There was no denying they matched perfectly. And I knew why.
I dragged my attention from our tattoos up to his face. His beautiful, cold, royal face. The face that belonged to a fallen god. And my destroyer. Anticipation prickled my skin.
“You seek the truth? Allow me to give it freely. Pride has not summoned you to his court, nor will he ever attempt to. At least not for the reason you believe.”
“Because…”
I knew, oh goddess, I knew. Still, I needed him to say the words.
“You are not his intended, Emilia.” The world beneath me tilted. Wrath’s gaze was steady enough to keep both my knees and the realm from quaking. “You are mine.”
THIRTEEN
You are mine. Everything outside of those three words faded. My shock, denial, and utter confusion were simply gone. It was as if I’d stepped from Wrath’s library back into the nothingness of the void. My pulse pounded in every one of my cells. The phrase echoed softly, drummed against each of my nerves, embedded themselves into my heart.
It felt like the magic that bonded us fully came awake. Wrath’s admission somehow wrenched it from its slumber and gave it permission to stretch its arms wide.
This mighty warrior prince, brimming with immortal vitality and power, death and rage made flesh… suddenly, I was drawn into a vision.
Past or future or pure illusion crafted of this sinful world, I couldn’t discern. We were in Wrath’s bed, hundreds of candles flickering across the glossy surface of his silken sheets, his dark colored walls, and the sheen of sweat coating his bare chest.
I was astride the demon prince, my thighs spread wide to accommodate the breadth of him. He watched me with a primal sort of possession, his half-lidded gaze drinking in every inch of my body while my hips undulated, seeking pleasure but not fully. I teased us both by not quite closing the slight distance between our bodies.
He reached for me, but I pinned him to the mattress, nipping playfully at his mouth before losing myself in his slow kisses. Soon he was no longer content with being a spectator; his hands clasped on to my sides, guiding me down onto his fierce arousal. With a whispered word of endearment and a quick upward thrust, we were joined in all ways. For eternity.
I managed to draw in a deep, ragged breath, banishing the vision. Some denial slipped back in. “We are still betrothed.”
Wrath’s eyes momentarily glazed, as if he’d been in that seductive illusion with me and still felt the tremors of pleasure rocking through him. His cool tone did not match the heat lingering in his gaze. “Yes. I am to be your husband.”
“My husband. You, not Pride.”
“Emilia…”
“Please.”
I held up a hand to stall him. Something ancient rattled my bones. I ignored the feeling, instead focusing on the anger unfurling in fiery tendrils, replacing any lingering sense of shock or denial, and clearing my head. This could not be happening. It was a complication I could ill afford for several reasons; the largest being my vow to avenge my sister.
“You lied to me.”
He fell silent for a few moments, then said quietly, “Despite the less-than-ideal circumstances of our union, we are well suited. Enough.”
I stared at him, unblinking. With such a wildly romantic declaration, who needed love or passion? If I wasn’t marrying Pride to carry out my scheme, I was going to marry for love. “Well suited enough” was also grossly misrepresenting the situation. I still wished to strangle Wrath more often than I wished to kiss or bed him. I had a feeling he felt the same way. Which perhaps was an indication of being well suited enough. Ours would be an unholy union of fury.
“Your brother is aware of this?”
“Of course.”
The demon prince seemed braced for a violent outburst; his feet were subtly planted shoulder-width apart, his body angled forward. He deserved a good slap for keeping this from me, but I could hardly wrap my mind around his confession and the strange way his words—innocuous though they were—suddenly heated my blood.
My whole body hummed with awareness, almost preternaturally. I was aware of every one of his movements, from the slight shifting of his feet to his steady breath. My new awareness of him did not alleviate my anger. If anything, it only stoked it more.
New realizations clicked into place. If I was a member of House Wrath, other royal houses—such as Pride’s court—would never share gossip regarding their prince. Any hopes and plans I had of gaining information I needed about Pride’s first wife were ruined.
“This is madness.”
I had taken the chaos my world devolved into after Vittoria’s death and had created a tiny semblance of order by coming here. And I’d only accomplished that because of my vow to her.
Now… now my life was once again spinning out of control because of the Wicked.