It felt a little wrong to feel prideful at the moment, but I certainly adored the fact I was the reason the tight leash he kept on himself had finally snapped.
There was no other reason I could imagine he’d transport us into the public corridor connecting our suites. At least the gate closing off this wing was still down, and no one could travel near enough to see us. Nor would they glimpse much of me with Wrath’s massive body covering mine. Not that it mattered if they could see me.
I was too lost to the waves of pleasure building and cresting inside me to care where we were, or who was around. I wanted him right here. To hell with the whole Seven Circles. I was not married to Pride yet. Aside from his brief possession of Antonio, I’d never even met him. I doubted the devil would mind my taking a lover before our wicked vows were exchanged.
Ours was certainly not a love match. And if Pride did care, he certainly didn’t show it. There was still no letter, no invitation, nor acknowledgment of my arrival. The Prince of Pride was content in his castle alone, and, at the moment, that was more than all right with me.
Wrath kept kissing me, kept pumping those fingers while rocking against my unwavering grip on him, and I wanted nothing more than to bring this mighty creature to his knees with unrelenting ecstasy. This untethered, wild part of him was almost as intoxicating as his touch.
I’d never experienced something like this, so powerful and right. He was right. And I knew, with unending certainty, we were on the precipice of discovering how good we were together. Maybe we were always meant to end up here, lost in each other’s passion.
The sound of his pleasure mingling with mine was creating its own spell, and I was so close to shattering, so close to that power that was building and breaking and…
Pain erupted in violent torrents, stealing my breath. Ever in tune with my emotional shifts, Wrath stopped instantly, the euphoric spell broken. “Are you all right?”
“No.” I’d never hated a word more. “There’s a horrible p-pain.”
“Where?” His voice was rough, thick.
“My heart.” I let go of him and winced. “Blood and bones. It’s bad.”
“Come. I’ll send for a healer at—”
“I think it’s from the Horn of Hades.”
Wrath had been reaching for the handle to his room but dropped his hand. His attention shot to the amulet I still wore and he cursed the goddesses impressively.
Everything disintegrated into smoke and glittering black light. I hadn’t seen him move, but one moment we were naked outside his bedchamber on the verge of mutual release, and the next we stood, partially dressed, before a scarred wooden door in a tower.
Medieval-looking torches burned brightly on either side of it. I was almost as shocked by our location as I was about the ebony nightgown I now wore. The one that still did little to hide my form. Wrath had on black trousers and nothing else. Except maybe a slight look of concern.
“Where are we?” I reached up to unhook the cornicello. The pain was intensifying.
“Don’t remove that.” It was as if the last few minutes of passion hadn’t existed. Wrath was all granite edges and fury again. Except it wasn’t directed toward me. He brought his fist to the wood and pounded hard enough to rattle the iron hinges, his voice pure steel. “Matron!”
The next wave of pain made my knees buckle, but I refused to let it pull me under. Even without looking at me, the demon prince missed nothing. His next knock shook a stone loose. I laid a hand on his arm and gently squeezed. “Wrath.”
“If you do not open this door, I vow on my blood—”
“You’re about to bring the whole tower down with that nonsense, boy.” The door swung open, revealing an older woman with long silver and lavender hair. She wore a deep purple robe with a ropelike belt that reminded me of images of priestesses I’d seen in paintings and books.
Her dark gaze turned to me, assessing.
“Daughter of the Moon, welcome. I am Celestia, the Matron of Curses and Poisons. And I’ve been expecting you.” She stood back and pulled the door wider in welcome. “Come in before his majesty breaks the realm.”
“Next time answer your door faster.”
Wrath stalked into the chamber first, alert and ready for battle. Aside from tinctures, antidotes, and poisons, I wasn’t sure what enemy he expected to find here, but I was in too much pain to worry. I followed him inside and paused. The circular room was composed of dark wood, cool stone, and shelves that climbed all the way up the tower. A ladder leaned against one section as if the matron had been cataloging items on the highest shelves when interrupted. An eclectic mixture of scents wafted around, mingling into something enjoyable.
I could scarcely take a deep breath and the scent, appealing as it was, was beginning to turn my stomach. Sweat beaded my brow as I forced air in and out through clenched teeth. To avoid focusing on the growing nausea, I let my gaze drift around the space.
On a long table near a lone arched window were several vials of strange liquids: some smoking, some bubbling, others tapping against the thin glass as if testing an escape route. Sentient liquid was something new to me and more than a little unnerving.
One shelf had full-grown plants and seedlings and dried petals and herbs. There were poultices and charms, cauldrons, carved figurines of creatures like chimeras and winged deities and gods. Stones, both rough and smooth, and—if the dark sap was any indication—poison-tipped blades and needles glinting in the flickering firelight.
Fat candles dripped wax onto a wooden mantel above a generous fireplace near the center of the room, and incense sticks burned in neat plumes.
It seemed as if the Matron of Curses and Poisons was stocked for any devious pursuit.
I swallowed hard as the next wave of pain lashed through me. It felt as if my body was suddenly in the midst of a brutal war with itself. Whatever was causing the pain was winning.
With a strong hand on my back, Wrath guided me to a little wooden stool and turned on the matron. “Do something. Now.”
She clucked her tongue as she slowly crossed the room. “Demands and threats belong to the scared and weak. Neither trait suits you, so hush.”
“Don’t test me.”
Celestia went to a container filled with scissors and shears. Some had gold or silver handles, others were made of gleaming gemstones or dull bones from mortals or creatures from the underworld. I didn’t look too closely.
Wrath, however, loomed over her supplies. “Move faster.”
“I don’t interfere in your work, boy, don’t intrude on mine. Now stop hovering and sit, or get out and work that anger off elsewhere.” Her cold gaze turned to his. “Do it for her sake, not mine.”
Wrath didn’t leave, or sit, or comment further, but he did give the matron space to work. I decided I liked this fearless woman and wondered who she was to Wrath. Surely she had to know he’d just cut out a tongue. At the moment, the demon prince was especially ferocious, and she paid him no mind. I doubted very many were brave enough to turn their back on him, especially while his power was striking around like an angry viper the way it currently was.
I wasn’t complaining, though. In his own boorish way, he was watching out for me.
She picked up a pair of slim gold scissors with handles shaped like bird wings, then took a pitcher full of sparkling cerulean liquid, a vial of dried herbs, and chose another jar filled with petals in shades of frosty blue and silver. She brought everything over to her worktable, pulled a wooden bowl from a cabinet followed by a mortar and pestle.