to gag. He’d roll his eyes if Wonder’s gesture were more sincere than calculated. At this point, they need these monarchs sidetracked.

The iridescent cunt pauses, her profile tilting as she regards Wonder. A spark of intrigue flits through the ruler’s irises, the reaction unlike anything Malice has seen from her. Following this, a tinge of regret dims the female’s eyes.

He knows the signs, the moment when questions rise to the surface of one’s mind.

Reports always find their belated way to The Celestial City.

This female is reputed to sing lullabies to immortal youths when they can’t sleep.

Despite her attack on Wonder, and despite how Malice plans to disembowel the ruler later, she has an empathetic side.

Then another thing occurs to Malice. Before her ascension, she held a different title. She used to be the Guide of Wonder.

That is, until she advanced to the role of ruler, with Harmony taking the goddess’s place. That’s the hierarchical evolution of The Dark Fates. Once upon a time, this female had been a mentor. Before that, she’d been a serving deity like Wonder.

She’d been Wonder.

Parchment flutters around like plumage, as if nudged by a breeze. Tattered bits of illuminated texts glimmer in the murk.

Surrounded by the mess, The Court silently debates on how to proceed. For some reason, they hadn’t anticipated capturing their prey. Rather, they’d expected a sleight of hand and an escape. Apparently, Malice and Wonder have run them ragged, putting them on higher guard.

“What a pity,” the amethyst goddess says while inspecting the scene.

“Fucking reprehensible, is what it is,” the cloaked god pontificates, his eyebrows taking a steep turn for the worse. “If you two weren’t enemies, we would congratulate you on your proficiency.”

“Never in our existence have we—,” the braided god cuts himself off, his hawkish nostrils flaring. “It seems our dispute with you and your peers last year hasn’t dwindled. We should have known it wouldn’t end in The Celestial City, however much we hoped you would see to reason.”

“On that score,” the frosted goddess remarks, pricking Malice’s flesh with the tip of her arrowhead, “Finally, he’s learned to be silent. However did you manage that, Wonder?”

“You credit me too soon,” Wonder predicts.

Smart goddess. Because three, two, one: “Go fuck yourself hard, mate,” Malice grits out to the ruler.

The female moves to impale him, but she halts when the iridescent goddess stares at Wonder. “Are you in love?”

The question bulldozes through the room, staying everyone’s tongues. The word is a force unto itself, ill-fitting in the sovereign’s mouth, too massive for her companions to process fully.

The braided god balks. The cloaked god scowls like a confused bull. The amethyst goddess is aghast, her eyes jumping like ping-pong balls between the gallery’s occupants. Behind him, Malice senses the frosted goddess hiking a single brow that fails to reach her receding hairline.

Fair enough. Because what the fuck?

Non-sequiturs might do it for Malice, but since when did this battle turn into one of Andrew’s romantasy novels?

Love. The word dangles off a hook. It waits to be plucked, to be claimed by a brave volunteer, someone with the biggest set of balls in the room.

On second thought, pussies are stronger than cocks, the former equipped to handle a pounding, whereas male genitalia can’t survive a damn flick. And really, he never bought that shitty human metaphor to begin with.

Anyway. That a court member would ask about love borders on acknowledgment, a willingness to believe the emotion might be possible among their kind. Or this goddess is manipulating Wonder.

Then it hits him. Shit, he knows where the fuck the ruler is going with this.

Though evidently, Wonder doesn’t. She blinks, which does something violent to Malice’s lungs. He had thought she couldn’t wreck him any more than she already has. Naturally, he was wrong.

Battered and bruised and bleeding, Wonder hedges. Questions litter her features.

Is she in love? With him?

And which him ?

It’s the same thing he had asked her. Me or him?

Her eyes cut over to Malice. He can only guess what she sees. A maddened demon outcast who’s made her life a living hell, orgasms excluded.

Crackling pressure builds behind his eyes. His pupils must be flaring like furnaces.

At the same time, something else pours through his blood. Something that stings. Something like cold. Like fear.

Are you in love?

Malice doesn’t want her to answer. Please don’t fucking answer.

Wonder’s gaze travels over his features and then slips to the rapid pulse in his throat.

She stares as if she’d give anything to see that pulse beat for eternity.

In which case, he must be hallucinating.

They’ve had their fun, and she put his cock to good use, but she also rejected him before this shitshow began.

Regardless of that last kiss in the stacks, Wonder hadn’t been able to say whether she wants Malice or his ghost.

Yet it’s clear. Malice isn’t good enough. He never was.

She’s a dream. He’s just a fucking nightmare.

And fine. This goddess always deserved better. Who would love a monster, a devil with a black soul?

Are you in love?

Wonder’s attention strays to his lips, then meets his eyes. “I…”

“Too flustered to respond? That’s fine,” the ruler states. “Because I wasn’t asking you.”

Wonder falters, her expression trenching in confusion. Yeah. Malice had seen this plot twist coming too.

The goddess maintains a steady gaze on Wonder, but her query lingers on the only other insurgent in the room.

It makes sense. Whatever the deities believe about love, they would deem Wonder susceptible.

She’s part of the elite crew that includes the first love goddess in history.

And over time, her comrades have been revealing a penchant for sentimentality.

Their people either assume it’s due to Love’s influence or because each member—Anger, Envy, Sorrow, and Wonder—is a fundamental component of the emotion.

But Malice isn’t part of that crew. Between him and Wonder, he’s the one less likely to feel that degree of affection.

He’d expected this logic. He just hadn’t expected it to make him feel like a cheap date, a whorish villain who’s expendable on every other level.

He watches Wonder draw the right conclusion. He watches her realize to whom the interrogation is really directed.

Are you in love?

A snarl curls from his mouth. “Sorry. I didn’t get the question.”

For his sarcastic trouble, the arrow burrows deeper, a ribbon of blood trickling down his skin. The weapon threatens to break skin, urging him to show obedience.

Malice wants to look away from Wonder, but he can’t. He wants to rinse off this feeling like mud, but he can’t. He wants to conceal the truth behind a wiseass comment, but he can’t. He wants to fake it, but he can’t. He wants to deny it, but he can’t.

She’s all he sees. She’s all he’s ever seen.

Even Malice has his deceptive limits. Even if he could whip up a good lie, everyone would see through it. Even then, procrastinating won’t do Wonder any good. Not if he wants her to survive this.

Jaw ticking, he offers a terse nod, the motion barely noticeable.

“Pardon me?” the iridescent goddess pushes. “I did not hear that.”

Fucking hell. Resigned, Malice speaks while pinning his gaze to Wonder.

Are you in love?

“Yes,” he bites out.