Not-Rhyland looms beside me, radiating enough brooding energy to make Edward Cullen look cheerful. A waiter materializes with a tray of champagne flutes—the contents are not your standard Dom Pérignon unless they've started adding O-negative to their blend.
I snag two glasses and push one at Brax. His face twists into that signature Rhyland look of disapproval—like someone just suggested putting pineapple on pizza.
"Drink the damn champagne," I mutter through clenched teeth. "My brother wouldn't be caught dead—pun intended—turning down free booze. Even the pretentious blood-spiked kind."
The champagne barely touches my lips when a voice like nails on a chalkboard slithers behind us. "Well, well, well. If it isn't my favorite brooding boy-toy." Lilith's gaze rakes over not-Rhyland like he's a piece of meat. "And here of your own accord, for once. How novel." Her laugh could cut glass. "Oh wait, my mistake. Still playing the self-sacrificing hero, aren't we? Old habits die hard, I suppose."
I have to physically restrain myself from jamming my champagne flute down her smug throat.Bitch.
Subtle reminder about how my brother traded himself to save my ass. Real classy, you ugly bitch.
Lilith dressed in some emerald-wrapped nightmare, her gown catching light like scattered venom. Those electric-green eyes pierce through her black mask, locked on Not-Rhyland with predatory intensity. "Miss me, lover?"
Brax's shoulders stiffen, his voice dropping to a low growl that's pure alpha male. "I'm not here to play your twisted games, Lilith. We have a deal, remember?"
Lilith's smile is all razor blades and venom. "Oh, you mean Lucian's little angel toy?" She tsks, running a finger down Brax's lapel, looking at me. "Really, darling, I thought you had better taste than some feathered bimbo."
I nearly crush the champagne flute in my hand.Keep talking, you cunt. We'll see who's laughing when this night is over.
Lilith's venomous gaze slides back to Brax, her blood-red lips curling into a cruel smile. "Speaking of heavenly creatures..." She makes a show of scanning the room, with mock concern. "Where's your little mortal pet? The one I so enjoyed... entertaining."
Not-Rhyland's shoulders bunch with tension, his growl pure Viking rage.Holy shit, Brax is channeling my brother's protective alpha male routine perfectly."You really think I'm stupid enough to bring her anywhere near you?"
"Mmm." Lilith traces a perfectly manicured nail down his lapel, her eyes glittering with malice. "Can't be that attached if you're willing to trade yourself away so easily." Her tongue traces her lower lip. "Miss our little... encounters, darling?"
I swear to god, if she doesn't stop eye-fucking mynot-brother,I'm going to hurl up every drop of blood I've consumed this century.
"Like a stake to the heart," Brax seethes. His voice drops to that dangerous register Rhyland gets right before breaking things. "Let's skip the foreplay. Me for Seraphina. That was the deal."
Holy shit. Who knew demons could method act?I'm starting to get uncanny valley vibes. The sneer, the growl, even that signature "I'd-rather-be-stabbing-someone" stance—it's like watching Rhyland's greatest hits performed live.
Lilith laughs. "Always so... direct. That's what I love most about you, darling. That raw... intensity." She groans. "Especially in more... intimate settings."
Oh god, someone fetch me a bucket. Bile burns the back of my throat. "Where's Seraphina?" I snap, done playing her twisted game of Twenty Questions.
"Patience, darling." She waves a dismissive hand, never taking those venomous eyes off Not-Rhyland. "The night's young. Surely you remember our dances, lover? How about a little... warm-up?"
If I survive this night without projectile vomiting, it'll be a miracle.
Brax shoots me a look, and I give him a barely perceptible nod.
Time to play along.
I watch Lilith lead him onto the dance floor, her emerald dress clinging to her like a second skin. They move together like a pair of vipers, all sleek grace and coiled danger. Brax's hand rests on her lower back, his fingers digging in just a little too hard to be friendly.
That's it, buddy. Sell the hate-fuck tension. Make her believe it.
I weave through the crowd like a shark circling its prey, keeping one eye on Lilith and her demon dance partner.
Now, where are you hiding, Morgan? Come out, come out, wherever you are, you necromancing nightmare.
From the landing, I catch Brax's eye. One subtle nod is all it takes—our signal to start the show.T-minus ten minutes until this party gets started.
The back room is exactly where we planned—far enough from the crowd to avoid unwanted attention, close enough to spring our trap. Emily and Sable are already there, the air thick with magic that makes my fangs itch.
"We set?" I keep my voice low, though honestly, the pretentious classical crap downstairs is loud enough to cover a demon choir.
Emily doesn't even look up from her work. "All ready for our guest of horror. Full moon's giving us enough juice to hold Cruella De Vil herself."
