There was no longer any room for sadness or grief in my world. In my heart.
I focused intently on that anger, that spark in my core close to my magic’s source. It was as if a lava pit were bubbling inside me, ready to erupt. I’d never felt my power so strongly and realized it wouldn’t take much to harness it. All I had to do was reach in and grab it.
I concentrated on my magic, imagined pulling it from wherever it originated and turning it into a handful of flame. Instead of fighting myself and forcing it to come, I let go.
Of my thoughts, of my fears. Of my worries.
I released everything except my wrath. That I held on to as if it were the most vital essence in my universe. Because it was the most vital thing in this circle of Hell. If the Prince of Wrath’s anger was a glacier, mine was a raging inferno. And it would not burn out quickly.
I inhaled and exhaled, picturing myself breathing new life into the fire. If I could master my anger, focus on it without emotion, it might burn so powerfully and for so long it could even melt Wrath’s impenetrable ice.
I held my palm out and whispered, “Fiat lux.”
Let there be light.
Blasphemous to some mortals, perhaps. But not to a witch currently residing in the underworld and betrothed to the devil. A tiny ball of rose-gold flames hovered above my palm. It crackled like real fire, but did not burn me. I waited for the pain to begin, for my flesh to bubble and welt. Or char. For Wrath’s ring to melt off my finger.
The fire only burned brighter, pulsed softly as if saying hello.
I stared, unfeeling as it shifted into a flaming flower. For a fraction of a second, I considered throwing it against the wall and watching my room—and all of its fine furnishings—incinerate. Tiny buds of embers catching and blooming into a garden of ash and flame.
I slowly closed my fingers around the burning flower, extinguishing it the way I should have extinguished the light in Makaden’s eyes. I was still too angry to rejoice in what I’d just done. The magic I did not know I could summon. Later, there would be time to celebrate.
Now, I had other things to do. Like confront the demonic master of this house.
That same fury set my feet in motion exactly ten minutes from the time Anir had left. It propelled me out of my room, down the corridor, and made it easy to barge into Wrath’s personal suite as if it were my own.
The door slammed against the wall, setting the candles flickering wildly on the mantel. Wrath was neither startled nor disturbed. He stood with his back to me, undressing. As if he knew I’d come to him, furious instead of scared.
I crossed my arms. “Well?”
The demon prince studiously ignored me. He shrugged out of his shirt and tossed it over an armchair. His trousers sat low on his hips, and with the fire blazing in the hearth, I had a very good view of the lines of ink that curved over each finely carved muscle on his back.
Without speaking or looking at me, he moved deeper into his personal space. I trailed behind, too mad to focus on any details of his rooms aside from the deep merlot walls and black furniture and fabric. It was dark and sensual. Like other parts of the castle where the prince spent most of his time.
“Look at me.” My voice was low, soft. It sounded like a caress, though that was intentional. The softness was meant to distract from the underlying steel in the command.
Wrath turned with intention. There was something seductive in the way he moved; powerful and strong, yet fluid in all the ways he’d require for battle. Everything about his movements indicated he was a predator. But I was not afraid. Not even after his violent display. Wrath would never harm me. And I was almost certain it had little to do with duty.
Looking at him now, with the promise of unending punishment and not an ounce of regret in his glare, I understood what he did, why he did it, even if he didn’t yet.
He stood before a large bed, the silky sheets like an undisturbed lake behind him. An ebony fur throw covered the bottom portion. I thought about disrobing and tossing myself onto it, causing another ripple in the smooth perfection of his world. For a split second, I almost imagined I’d done that before. I cut that thought off before any sinful magic could take hold.
Wrath’s expression turned unreadable. “It’s late. You should leave.”
“We need to discuss what just happened.”
“I issued an order, Makaden ignored it. Twice. The consequences were made clear.”
I narrowed my eyes; his answer was a little too stiff and practiced. I stalked closer. “Is that all? You attacked him because of your order?”
“He chose to insinuate you should taste his cock. In front of my court.” His shoulders moved with the effort he was exerting to control his breaths, to remain calm. He shouldn’t have bothered. There was no quieting the storm currently raging in his eyes. “If I let his disobedience slide, I will be seen as weak.”
“That was my fight. If you interfere whenever someone says something unflattering, no one will ever respect or fear me. I will not appear weak for you to maintain strength.” I moved until I stood directly before him, the heat of our combined anger prickling my skin. I wonder if he felt that, too. And if it soothed him. “Was this a male pride issue? I highly doubt your hold on your court is so tenuous that one obnoxious noble could diminish your rule.”
“You know pride is not my sin.”
It was not the first time I’d wondered if that was the full truth, but I let it go.