Reeling, Viola fought for breath. She couldn’t make sense of what had just happened. He had stopped the kiss? He had? He’d dared? But why?
Was it possible…? No, it couldn’t be. Except, what if his will was stronger than hers?
But, but… She preferred to win, not lose. Didn’t he realize that?
A new whimper attempted to escape, but she clenched her teeth. The war wasn’t lost. She could change Brochan’s mind. Could make him see things her way.
“You told me to bring anything I don’t like to your attention,” she said as casually as she could manage. “Well, you did something I didn’t like. You stopped.”
He sucked in a breath. Then he flashed outside the stall and picked up the towel he’d dropped. Averting his gaze, he offered the linen to her. “Turn off the water. Dry and get dressed. You have clothing and no excuses now.”
The war might be lost.
Though her knees trembled, she jutted her chin and strutted over, accepting the gift. As she dressed, he pivoted, offering his back.
Her movements turned jerky. “Are you going to tell me why you stopped?” Excellent. She sounded curious rather than hurt. Because she wasn’t hurt. She’d have to care for him to experience hurt over a rejection, and she didn’t care. Not even a little. “Did you recall the fact that someone with such a hideous face isn’t good enough for me?”
Hurt me, and I hurt you worse. But again, she wasn’t hurt. And she still didn’t care.
Stiff as a board, he told her, “You’ll find nourishment in the throne room. As long as you remain in the fortress, you’ll be safe. No need to worry that you’ll be harmed. There are no threats here, because you are the only resident. I’ll return in a week or so—”
What! “Did you say a week? Or so? You’re leaving?” He planned to abandon her? “And what do you mean, the only resident?” To while away her days without companionship, exactly as she’d done as a child in her mother’s forgotten palace? At least in Tartarus, there’d been living beings in the cell next to hers. “I require an adoring public!” she shrieked, panic budding.
“And yet you won’t get one.”
The panic mutated into full-blown hysteria. “Don’t leave me here, Brochan. Please!” Was she begging? Yes! Her pride was nowhere to be found. “I promise I’ll be good. I won’t kiss you again, honest. I won’t even shower. Okay? Just stay here and—”
“Goodbye, goddess.” Not giving her time to formulate a different reply, he flashed, disappearing, leaving her alone with her fears.
* * * *
She is my brother’s killer.
My obsession.
No matter the protest, Brochan failed to kick the goddess out of his head. Livid, he materialized in his bedroom at the Downfall. He stalked into his closet and exchanged soaked leathers for dry.
The way Viola had kissed him…. I’m that good, she’d said. Yes. Yes, she was. Still he hungered for her, the intensity of his desires nearly overshadowing his concerns and defenses.
If only he hadn’t felt her emotions. Her excitement. Her pleasure. Her displeasure. She’d stiffened in his arms before getting lost in her thoughts. What had he done that she hadn’t liked? Or had Viola only pretended with him? What if she’d imagined someone else at first?
He bit his tongue. She’d only sought to manipulate Brochan. Exactly as she’d manipulated so many others before him. Kiss—addict him—then demand he provide her with the world for the promise of another taste.
Temptation itself…
But he knew better. He did!
Someone must have heard him stomping around because a knock sounded at the door. “Brother? You have returned?”
McCadden.
Tension stole through him with record speed, betrayal fast on its heels. Speak to his brother, mere seconds after kissing the woman McCadden once loved? How could he dare?
Like a coward, Brochan flashed to the very edge of Nevaeh—to the veil between it and the rest of the skies. He glided his wings, hovering in the night sky. Despite the location change, he couldn’t escape Viola’s panic. He felt it as surely as he’d felt everything else. A trick. Only a trick. She didn’t like the idea of being denied her pet or adoration, that was all. And yet, unease crept over him.
Focus. The wants and desires of his foe meant nothing.
The veil stretched before him, invisible and indestructible. Beyond it, a terrain of dewy flowers carpeted hill after hill. A land untouched by evil. A realm he’d once called home. Mere months ago, legions of Sent Ones had traversed this area at all hours of the day and night. Now, the spot remained abandoned, thousands of soldiers currently waging war in the Underworld.
Open season.
Another Forsaken hovered nearby. Someone Brochan had worked with both as a Sent One and as a Fallen One. Farrow. She dressed in the white robes of their former comrades and reminded him of Samantha and Rebecca. Soft-spoken. Tenderhearted. Even a bit meek. He couldn’t imagine her doing anything worthy of banishment from the skies.
Although she’d fallen from the skies for reasons unknown, she’d never mutated into a beast, as Viola liked to call him. No, Farrow had only grown more beautiful. A mass of black hair tumbled over a light brown shoulder. Lips as red as her crimson wings hid straight pearly whites. Dark, uptilted eyes remained hooded and looked sleepy as if she were forever ready for bed.
“What have you tried since my last visit?” he asked.
“I launched a nuclear bomb here. Not that anyone can tell.” She pointed to an unblemished spot on the veil. Maybe she wasn’t so tenderhearted and meek, after all. “And your quest? How did it go with your goddess?”
He hesitated to respond. Farrow knew about Viola’s key. They kept each other informed on their ideas and errors; the reason Brochan intended to escort her into Nevaeh when he took McCadden. Now he wasn’t sure he wished to discuss the goddess with anyone.
Ultimately, he grudgingly admitted, “I now have her in my keeping.”
She gasped and glided closer. “Does she own a key, as suspected?”
“She does.” Why did he feel as if he were betraying Viola? Because of a single kiss? He scoffed at such a ludicrous idea. “She keeps it hidden. For now.”
During the shower, Viola had mentioned a temporary truce. A partnership to destroy Midian and Joseph. Brochan was tempted to accept. The two planned bad things for her, and they must be dealt with. Soon.
“I wish to meet her.” Excitement pulsed from Farrow. “Perhaps I can convince her to part with the key.”
A denial roared inside his head. Viola was his prisoner, in his fortress, in his world. She owed him. Her very life depended on his goodwill. And that was just the way he wanted it.
On the other hand, McCadden’s life depended on that key.
He grappled with indecision before huffing a breath. “Not yet.” He had a plan, and he would see it through. “I have set a scheme in motion.”
Two or three weeks of isolation, and Narcissism would turn on the goddess. Demons always required a victim. Viola’s confidence would crumble. In desperation, she would give Brochan anything he demanded.
He ignored the hot burn of guilt in his chest. “Until its completion,” he told Farrow, “we’ll hit the veil with everything we’ve got.”