“You could always heal me in other ways, songbird,” he teased, both of us knowing that most Reds would merely offer him pleasure and use that energy to heal him. He also knew that I wouldn’t, and his words lacked the punch that I would have felt from anyone else.
There was a certain comfort in him already knowing where my limits were.
“Stop calling me that,” I argued instead of responding to the empty taunt. He guided me to the top of the stairs, stopping in front of a door. He tested the knob, guiding me into the privacy of a beautiful bedroom.
I tried to ignore how pretty everything was in spite of the darker color palette, feeling completely at ease with the red that surrounded me. “Why? So you don’t have to admit how much you like it?” he asked, closing the door behind him.
He moved for the dresser, tugging open a drawer and pulling out a needle and something that looked like a cross between fishing wire and thread.
I swallowed, not knowing how to find the words to admit why I hated that fucking nickname so much.
The day he gave it to me, the first time I laid eyes on Beelzebub, he’d caught me singing to myself. It had only been the faintest hum; I thought I was alone in the courtyard Willow loved so much. I loved the way her flowers had strayed toward me as if they, too, couldn’t resist the magic of my song.
I couldn’t have imagined there was a demon watching, listening to me sing, and falling prey to my spell.
Every time he called me that, every time he referenced the magic in my veins, it was only another reminder.
He was caught under my spell, whether I liked it or not, and no matter what I did, one thing remained true.
I couldn’t free him, and I’d stripped away his free will as harshly as Itan had taken mine.
Beelzebub might not have felt any outright suffering from my violation, and he likely never would. But if I could onlynotsing to him and not touch him, then one day, the spell would wear off on its own and he could move on with his life.
Leaving me in fucking peace, finally.
10
MARGOT
The demon seemed to realize there was something trapped in the weight of my gaze, his own features softening as much as I thought him capable of. I glanced back at the entrance behind us, taking in the open door. It was a modicum of comfort, the knowledge that anyone could walk by at any moment. That we were not well and truly alone in the confines of a bedroom.
I hadn’t allowed myself to be caught with a man behind closed doors since Itan had taken everything from me for the last time, since I’d gotten too old for him to desire and been saved from his attentions. I swallowed, letting my eyes drift closed as I considered my options.
I knew the situation I’d somehow maneuvered myself into was dangerous, that bedrooms were where men used the excuse of desire to mask their violence, which could be far more damaging than the threat of death.
“Songbird,” Beelzebub said, his gentle voice making my heart leap into my throat. It came from the other side of the room, making it clear that he hadn’t taken my moment of weakness with my eyes closed to take advantage and intrude on my space. His respect for my needs was somehow almost worse, like I spent my time around him waiting for him to reveal his true nature and tear away the illusion that he might have cared.
The demons outside the manor might have destroyed my bodyand torn my flesh, but at least the worst they would do was kill me. Beelzebub was caught under my spell, drawn to me in a way that wasn’t entirely his fault. I didn’t know what the consequence of that would be for the male who seemed to be carefully controlled in all other facets of his life, and that unpredictability felt impossible for me to navigate.
Somehow the hope that maybe he would bebetterthan the others I’d known felt so much more dangerous to my soul than if I knew him to be untrustworthy like all the rest.
“Margot,” Beelzebub repeated, the sound of my name snapping me out of my frozen trance. I couldn’t decide whether to fight or flee, whether to wait it out or run before I lost the chance.
I opened my eyes, finding Beelzebub in the exact place he’d been when I closed them. He dropped his hands to his sides as I met his shocking red stare. He dropped the needle and thread on the bed unceremoniously, his own healing cast aside as he studied me. “I—I can’t,” I said, shaking my head and taking a step back toward that open door.
When I’d come to this room with him, I’d fully intended to do what I could to help with his stitches. I knew how impractical it would have been for him to do it himself, and something in that warning about asking demons for help had struck me.
He was alone.
He might have been surrounded by siblings and demons who could have and should have, for all purposes, been family to him, but there was no one here he trusted enough not to harm him. I related to that more than I wanted to admit, because even though I had spent my entire life surrounded by witches and a Coven that was my home, there wasn’t anyone I’d felt comfortable turning to when I needed help. Much like me, there was no one he could ask to help with something that was so critical to his well-being.
But he’d asked me, and I wanted so badly to be that person for someone else.
His face softened, the harsh lines going gentle in a way thatshouldn’t have been possible. Hesawme far too clearly for my comfort, as if he could read me like one of the books I’d laid out in the library to study while he watched me. I didn’t know that anyone had taken the time to observe me so fully that they could interpret the signals in my body. “I can’t control what happens to us out there. This is Hell, songbird. They use and abuse and manipulate however they can to get what they want, and I will do whatever I must to keep you safe from them. That means that sometimes, I may need to act quickly without stopping to consider the choice you might have made for yourself,” he said, nodding his head toward the open door. I turned to follow his stare, toward the safety of avoiding this situation that was laced with danger. I felt trapped between two bad situations, a certain death out there and the unknown within these walls. “But in this room with me, you’re in control,” he said, keeping his body very still. I both appreciated and hated him for his patience, for the fact that he seemed to see straight into the dilemma coursing through my veins. I wanted nothing more than to remain oblivious, to know that I was safe inside my head. But something about Beelzebub saw straight into me, read every motion of my body for what it was and knew how to turn me inside out.
“How am I in control in here?” I asked, studying the room intently. “What is it about these walls that will protect me?”
His chuckle was completely inappropriate, as if he found my question amusing. “It’s not the room that will protect you, Margot. It is my presence within it and my interest in allowing you to control at least this. I am fully aware of just how stripped of control you will feel throughout the Nine Circles. The least I can do is give you a safe space to lay your head,” he answered.
