Amma’s breathy gasp was in his ear, flailing until her hands gripped the back of his tunic as she slid into place over his shoulder, a perfect fit. He wrapped an arm around her knees, hand pressed to the back of her thigh. Skin soft and warm beneath his fingers, he gave it a squeeze, meaning to reassure her he hadn’t actually devolved into the brutish villain he was playing at.
If only someone would assurehimit was all an act.
Past the other attendees, most of whom didn’t bat an eye at a dark lord throwing a servant girl over his shoulder to carry off to his bedchamber, and out into the hall where a few others lingered, he kept up the march to the stairs and straight to the quarters he’d been given. Fumbling only for a second one-handed with the key, he brought her inside and kicked the door shut behind them.
Damien stood there in the privacy of the room, breath coming hard, hands still clutching onto her thighs, noting how little the strip of fabric that hung over her backside covered, and then his eyes drifted over to the bed. While it was both a logical and opportune place for her, he knew he shouldn’t, and like he had gone suddenly stupid and weak, dropped her right in front of him.
Amma squealed, wobbling but landing on her feet, hands catching onto his neck in the fall.
He pressed his back to the closed door to put a little more space between her nearly naked body and his own, but she didn’t let go. Amma breathed as if she’d been the one to carry him upstairs, breasts straining against the too-small swath of crimson fabric. Damien ran a hand over his face, skin itchy, and he would have liked to adjust the tightness in his breeches if she’d just give him one or seven more inches of space between them, but she insisted on being right up against him, so he instead tried to conjure the least attractive image he possibly could in his mind.
“How many orgies have you been in?”
Well, that wasn’t going to do it. “I’ve, uh…lost count?”
Amma’s brow narrowed, and while that had clearly been the wrong answer, at least the look she gave him would help his trouser situation.
Damien ducked out of her grip and paced deeper into the dimly-lit bedchamber. “What I mean is, it has been years since the last, and anyway, those things are the incorrect solution to a problem that—wait, what’s this got to do with anything?”
“I don’t know, it’s not really important.” Amma had turned, worrying her thumbnail between her teeth, eyes darting all over the room. “It’s just that we’re in a temporary dimension, and apparently everyone here is a villain, and Fryn says there aren’t slaves, but then she put this collar on me, and I didn’t want to think about that in the jail cell, but then all I could think about instead was that giant pit of black goo that tried to eat you and how you almost died, but you didn’t, which is great, but I was in that dungeon for a really long time, and I started to think you weren’t going to come and get me because maybe you were in an orgy or something?” She took a huge breath, glassy eyes finding his. “You’re not going to give me away to one of the other villains here, right?”
“Basest beasts, no.” Damien swept back to her and took herby the wrists, pulling her close. “Why would you think that?”
“It’s something Fryn said.”
“Who in the Abyss is Fryn?”
Again, her features turned cold. “You slept with her in one of those orgies.”
Damien’s mouth went dry, and it was his turn to be wide-eyed as he released her. “Ah, well, no, you don’t always,”—he brought his hands together awkwardly—“with every, single being at one of those things, and it’s often dark, so, you know. But look, I did warn you about this, about the reputation I have to uphold here.”
“Carrying off slaves to your bed?” She lifted a brow.
“No,” he answered, quick and sharp. “Just general…villainous…things. And anyway, I intended only to remove you from that hall full of men like Sceledrus as swiftly as possible and bring you up here where we could finally…talk.”
Face shifting back into unease, Amma nodded then paced away from the door as if lost in thought. Damien watched her, eyes drifting down her barely covered body, the room’s dim candlelight dancing over her skin. Even mottled in the darkness, she was fucking perfect, and he longed to touch her again.
“You’re really not going to trade me away? No matter what?”
He scoffed. “Amma, I would sooner be cleaved in two than allow anyone to take you from me.”
Her fingers slid up to her neck and the collar she had gestured to in her nervous diatribe. Though it was similar to what had been sealed around his wrist, a warning to remain civil and a dulling of arcana, she’d been marked by the council as property. His property.
“Damien,” she said, voice small, eyes wide. “I did something bad.”
He swallowed. “You can’t say those words, not dressed like that.”
She pressed herself to the wall as if she could somehow disappear into it. “I think I…well, no, Iknow.” Amma took a steeling breath. “I killed Cedric.”
“You did? You drove that giant stake through his heart?” Damien squinted, recalling the scene of the marquis impaled against the wall over a thick pool of blood. The corner of his mouth ticked up, and he ran a hand over the back of his neck, skin there hot. “Oh, Ammalie.”
“Well, the liathau technically did the impaling, but I asked it to. I mean, I wanted it to, at least, because I was afraid, and he was being awful, and then it just happened.” She fidgeted against the wall, weight shifting from foot to foot. “And now he’s dead because I…Ikilledhim.”
Damien wanted to take her by the hips, throw her onto the bed, and give her exactly what committing such a nefarious act deserved, but her hesitation put a dagger in those thoughts. He took a step closer to her, careful with his words. “And you are upset about this?”
“Can I tell you the truth?”
“Of course.”
