There were a number of things Amma could not know as she sat on the edge of her bed in the vampires’ den. She had never wittingly used arcana until Lycoris had demanded it, and with that expenditure, she should have been rendered completely unconscious, but the vampire dame had slapped her with magic, a mixture of her centuries-old enthrallment to stay awake and something so ancient there wasn’t a name for it. Amma had recognized a spell had been used on her, but not that it was still in effect.
Amma also couldn’t have known exactly what was in the vial Ivory had given her, though she wasn’t so ignorant that she believeda boost of confidenceto be completely accurate. As the god of irony, Nisicroniy, would have it, the potion trulywasmeant to boost one’s confidence, but it was so highly concentrated that it should have been considered a poison. Ivory, of course, didn’t see it this way—so, it was perhaps appropriate Nisicroniy lorded over sincerity as well. Coupled with Lycoris’s magic still floundering inside Amma, the result of ingesting the little tincture threatened to be more than even Ivory would have intended.
And then there was the book Amma had read much earlier in the day, the one that had been salacious in all the best ways. Though it was not arcane in nature, not in the traditional sense anyway, the effects of the words she consumed while peeking up at Damien could never have been negligible; words were meant to make women dangerous—that was, in fact, one of the best things they did.
However, Amma was certain shedid knowone thing as she sat, twirling the vial nervously between her fingers: she wanted Damien to herself.
The vial was easy to uncork, easy to throw back, and the tiny bit of liquid slid down her throat so quickly, it was like she hadn’t swallowed anything at all. Amma blinked, sitting straighter. Then she stood, slipping the empty vial into a pocket and pacing the room. Was she supposed to feel differently? Perhaps she wasn’t supposed to actually drink it. Ivory hadn’t said, and Asphodel had been rather cautious about her having it at all. What if she was supposed to—no.
Amma grinned, falling still.
No, she hadn’t made a mistake.
She couldn’tpossiblymake a mistake.
Amma trotted to the huge wardrobe that stood in the corner of the room, flinging the doors open, a rush of elation flooding her veins. Quickly stripping herself as her eyes trailed the clothing hung inside, she grabbed the first black thing she could find—favorite color, check—and pulled it on over her head.
Shivering like she were still naked, the fabric didn’t cover much, a single strap around the back of her neck, arms completely exposed. She couldn’t find a mirror, so simply looked down. With a deep plunge between her breasts, the silken material clung to her body, little left to the imagination. She swiveled her hips and stepped forward, the light material flowing around her and a generous slit on either side of the skirt to reveal each leg as she walked. “Perfect,” she said to herself, sweeping across the room to the door, grabbing a fur from the bed as she went.
Outside Damien’s chamber, she took only a moment to compose herself in the empty hall. Though she was unsure how long she’d pondered things before taking the vial’s contents, she knew he would still be inside. Readjusting the fur wrapped around her so that it fell askew of one of her shoulders, Amma knocked. “Damien, can I come in?”
“Amma?” his voice called back, alarmed, “What’s wrong?”
She pressed a hand against the wooden door, and there was a click at the latch, the tiniest bit of arcana sparking at her fingertips, and she entered.
Damien was just standing from the bed, parchment in his hands and a candle lit on the nightstand, the room otherwise dark and cold. “Thought I locked that.” Disrobed of nearly everything, he stood shirtless and bootless, his pants still belted but low on his hips.
Amma took a long look at him, grinned, and dropped the fur, not remembering the point of it in the first place.
Sitting back on the bed as if he’d lost his footing, Damien coughed. “I thought you were tired.”
She shook her head, crossing the room to stand right before him. Damien’s eyes caught the single candle’s light, flicking down her body quickly, nervously, mouth slack. She slipped the stack of parchment from his grasp, easier than she expected, and dropped it to the floor. “No more research,” she said, the skin of his bare shoulders warm under her frigid fingers as she grabbed him. She slid a knee over his thigh through the dress’s slit and onto the bed, then before he could react, shoved him onto his back, climbing up to straddle him.
“Amma, are you sure—”
“No more talking either,” she said and crushed her mouth to his like she had wanted to do for so long.
Damien’s lips were soft, his breath warm, and after a moment of utter stillness, his mouth moved against her own to match her vigor as his hands came around her waist and gripped her tightly.
Gods, it was like being filled with light and fire and wings unfurling, finally indulging in what Amma had been imagining since she had laid eyes on the blood mage. She had been frightened of the tall man who stalked the shadows in Aszath Koth, but when she’d gotten closer and really seen him, there was no denying how handsome she’d found his dark, messy hair, his light, knowing eyes, and that fucking smirk. And then, closer still with every quiet, shared moment between the two, every long look, every touch, her hunger only intensified, threatening to devour all of her good senses and willpower until now when his mouth was on hers, his breath mingling with her own, his tongue slipping over her lips.
Of course, the little vial certainly helped, shrinking the enormity that was Damien’s plan to bring ruin to the realm and the role she was playing in all of it. But, really, demons, dominions, evil, goodness, even the gods—none of it mattered. What did matter was how hard Damien’s chest was under her hands and how eager Amma was to feel how hard the rest of him would be as she trailed her mouth down his neck to the soft hollow of his throat.
He mumbled her name, gruff and broken as he inhaled, his touch falling to her thigh and squeezing the soft flesh there. “What are you doing?” he husked, voice vibrating against her lips.
He knew very well, there was no need for an explanation.
She ran her hands down his sides to press against his firm abdomen and lowered herself onto his lap. “Whatever I want.” When she bit into his shoulder, he sucked in a sharp, pained breath, but his hips answered in exactly the way she expected, the hardness of his length thrusting against her, warm like kindling.
Moaning, she devoured his mouth before he could ask any more questions. He kissed her eagerly back, hand slipping through the slit of the silky dress and around to palm her ass and crush the two of them together, fingers digging in so roughly she knew they would leave marks. But the two were not so tightly pressed that Amma couldn’t wiggle a hand between them and under his belt.
It was Damien’s turn to moan, but he broke apart their kiss with a jolt. “Amma, wait, stop.”
She had only just grazed him but pulled away. “What’s wrong?”
“This,” he said, breathing out raggedly. “You.”
“Nothing’s wrong with me.” She trailed fingers down from his navel to the edge of his belt, making him squirm in a delightful way right up against her. If only she could get rid of the layers in between. “You gave up your blood to help me, and I didn’t even get you the talisman. You have to let me give you something in return.”
