Page 27 of Wings of Darkness (Daughter of the Seven Circles #2)
Chapter
Seventeen
LUCILLE
A blast of rich, warm spice hit my face when I stepped through the door of the Hoar House. I had never been to a tavern on Earth or in Elora, but I assumed they didn’t look like this.
Icicles protruded from the ceiling, their sharp tips glistening in the flickering flames of glass orbs hanging between each cluster.
Vines dusted in frost crawled up the walls, intertwining with twinkling lights that seemed to move and hum.
When one light fanned its wings, I realized the strand of lights was glowing butterflies.
I shook my head in shocked wonder. This place looked nothing like what I expected a tavern in Hell to look like.
Sparkling icy floors and ethereal lighting? No. Dark, threatening, and bloody? Yes.
I expected the tables to be worn and stained with food and blood, not made of glass and frosted with a crystal votive as the centerpiece.
I expected the bar to be decorated in reds and blacks and lined with jars of body parts, not the soft frosted whites and blues of ice and glass shelves displaying an assortment of liquors in various shapes and sizes, none of which I recognized.
They could’ve been Hell’s special concoctions or Earth’s finest for all I knew.
The Hoar House might have been something I expected to find in Damatha Forest, but its patrons made up for the lack of gruesomeness with their open soul wounds, weapons, and bloody uniforms.
“What are you doing here? And why in the seventh circle is Rune with you?”
Recognition stiffened my spine. I turned. Tucked in a secluded booth beneath an ice-carved arch sat Moira, surrounded by her simpering admirers.
Before I could respond, Alexei came over and wrapped an arm around my shoulders.
“Lucy, Oliver, Rune, and I have some business to attend to. Nothing to worry yourself about, Momo.”
I bit my lip hard to keep my grin at bay as Moira’s face pinched into a dark scowl. Even better, I knew Alexei outranked her, so she couldn’t say shit, which she proved by nodding with thinly pressed lips.
Once he steered us to our frosted table, I let my grin loose.
“I think I’d like to marry you after that,” Oliver joked.
Alexei clapped him on the back, laughing. “I’ve never liked Moira, which is unfortunate, seeing as she’s sleeping with Ronen. But to each their own.”
I grimaced. Rune pressed against my leg, licking my hand .
“So, how are you liking Hell so far?” Alexei asked, waving over a server.
“Before, I thought it was an ice prison with a bunch of psychotic warriors. Now I think it’s an ice prison with a bunch of psychotic warriors and some potential,” Oliver said, gazing at Alexei like he wouldn’t mind if he were dinner tonight instead of whatever the tavern had.
“I can’t say I disagree. And you, beautiful, what do you think?”
“I think?—”
Our server came over, stopping my thoughts. Her copper corkscrews, amber eyes, and gorgeous bronze face sparked something in my memory, but I couldn’t place it.
She gave Alexei a soft smile. “Same as usual?”
He smiled back. “You know me too well, Lini.”
“And for you two?” she asked.
But for the life of me, I couldn’t speak. I was forgetting something important, something about this female. She shifted on her feet.
Oliver elbowed me and handed me a menu. “Stop being weird. Look and order.”
I glanced down at the menu, still unable to shake the feeling. “I?—”
Luckily, Alexei saved me. “She’ll have what I’m having.”
Oliver ordered next, and Lini left to put in our order, my gaze trailing after her retreating form.
“You okay?” Alexei touched my hand and held it there.
“I know her, but I can’t remember from where.”
“Really? Lini’s a soul who’s been in Hell longer than you’ve been alive. And you’re how old? ”
That couldn’t be. I’d seen her somewhere.
I sighed and pulled my hand from his lingering hold. “Twenty.”
Alexei sat back in his chair, shaking his head. “Damn, you’re young.”
I snorted. “Let me guess, you’re like three hundred?”
The corners of his mouth twitched with barely concealed amusement, a gleam of mischief threading through his crystal eyes. “Give or take.”
“And the general? How old is he? Has he been in Hell long?” I asked casually.
Alexei’s playful expression tightened, his lips forming a skeptical curve. “Why do you want to know?”
I needed to learn everything I could about him—what made him tick, what got under his skin.
I had to figure out what he liked, what he hated, and what he respected.
Honestly, I’d take anything that could give us an edge, anything that might convince him to help us.
Every scrap of information could be a step closer to getting what we needed.
Alexei crossed his arms, staring expectantly at me.
Before I could come up with a sufficient answer, a different server delivered our food and drink.
Turned out Alexei’s usual was a deep red martini called the Devil’s Cocktail that misted with smoke, and for his meal, the Fiery Feast.
Spice curled from the steam of my bowl. I took a hesitant spoonful and smiled. The stew wasn’t half bad. A second after I swallowed, I coughed, the spice burning the back of my throat. My face flushed, and I dabbed at my runny nose, giving Alexei an accusatory glance.
He snorted. “I like my food spicy—the same way I like my sex.”
I choked on my next bite. Alexei laughed, and Oliver pounded my back.
“Good thing this wasn’t actually a whore house or our dear Lucy might’ve keeled over,” Oliver teased.
I swatted at him in good-natured outrage and took a large drink of the red cocktail to soothe my throat. The burn of the alcohol was instant on my tongue. I gagged and slapped a hand over my mouth to avoid spitting it out, forcing it down.
“Hell, Alexei,” I gasped. “What is that?”
He smirked at my torment, then took a sip from his cocktail. “A lot of tequila with some other odds and ends to give it an extra punch. You’re supposed to sip it, not gulp half of it down.”
“Noted,” I said, sitting back. My stomach warmed pleasantly, tempting me to reconsider my aversion to the drink.
Alexei set his spoon down, a smile lingering in his eyes—though it was more calculated than warm. “You didn’t answer my question. Why do you want to know about Ronen?”
I shot a glance at Oliver. His attention was wholly absorbed in his meal, leaving me to fend for myself.
“I need to impress him. To rank.”
Alexei lifted his brows, a flicker of understanding chasing away his suspicion. “And you think getting to know your general will somehow gain you favor and respect?”
“More or less. ”
He nodded, panning between us. “It won’t work.
For one, it took me ages to gain his trust and friendship, so you won’t pull any information from me.
If you want to get to know him, talk to him yourself.
Secondly, he’ll see right through you. Don’t you think everyone is trying to fight for his attention so they can rank and win their spoils? ”
“But we’re at a disadvantage being in an elite squadron,” I said, gritting my teeth.
Alexei hummed in thought. “Some would say you’re at an advantage. You have less competition and more skills to gain from experienced warriors.”
I slammed my spoon into my stew, splattering the broth onto the table. “Don’t you see? That’s the problem. We aren’t experienced warriors! How are we expected to rank against them?”
Alexei glanced toward the tavern door. “Well, if you have complaints or want to try your hand at buttering up Ronen, here’s your chance.”
I twisted to see the general walking into the tavern. He scanned the room before settling on Moira’s table. His posture was rigid, every step deliberate and controlled as he joined her.
Moira wasted no time making her possessive claim.
Her manicured hand slid around his back, creeping up to trace the muscles of his neck as she pressed her body against his stiffened form.
He shrugged her off, shifting to the edge of the booth.
She scooted closer, angling her body to rub her leg against his.
Itches scattered across my hands, and ice crackled in my ears. My gaze narrowed on the points where they connected, watching her fingers trail across his body, each touch seeming to make his jaw tick. Moira tugged on his head and puckered her desperate lips, demanding a kiss.
Was she not getting the hint?
The icy crackling surged with intensity. He muttered something to her, then wrenched himself free, making his way to the bar. I smiled at the pinched expression Moira tried to hide with a wave of her hand as she turned back to her friends, my Infernus settling.
My eyes trailed after the general, curious to see how he interacted with people out of uniform.
He didn’t smile or laugh. He kept his distance, never staying long enough to engage in real conversation.
The most he gave was a stiff nod, every inch of him locked up, like the simple act of socializing caused him physical pain.
“Why is he here?”
“We come here often when we want to unwind.”
Unwind? The general didn’t look like unwinding was even in his vocabulary. His tense shoulders, his clenched jaw—it was more like he was bracing for something rather than letting go.
As his eyes flickered briefly toward me, unease flashed in his gaze. The same look he always wore, whether escorting us to my father or silently observing our squad during training. It never changed. It wasn’t the social setting that made him uncomfortable.
It was me.
Alexei grabbed my hand, pulling my attention back to him. He turned it over, studying my palm and brushing gentle patterns along the sensitive skin. “I was kidding, by the way,” he said, looking up with a teasing smile. “There’s no way to butter him up, beautiful.”
Maybe. Maybe not .
Rune sat up, her attention on Alexei. A low growl rumbled in her throat. I gave her a confused look, then noticed Oliver pounding back his drink and avoiding our interaction.