Page 40

Chapter

Twenty-Six

LUST

“ H ey, back down on Juniper–er, Wrath. She’s been through a lot.”

I didn’t flinch. Pride’s voice was always colder in the dark. He stepped onto the balcony beside me, arms folded neatly, jaw tight.

“No one pressures Wrath to do anything,” I argued back. “She’s not a thing to own. Not yours either.”

His eyes flicked to me, and for a moment, the weight of centuries pressed between us.

“You were flirting before you knew what she was,” he accused.

“I flirt with everyone,” I fired back.

“But you care about her,” he needled.

I snorted. That wasn’t a question. We all did. Now that she was one of us, and well before we knew if we were all honest with ourselves.

“I’m not in the mood for posturing,” he said without looking up.

“Then this should be fun,” I replied, dropping into the armchair across from him. “We need to talk about her.”

He turned a page with the kind of deliberate control that made me want to slap the book out of his hands. “You mean Wrath.”

“I mean Juniper.”

Pride’s gaze flicked up. Sharp. Cold. But underneath it—I could see the strain. The tension coiled tight between his shoulders. He was fraying, and we both knew why.

“She’s not a prize to be split,” he said flatly.

“No,” I agreed. “But she’s not yours either.”

Something flickered in his eyes. Possessiveness. Denial. Need.

“You think she wants all of us?” he asked.

I leaned forward, elbows on knees, speaking low. “I think she needs all of us. In different ways. I give her freedom. You give her structure. Sloth gives her rest. Greed gives her clarity. Envy—gods, he gives her fire.”

Pride’s lip curled. “And you want to give her what? The illusion of love?”

I didn’t rise to the bait. “I want to give her whatever she asks for. Including us. Together.”

He stared at me. For a long moment, I thought he’d laugh. Or throw something. Or get up and walk out like he always did when emotion started to get too close.

But he didn’t.

He set the book aside, spine down, carefully closed. Like he needed both hands free for this conversation.

“I’ve never shared anything,” he said finally. “Not in a thousand years.”

“I know.”

“I hate the idea of her with anyone else.”

“I know that too.”

“But I hate the idea of losing her more.” His voice dropped, raw around the edges. “And I know if we fight over her...we’ll tear her apart.”

I exhaled slowly. “Then maybe we stop fighting.”

I couldn’t help imagine her naked, sprawled across the stone bench as I thrust into her, my brothers all around her caressing, touching feeling...

Fuck, now I was hard.

“She deserves something whole,” Pride murmured.

“She deserves to choose,” I countered. “And if what she chooses is all of us? Then we figure it out. Together.”

He was quiet for a long time. Then he nodded, barely perceptible. “She’s going to break me.”

I smiled. “She’s going to save you.”

And gods help us both, I wanted it.

I needed air.

Cold, logic-drenched air. A walk. A ritual cleansing. Possibly an exorcism.

I looked back toward the hall she’d gone down.

“She died, Pride, came back, bottled her own fear, and just sentenced her killer to rot in Gluttony’s dungeon. What’s not to admire?” I asked.

“You don’t admire,” Pride said quietly. “You want.”

“And now I want more than I should,” I admitted.

“You already had her. It’s never enough for you.”

I didn’t answer. Pride hated wanting things. Hated it even more when others admitted to it.

“Did you feel it?” I asked. “When Wrath woke?”

Pride’s jaw flexed. “Yes.”

“Like a key turning in a lock I didn’t know I’d been chained in.”

He gave a slight nod. “Something old. Something true.”

We were quiet for a long moment, the garden bathed in silver light.

“I don’t know who I am around her,” I said finally, the admission burning more than the drink. “Lust usually knows what to do. What to say. But Juniper makes me want things I’m not supposed to.”

“Like being enough,” Pride said quietly.

And there it was. The truth behind the smirk, laid bare like bone. I hated him for knowing me that well. And I hated myself for letting Wrath make it real.

“She's not going to choose,” I muttered.

Pride raised an eyebrow. “Choose?”

“One of us.”

“No,” he agreed. “She’ll choose all of us. That’s the danger.”

And maybe...the hope.

I found her the next morning in the garden, barefoot in the dew-wet grass, her fingers brushing the edges of the herbs she’d planted days ago.

And she was wearing my shirt.

That part was particularly vexing.

I’d recognize that dark gray button-down anywhere—soft cotton, a little too loose in the shoulders, clinging just enough to hint at curves I was trying very, very hard not to imagine all at once.

It hung open at the collar, slipping lower with every step she took like temptation itself had grown legs and decided to make eye contact.

I tossed that shirt in the laundry pile two days ago.

It still carried my scent. And now she was wrapped in it, sleeves rolled and damp from mist, her hair a wild halo that made her look more celestial than wrathful. More myth than mortal.

“I’m not supposed to be here,” she said without looking up.

“You mean the garden?” I asked.

“I mean this life.”

I sank down beside her in the grass, ignoring the way my tailored pants would wrinkle.

“None of us were supposed to be anything. We’re sins, remember? Everything is entirely up to us.”

She finally looked at me, her expression naked and open. I hadn’t realized how often she’d been putting on a brave mask until I saw her now without one.

“It’s unnerving,” she said softly.

“That’s fair.”

“You comfort me too,” she admitted.

Ah ha!

I smiled, crooked and real, even as my heart skipped a beat. “Don’t tease me.”

She reached out, fingers brushing mine. “And I don’t know what I feel when I’m around you. Or anyone else, really.

“Don’t decide yet,” I said simply. “You don’t have to. I’m not here to claim you, Wrath. We’re here to serve you.”

She snorted, but her eyes shimmered with heat and confusion. “Why me?”

I leaned in, brushing her hand with my lips—not a kiss, but more of a promise.

“Because you’re the first thing in a thousand years that’s made me feel love, and not just lust.”

Gods help me.

“Got any coffee?” she said, casually brushing past me.

I didn’t move.

Couldn’t.

My hand flexed against the stone railing. My skin burned with phantom memories of her pressed against me, of her voice in my ear, of her fingers trailing too low on accident and not apologizing.

“You’re wearing my shirt,” I said and the sentence sounded like a prayer.

She paused at the top of the stairs, arching one brow like she didn’t know exactly what she was doing.

“Laundry’s still being sorted. Diana said I could borrow it. Problem?”

“No,” I murmured. “None at all.”

Lie.

So many problems. Starting with the way my blood was heating in places I wasn’t proud of, and ending with the way I wanted to see her in nothing but that shirt.

Hell. I wanted to see her take it off.

Wrath tilted her head, eyes narrowing as if she sensed the war happening in my head. Of course she did. Wrath and Lust had always been close cousins—passion and fury from the same ancestral line. But now that Wrath wore a woman’s skin and walked through my home barefoot in my shirt?

I was drowning.

“You keep staring,” she said, voice low.

“You keep giving me reasons to.”

Her lips twitched. Not quite a smile. Not quite a warning.

I took a step forward. She didn’t move.

“I’ve spent lifetimes chasing pleasure,” I said quietly, each word deliberately measured, “but never once have I wanted someone the way I want you.”

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. “Is that because I’m Wrath now? A challenge?”

“No.” I reached up and slowly tucked one loose curl behind her ear, letting my fingers graze the curve of her jaw. “It’s because you make me feel something before the touch.”

Her breath caught, and for a moment—just a moment—I thought she might lean in.

But Wrath only smiled, soft and dangerous. “Careful, Lust. You keep talking like that and you’ll convince me you’re sincere.”

“I am sincere,” I whispered, bending just enough to feel her breath on my lips. “That’s the most terrifying part.”

Then Pride’s voice echoed from the hallway like a cold wind through an open door. “Wrath? Diana’s asking for you in the west wing.”

Wrath blinked, the spell shattering. She pulled back, adjusting the collar of the shirt absently as if she hadn’t nearly undone me.

“Guess I’m being summoned,” she said, already walking away.

My shirt swayed against her hips like it had been designed to haunt me.

As she disappeared back into the house, Pride stepped into view, eyes following her too long before shifting to me.

“She shouldn’t wear things that don’t belong to her,” he said flatly.

I smirked, but it felt hollow. “Maybe it’s the opposite.”

Pride didn’t respond.

Neither of us said what we were thinking—that she was already getting under our skin, and none of us had the willpower to stop her.

I didn’t want to talk about it again, so I brushed past my brother and went into the kitchen.

It was Gluttony’s domain, which meant it smelled like freshly baked bread, warm sugar, and something slightly sinful. I ignored the feast laid out on the center island and made straight for the sink, gripping the edge like it might save me from drowning in whatever Lust had just ignited.

She needs all of us. Together.

The words stuck like heat under my skin, replaying again and again in a loop that burned worse than any fire Wrath could summon. I hated that I was thinking about it. I hated that I wasn’t rejecting it.

I hated that it turned me on.

“Oh gods, he’s doing the sink stare,” Greed’s voice chimed behind me. “You know the one. Where he grips the counter like he’s a brooding sea captain waiting for his long-lost bride to return from war.”