Page 67

Wonder

Her mouth falls open, her jaw landing somewhere on the floor. Her heart isn’t far behind, slamming against her chest, thrashing to leap off the edge.

Malice loves her.

This demon god. He’s in love with her.

Yes, the hate has vanished. Yes, it has been replaced by respect, understanding, and desire. But this?

Joy and terror take root in her body, both emotions producing the same profound ache.

She should be insulted that he would only confess his feelings at the point of an arrow.

But to be fair, he would rather saw off his tongue in slow motion or donate his cerebral cortex to research than expose any vulnerability to these rulers. Much less this vulnerability.

Or is there another reason why he’s hedging? Wonder has a hunch, her stomach churning.

The rulers’ expressions range from repulsion to denial. Only the goddess draped in that iridescent, astral-woven gown watches the scene with composure. She stays that way, lost in thought while her peers shove Wonder and Malice against the only two podiums left standing.

Clearing the debris, the monarchs push them to the floor and bind their limbs to the fixtures. They use tethers instead of star-dusted manacles, but no matter. These harnesses are just as impervious to a deity’s strength.

The iridescent goddess suggests a conference, and the rest agree. After commandeering Malice’s archery, they leave their prisoners mounted to the encasements, surrounded by piles of glass and manuscripts.

Wonder takes a guess. The Fate Court will allow them to live, then probe their minds for information, particularly any secrets unearthed from the Chamber, plus whatever revolutionary plans Wonder’s crew has devised.

The rulers will prepare themselves for Malice’s mind games, his half-truths, and his X-rated lexicon. They’ll appeal to Wonder’s intuitive nature and take advantage of Malice’s feelings for her.

Whether or not The Court believes in love, that’s immaterial. The point is that Malice does. Against his will, he’s handed the Fates an asset, a means to keep him in line. If it comes down to it, they shall torture Wonder to pry answers from him.

They might do the same to Malice, might make him watch while they surround her. Regardless of whether love is distinguishable to The Court, Wonder and Malice’s actions had provided implications. In this room, they tried to protect one another, and not out of duty.

Silence. Across from her, Malice glares at a spot over her shoulder. His chest oozes blood, but at least the frosted goddess had ripped out the glass before evacuating the gallery.

All the same, the demon god winces, crimson dripping from the wound. He drags his tongue over his teeth, stained with dots of more blood.

From opposite ends, their feet brush in the middle, her booted soles against his bare ones. Wonder fixes on the sight while the most vital organ inside her goes wild. If she doesn’t spit it out, she’ll second-guess herself.

A whisper slips off her tongue. “Did you mean it?”

“I told you to fuck off and take off,” Malice hisses. “Didn’t I?”

“Haven’t you heard, dearest? I’m not good at following orders.”

“If you had, you’d be long gone.”

“If I had, you’d be long dead.”

“I’ve already been dead once. I can handle it.”

What he can’t handle are the bindings. Malice struggles against them, his breathing rampant because they’ve restrained his arms. He might panic soon, revolt against the universe, and hurt himself even more.

Gently, she rubs her foot against his calf until he sags. His skull thuds against the podium, and his inhalations even out, a good sign he won’t have a meltdown. Though to keep it that way, he’ll need a distraction.

“Hey,” Wonder soothes. “Malice, look at me.”

He complies but narrows his gaze. “Always a pleasure looking at you.”

“Answer my question. Did you mean it?”

“You’ll have to be more specific. I mean lots of things, and I mean lots of nothings too. I’m chock-full of them.”

She grins sadly, because she knows what he’s doing. “That’s a yes.”

“Why do you care?”

“Of course, I ca—”

“Oh, I’m sure you do.”

His drawl points to the past. To Quill, not to him. His assumption might be correct, because if the ruling goddess had requested a reply from Wonder instead of Malice, she’s unsure what she would have said.

Loving Quill isn’t the same as craving him.

Craving Malice isn’t the same as loving him.

So which is it? Which incarnation?

Anguish creases Malice’s visage. His neck bobs as he twists away, giving her his profile. “I guess sharing you with my ghost is okay.”

“Malice—”

“Far be it from me to deny a voluptuous goddess her ménage à trois. It’ll be like doing the nasty with twins,” he improvises.

“Or we can split our schedules. You can fuck me on weekends and holidays, then live it up with my deceased doppelg?nger Monday to Friday. Of course, touching him will be a problem.”

“Malice—”

“Riding his dick, an even bigger problem, in addition to the reek. I’ve heard corpses possess quite the stench, and who knows what condition my former cock is in.

But maybe we’ll find a legend to rectify that, something that resurrects dead bodies and repairs erectile decay. Or we can try a seance.”

“Malice—”

“Unless you want to go really crazy and add former lovers to the mix. I’m sure empathetic Merry won’t object if Anger answers your siren call. What’s a little ‘Why Choose’ between friends?”

“Malice!”

“Wonder?”

Beneath the cavalier tone, her name comes out like a litany. Hushed. Idolized. Yet distrustful, as if she might dismiss him rather than answer his call.

And just like that, Wonder knows. More than that, she feels .

Malice, who thinks her intelligence is beautiful. Malice, who inspires her to darkness as well as lightness. Malice, who treats each of her thoughts like books, individual and infinite. Malice, who doesn’t hold back.

Malice, who makes her scream. Malice, who makes her come. Malice, who makes her laugh.

Malice, who makes her happy.

Wonder draws in a breath, her heart expanding, unfurling like a garden. A living, breathing thing, beautiful in its variety.

She’s been misinterpreting this pivotal emotion for two centuries, all because she comes from a world that doesn’t know better, has grown up with people who’ve never identified with it, much less valued it. Even while witnessing the bonds between her friends, Wonder hadn’t learned.

She understands now. In the past, there had been affection, admiration, and atonement on her part. But it hadn’t been the grandest of sentiments. Not back then.

She smiles at Malice. “I love you.”

All signs of mockery drop from the demon god’s face. His features tense, and his brows knit.

Fates. Perhaps the declaration is too much for him.

“I’m sorry,” she rushes out. “I thought… in my room, you asked me… I thought you wanted to know.” And because he doesn’t reply, she moves to turn away.

“Say it again,” he murmurs.

The words come out barely perceptible, like a threadbare string, something easy to sever if one doesn’t proceed with delicacy. Yet it’s the loudest and most eternal request she’s ever heard.

Wonder halts. She veers toward him, her pulse thrumming as she traces the contours of his features, all the shadows and highlights. All of him.

“I love you, Malice,” she utters. “Only you.”

“Are you sure?”

“Are you?”

Malice would sooner chew on glass than avoid eye contact with anyone. Yet in this moment, he glances down, breathing in and out. But then his lips twitch, the hint of a dimple imprinting in his cheek.

Oh, to hell with captivity. In defiance of their bindings, this bleak fate, and a spike of foreboding, Wonder commits this exchange to memory. Matter of fact, it’s probably her favorite moment of all time.

When did he first feel the stirrings? And how? And why?

“You have some explaining to do,” Wonder declares, torn between elation and apprehension.

Malice peeks at her from beneath his mussed hair. “First, we have some escaping to do.”

“Need I remind you, we’re weaponless and shackled.”

“Hmm, there is that. But guess what? Rumor has it I got my memory back. You know what that means?” He gives a serpentine tug, and the bindings come loose, his muscled arms flexing freely at his sides. “It means I can do that.”

She gawks. The tethers are not broken, since that’s impossible for any deity. Rather, they’re untangled.

Rising and swiping his hands, Malice shrugs. “Apparently, I’ve got experience with restraints, asylums, and escape attempts. Call me an industrious patient when I wasn’t otherwise sedated.” He wiggles his taloned fingers. “Also, these help. They’re good for undoing knots.”

An astounded chuckle stumbles out of Wonder. Of course! The straps used on them may be immune to a deity’s strength, but not to a deity’s logic. In another life, Malice learned to maneuver out of such restraints. Not that it had rescued him in the end, but perhaps it shall today.

Malice kneels before her and arches an eyebrow. “Say pretty please.”

Wonder bunches her mouth, attempting to stifle the rest of her mirth. “Untie me,” she commands. “Now.”

“So much for kink.”

That does it. Despite herself, she laughs as he releases her.

They stand at the same time, the ascent happening so swiftly, they bump into one another.

Grabbing each other’s forearms and steadying themselves, they fall into a staring contest. Wonder cranes her head up, and he angles his head down, and it’s a different kind of gaze, stripped to the core with no layers remaining.

Tattered and bleeding, she explores his features, as he embarks on his own quest.

This is what it feels like to look at someone you love.

This is what it feels like to be loved back.

They never uncovered a loophole or secret to aid their campaign for free will. But at least they found this. And perhaps that alone is a strength. Like Love and Andrew, and Anger and Merry, this bond might supply Wonder and Malice with power.