It was a sigil of soft gold light etched into his skin, steady and warm, its lines interwoven with careful symmetry, as if two forces had been folded together and sealed.
The way Morvenna touched it was intimate. Claiming.
An imprint,Rune supplied into her mind.The mark a male proudly wears when he has been chosen as an eternal mate.
Ira grabbed hold of Morvenna neck as he devoured her mouth in a frenzied kiss, rumbling against her mouth. “Worlds would crumble before I ever tire of your milk and honey.”
Then, to Alora’s shock and horror, Ira lifted the Lady of Lust onto his shoulders and feasted on her—right there at the table.
Alora gasped, turning her head sharply into Rune’s chest.
Not even the fae practiced such debauchery.
He chuckled, his fingers tracing lazy circles on her back.Sex is abundant here, songbird. If we’re not fighting, we’re rutting. And demons don’t care to keep it private, especially the succubi. Ira and Morvenna are a mated pair. They delight in letting others watch. She infects the air with her lust, feeding on the desire of her partners and anyone else who succumbs to it.
Already, several of Morvenna’s faction had already drawn others into the shadows, their moans and the slap of flesh joining the music.
Alora’s face burned, her thighs clenching. Rune’s body was warm and firm beneath her.
“Ah, the dessert course,” Calla mused dryly as Ira laid Morvenna across the table, dishes clattering to the floor amid her exalted cries.
Nexia had swam off with her jeweled harem, but Sal’vathar sat stiffly, his expression carved in cold disgust as he focused on his wine. Balgor tried to keep eating, though his plate jerked away from him with each of Ira’s violent thrusts.
Alora shared a look with Rune, the absurdity of it breaking her composure. They both smothered a laugh.
At a table across from them, two female demons pressed together in the candlelight, laughter soft between their mouths as they kissed without shame or secrecy. On a cluster of throw pillows and blankets in a shadowed corner, two males lay with a female between them, hands roaming with easy familiarity, desire braided between them like silk.
Heat curled low in her belly, curiosity blooming sharp and bright.
Demons do not concern themselves with gender,Rune’s voice murmured through her thoughts, dark and amused.Only appetite.
Much like the fae.
But her smile faltered when she noticed Segrith observing her from the far end of the room, unblinking eyes in her open palms.
When dinner was over, the tables were sent away, and lively music filled the hall as it came time for the Dance of the Dead. Demons partnered with each other and specters above took forms of souls. Alora stared in awe as they waltzed through the night sky.
Deimos leaped down from the rafters and landed soundlessly beside Calla. He perched in a chair, tail flicking lazily, his glowing eyes fixed on the Dominions swaying on the floor. “Sire, I suggest we start killing one a week,” he drawled, “merely to remind them who rules now.”
“Perhaps,” Hadeon rumbled, crossing his massive arms. “But then he’d have no one left to insult him.”
“A shame,” Calla sighed, smirking.
Alora blinked between them. “That was dinner? By the Seven, what occurs at breakfast?”
“Occasionally a slaughter with a side of havoc,” Calla hummed, sharing a lingering look with Hadeon. “There’s no shortage of debauchery.”
Rune set down his goblet, exhaling softly. His crimson eyes found Alora’s, his expression easing into something almost gentle. “You did well tonight, Alora.”
She nodded, though a faint tremor fluttered through her chest. “That was certainly… interesting.”
His mouth curved in a smile. “The night is only getting started.”
Placing Alora back on her feet, Rune rose and extended his hand. She hesitated, then placed hers in his. His fingers closed around hers, cool and sure. Shadows rippled beneath their feet as he drew her toward the center of the hall.
Music swelled slow, dark, and haunting. The floor shimmered as Rune guided her in a slow turn. His hand at her back was steady, his movements fluid, commanding. She followed without thought, without breath, her body remembering what her mind could not.
Then the ground fell away.
