She, too, is at worship tonight.
An older, slender figure is at her side, her willowy limbs making her appear more like a spider than a fae. I didn’t think anyone could be more terrifying and more dangerous than the Queen of Hell but the Queen’s mother does make a good effort for second place.
Both of them stand palms up toward the moon. Creatchin’s head is tilted back so far, I can see lines creasing the thin column of her pale neck. Those big eyes of hers are like black holes staring up at my goddess. Whispers scurry from her lips like snakes sliding through grass.
“Confide in me?” she asks on a harsh dry breath to the wind. “Tell me who? Have I found them. I will find them, Goddess. It ismy duty to you. I’ll use them as we need...” It’s a rattling string of questions and vows spoken over and over again. They slither over the fine hairs on the back of my neck until a shiver runs through every part of me. “Telllll me.”
“Mother,” a slender woman whispers gently.
Mother?
The woman’s horns are dark as night, just like all the other hell fae but her dress hangs loosely around the finest glittering black wings. Not all of the fae have them. Some have hooves. Some horns. And some wings. But none of them are as alluring as her wings. Moonlight beams over the silver-pressed edges of the delicate arching tips, and they just seem to make the beautiful woman more deadly looking. “M—m—Creatchin,” she says louder, more brutally.
The queen’s spine stiffens, and she looks back at the few of us who are keeping our space. We’re closer to the black bricks of the castle walls than we are to our righteous ruler.
Her gaze looks from the girl who called her mother very briefly before passing to gaze hesitantly at the others. It’s a scared but determined look. A look that won’t admit any wrongdoing or... mental instability, I suppose.
She avoids the questioning gazes and instead swings her attention to where we stand. And she focuses solely on one of us.
“Zilo.” Her chin lifts higher as if the crown on her head should be greatly noticed. “Zilo, please escort me to our chambers. We have much business to discuss for our queendom.”
Queendom.Goddess, do I hate how she emphasizes that at all times.
I hate how she barks Zilo around even more though.
“Of course, my queen.” The strong and unyielding warrior of the High Hell bows low to her, but she snatches up his arm and sways along with him in tow.
She holds on to him like he steadies her.
I don’t know why that punches through my gut hard enough to steal my breath away.
And I don’t know why I can’t look away from them as they leave.
Only when I’m safely back in my bedroom do I dare consider any of tonight. Avian and Roman shed their clothes and don’t seem at all fazed by any of it. They’re content with their life, it seems.
They don’t seem alarmed by their queen’s unstable mentality at all.
“Who was that girl? The one who called Creatchin mother.” I pace the floors while Roman literally flops into bed. He’s all but checked out.
“Vanitee. Creatchin’s daughter,” Avian answers as he pulls back the blankets on the opposite side of the bed and slides in.
“Was she Ravar’s daughter?” I tilt my head, but neither of them is up for chatting. They’re simply tolerating me at the moment.
“No,” Roman grumbles.
“Creatchin doesn’t act like she’s any relation to her at all...” My fingers twirl through my hair, and I can’t let any of it go. We shouldn’t be letting this go! “What was Creatchin whispering to Goddess Moon about? About finding someone?”
Both men sigh, Roman twisting around to lie on his back and finally face me.
“Blow out the candle, and I’ll tell you a bedtime story, beautiful,” he says on a delicious rumble that strums all through me.
Damn. Who knew words could induce orgasms.
“O—okay.” I huff a breath and blow out the two candles on the table near the settee. It’s so dark, I stumble against the smooth hardwood floor before a calloused hand guides me to the edge of the bed. A warm body meets me and presses nicely against me as Roman pulls me down beneath the warm blankets.
My head never hits that soft pillow, though. Instead, he wraps me in his arms, and I’m surrounded by that hard and comforting strength of his body. The gentle weight of his head skims against my hair, and his breath fans my locks as he seems to breathe me in.
It feels good to be held by him and just have that sense that nothing will ever touch me inside the warmth of his arms.
