She wandered dangerously close to the Styx, the river that carried souls from this realm to my brothers’. Before I claimed her, the souls of the dead would have lurched from the Styx’s bloody depths and dragged her along to the second circle of Hell, but now, she belonged to me. The Styx’s dark magic would have no effect on her.
She was still fighting, thrashing and pulling at the chain connected to her collar, begging for me to set her free. As much as I loved hearing her beg, her pleas fell on deaf ears. She’d rejected me in front of my subjects. My pride was wounded, and she needed to be taught a lesson.
Rayven—and everyone else—needed to understand exactly who she belonged to.
“Stop, please.” She grabbed onto the chain. “Someone—Help me!”
My teeth gnashed with a displeased growl. Who was she asking for help? No one would help her. No one, soul, demon, or otherwise, would dare oppose me.
“I saidcome, Rayven.” This time, I yanked the chain so hard, she stumbled forward, crashing into the shallow, blood-filled river. Corpses and bits of carrion drifted by slowly, and she shrieked when a head without eyes floated past.
Crimson droplets beaded her exposed flesh as she fought to stand in the steady current. She looked up at me, eyes full of hate.
“Fuck you,” she spat, her gaze falling to her soaked gown. It was darker now, drenched in blood, and as I dragged her up onto the dais with another wrench of the chain, rivets of dark liquid poured off her.
Weeping Hells. She was a vision in red, like Lilith herself, looking so fucking gorgeous wrapped in gore and fury and lace.
“That can be arranged.” I pulled her onto my lap, my eyes falling to the vibrant red welts the collar around her throat created. A distinct heat sank straight to my cock. I lowered my voice. “Would you like to give our guests a show? Or maybe after the ball, I can fuck you right here, on my throne. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, pet?”
“I hate you,” she gritted out, but I knew it wasn’t entirely true. She could lie all she wanted, but I sensed the way her pulse picked up at my salacious suggestion, the way her pussy dripped with arousal when I punished her, desperate to feel me. She might have hated me, but her body didn’t.
“I don’t think you do,” I countered, and she attempted to shove me away. I gripped her chain tighter with a dark chuckle. “Don’t look so vexed, little mortal. Everyone’s here to see you, and you look stunning when you’re soaked in blood.” If my fleshlessskull had lips, I would have been smirking. “Pity it’s not my blood. You look the best when you’re dripping with me, blood or otherwise.”
“We can arrange that.” She scoffed, pinning her eyes firmly on the spectators below us. “Give me a knife, and I’ll gladly stab you again.”
She refused to look at me.
“Dance.”
I snapped my fingers, and just like that, the music started, and our guests began dancing, with only the occasional curious glance tossed in the throne’s direction.
“You're going to learn to obey me, Rayven.” I attached the end of her chain to my throne, just below one of the armrests. With my newly freed hand, I traced a finger over her shoulder, admiring its curve. “Love me. Fear me. Obey me. That is all I ask of you.”
Her piercing glare landed on me. “No wonder Catherine killed herself to get away from you.”
I moved fast, my hand snatching the back of her neck and wrenching her up so her face was an inch from mine. “Stuff that bratty mouth of yours, or I’ll do it for you. I’m sure you can imagine what I’d use as the gag.”
Before she could open her mouth and fire off another rebuttal, there was a collective gasp from my subjects.
Cutting a harsh path through the crowd was the Lord of Lechery himself, Asmodeus, darkness pouring off the three-headed beast in tangible waves. He wore a gold mask on each of his faces and was dressed so scantily, I had to do a double take to make sure he wasn’t naked. A few straps of gold-studded leather crossed his broad chest, and just enough of a loincloth shielded his cock from the partygoers.
One of my skeletal servants was leading him to us, an anxious air about him as he tried to keep his distance from the demon lord.
“My L-Lord,” the servant squeaked, stopping just before the River Styx that separated us. He bowed his head to show respect before snapping upright. “Lord Asmodeus has arri—”
“Out of my way.” His words cut off abruptly when Asmodeus’ fist slammed into the back of his skull, punching straight out the front of his face. Rayven tensed on my lap with a tiny gasp, shrinking back against me. The servant’s body clattered to the floor and slipped into the Styx, joining the slow procession of body parts sweeping out of the hall.
If I’d had eyes in this form, I would have rolled them. The fucker had always been one for theatrics.
“Belial.” He nodded his three heads in unison. The bull head on the left huffed a cloud of smoke as he spoke.
“Brother.” I tipped my horns. “Did you really have to dispose of my servant?”
Asmodeus’ cloven hoof scraped the floor with his huff. “Oh, fuck off, Bel. You have enough servants as it is. By Baal’s dick, you have countless souls dribbling from every nook, cranny, and corner of this festering hell hole…”
The three-headed demon’s tirade trailed off when his attention found my pet.
“What a tasty-looking mortal toy you have there.” All six of his hungry eyes landed on Rayven, and a jealous fire tore through me. They lingered too long, and I couldn’t help but imagine myself ripping off every one of his heads, starting with the smallest one between his legs. “Is she the dinner I was promised on the invitation?”
