His arms flung around Belial’s meaty shoulders, having to stretch onto his tiptoes to reach. He released a manic giggle against his skull. “Where do you think you’re going? We haven’t even begun to play yet.”
Belial’s body tensed against mine, every muscle in his sculpted torso drawing tight. The blue flames in his eye sockets flickered, burning brighter, and I could sense the inner turmoil he faced. If he put me down, he could easily rip Belphegor in half and wear him as a hat, but his grip on me only tightened, pulling me closer to him.
“I won’t let you go,” he whispered, his gaze boring into mine.
“Put her on the cross, Belial,” the Lord of Gluttony purred. “There’s no escape.”
For a moment, I thought Belial would ignore the command and head for the door, but a shifting sound filled the room. My stomach fell, along with my jaw, as all the cluttered objects surrounding us started to move. Pillows fell from the sofas, trinkets trembling like there was an earthquake.
Belial swore under his breath as ghostly figures began to emerge from the trove of things, oozing out of vases, knick-knacks, and pillows. Holy fuck. Just like in Limbo, souls sought refuge in the objects Belphegor collected, hidden out of sight and out of mind until they were called on.
That time was obviously now.
The ghostly figures crept closer, their vacant eyes locked on Belial, pressing in until we were surrounded. Hands grabbed at me, and Belial managed to dodge the first few, but then, fingerswrapped tightly around my arms and legs. His claws wrapped tighter around me, fighting the mob of souls threatening to take me from him.
They grabbed at Belial, fisting his cloak, pulling at his massive limbs.
“Let her go—unless you want my souls to pull her arms and legs out of their sockets,” I heard Belphegor hiss in that cruel, feline purr of his. “You have my word she won’t be harmed, so long as you get back into my bed and show me just how appreciative you are for saving your little pet from Mammon’s dinner plate.”
“Don’t let me go,” I begged Belial, not giving two shits if they ripped me in half. I didn’t want him to get back in that bed.
“Get off us! I’ll do it!” Belial bellowed. All the souls went still. “Just let her go. No one touches her but me.”
The souls released their grip on us, and Belial gently held me up against the St. Andrew’s cross and fastened the manacles to my wrists. Normally, I’d be into this, but knowing he was about to crawl into that bed with Belphegor so he could save me had me shaking as he clicked the locks into place.
“I know I’ve done little to earn your trust, but trust me on this,” Belial said, his voice thick with emotion. He lifted my chin with a finger and pressed the end of his snout to my forehead.
He left it there for a beat, his warm breath rolling over my skin in a comforting wave before backing away and trudging over to the bed.
The demon was right. He’d hurt and manipulated me to the point where I shouldn’t ever trust him again, but he’d gone through literal Hell to get me back.
Now that I’d seen what true cruelty was at the hands of the other demon lords, I realized just how much I craved his particular brand of pain. The kind that was meant for mypleasure. The kind that made me feel like every bit the dark queen he intended to make me.
So, I held back my tears and trained my glare on Belphegor, who’d led Belial back to the circular bed with an excited little skip. He fell back onto the mattress, his white hair falling artfully around the pillows like a halo.
“Which form do you prefer, My Lord?” The shapeshifter batted his snowy lashes. “Your pet?”
He morphed, once again taking on my form. He gave one of his bronze piercings a flick, and his nipple—mynipple—pebbled with the attention.
Belial snarled in displeasure despite the hard-on in his pants; then again, that always seemed to be there while I was in the room.
The shapeshifter’s brows arched toward his hairline in surprise, and he flirtatiously twirled a lock of my jet-black hair around his finger. “No? What about this one?”
Another female form took shape, the perfect feminine mirror of his true form.
Belial growled again, and Belphegor laughed, clearly entertained by this fucked up exchange. “No, you’re right. That shape was Mammon’s favorite.”
He shifted again, this time taking Belial’s form again. “What about this? Who doesn’t want to fuck themselves at least once?”
Belial arched over him, the terrifying, skull-faced monster that was the Lord of Bones looming over his smaller, human form I’d come to crave in the Labyrinth. “Shift back to your true form, brother. I want to see your real face when I tear you apart.”
The words were menacing, but they didn’t sound like the threat I knew they were. His voice was hard silver wrapped up in silk and dripping with honey.
He was so seductive, a rush of heat stirred between my spread thighs.
“Really?” Belphegor blinked up at him. “You want my true self?”
If I hadn’t grown to hate the Lord of Gluttony so much, I’d almost pity him. His eyes glittered and perked up, almost beaming with excitement.
