“No?” I raise my brow. “You wound my ego.”
She gives a very unladylike snort. “Yeah, fuck that. I doubt I’ve even put a dent in it. I’m not going to sit here and stroke your ego, Oziel.”
“Then perhaps you’d like to stroke something else?”
This time, the red in her cheeks isn’t entirely from embarrassment. There’s heat there too, if her scent is anything to go by. I’m learning quickly that humans are easy to rile up. A fun game, indeed.
“I’m not fucking eating with you, Oziel. If you don’t want to figure out what the Nephilim is saying, I want to go back to my room.Alone.”
“Fine, if you insist on being a prisoner in the castle, then that’s what you shall be.” I silently summon a servant, a weak demon, to escort Isabelle back to her room.
The demon woman appears behind Isabelle and takes her arm. She struggles against her, but even a weak demon is stronger than a human. “Take Miss Sinclair to her chambers. Make sure a meal is brought to her. Oh, and don’t let her leave until she agrees to sit civilly and have dinner with me.”
“Yes, my lord,” the woman purrs, her split tongue giving her a snake effect.
“Oziel!” Isabelle shouts, struggling unsuccessfully against the small demon. “Gods, you’re such a dick.”
Her words ring out, even long after she’s gone. I’m left with her sweet and woody cinnamon smell. I sink into the closest chair with a sigh and find myself quite ravenous. As I eat, I find the food does little to soothe my appetite, as my mind wanders to a certain raven-haired human.
Chapter 10
Oziel
Eating dinner alone is no different from any other night, but there’s a heaviness in my chest that gives me pause. Feelings and emotions, other than lust and hatred, don’t come naturally to demons. Not to say we don’t feel other things; it simply is a rarity for our kind.
And Isabelle has mefeeling.
What, I'm not entirely sure. She’s a strange human. Full of anger and reeking of sin. It’s potent and consuming, intoxicating for a demon. I’ve heard stories of the allure of humans, but experiencing it is another thing entirely. A sip of forbidden wine. Isabelle Sinclair is exactly that.
The remnants of my food have gone cold, and I push it aside. My appetite has soured, and I find myself no longer wanting to occupy an empty table. I leave, shadows engulfing the dining room when I walk out.
As I make my way down the hall, Ipass the demon who escorted Isabelle away. “She’s in her room. Shall I stand guard?”
“No.” Giving her free range of the castle will be interesting. I doubt she’ll listen to my prisoner comment from earlier. Isabelle is the furthest thing from a prisoner here. And besides, I have eyes and ears everywhere. There isn’t a place she could go I wouldn’t know. This castle is an extension of me. I will always be able to find her. Best let her think she has free will.
The demon nods and continues on her way. I pass by Isabelle’s door, hearing her move around inside. My room is next door, connected to hers—a small fact I kept to myself, knowing Isabelle wouldn’t appreciate the proximity. It’s much easier to keep an eye on the human if she’s close to me.
My room is untouched when I walk in. No other demon is allowed in here without my permission. That privilege is given to few. It’s my only sanctuary within the palace, and even that has become tainted since the arrival of the Nephilim and the curse the creatures bring with them.
The room is massive, with a vaulted ceiling that disappears into shadow, giving an impression of endless height and the dark night sky. Gothic arches and carved stone columns frame the room, and wall sconces are placed strategically to provide a soft glow. I don’t like bright lights. Both the bed and furniture are carved from blackened wood and adorned with sharp, angular designs. And sitting atop a small desk in a glass dome is a bouquet of crimson roses.
At first glance, nothing appears amiss.The roses are vibrant, seemingly glowing within. Each petal is smooth and slightly curled at the end. The stems all have sharp thorns ready to draw blood. To an unsuspecting person, this is simply a beautiful arrangement. No one would even pick up on the sinister nature of it.
My story to Isabelle earlier about demons needing possession of their victims to dole out the most pain is true. Objects belonging to people hold memories. The more significant, the stronger the memories are.
Roses are the only significant items to me.
The Nephilim’s message was aimed toward me. A cruel reminder of my failures and the failures yet to come. Each time a demon succumbs to the curse, the roses lose a petal. I fear the day only stems remain. What becomes of my kingdom then?
My mind is occupied with thoughts of my kingdom's impending doom when there is a knock at my door. My shadows see Garvan outside, standing tall with his hands folded in front of him like the perfect lap dog he is. I have half a mind to turn him away because I’m not in the mood for company. But Garvan doesn’t stop by for social visits.
“Come in,” I call and take a seat upon my cushioned chair. The only seat, other than the bed, in the room.
Garvan enters. His eyes sweep the room, then linger on the glowing roses before meeting my gaze. He gives a formal bow, hair flopping down around his ears. “Word has been sent out to the dragon, wolf, and kraken kings. We await an audience, though I don’t believe we will get all the kings here.”
“No matter. We only need one and his wife.”
“Yes, speaking of wives”—Garvan pointedly looks at the wall separating my room from Isabelle’s—“shouldn’t you be spending time getting to know yours?”
