Kingdom of the Wicked (Kingdom of the Wicked, #1)(24)

“By ‘others’ do you mean me?” He shook his head. “Who, then?”

“My brothers.”

I knew there were seven demon princes, but I didn’t think they were related. Imagining demons having families was disturbing. “Do all demons have to obey these rules, or just princes of Hell?”

“If we’re exchanging secrets now, I’d like to know how many witches live on this island, and the name of the coven elder from each city. Then you can tell me where the First Witch’s grimoire is and I’ll consider us even.” He smirked at my look of repulsion. “I didn’t think so. But I would like to know the Latin portion of the spell you used tonight.”

I weighed the benefits against the disadvantages of telling him the protection spell. He couldn’t harm me, that much was clear. And it wasn’t like he could reverse it, only I could do that.

“Aevitas ligati in aeternus protego.”

For a second, he didn’t appear to be breathing. He stared at me, his expression close to horror. A deep sense of satisfaction filled me. It wasn’t every day a witch caused that much fear in a demon prince, especially the mighty demon of war.

“No snide remark?” I asked, not bothering to hide my smug tone. “It’s all right. I know it’s an impressive one.”

“What’s impressive is how wrong you are.” He crossed his arms, his countenance once again carefully blank. “Regardless of your pedestrian attempt at dark magic, I’ll offer you a bargain in return. The length is negotiable, how we bind it is not.”

My face heated. Nonna said the Malvagi’s bargains almost always involved kissing—that once they’d locked lips with someone, that person lost their senses entirely. Always craving more, going so far as offering up their soul for another taste of the wicked sin they’d gotten addicted to. I didn’t know if all that was true, but I refused to find out.

“I’d rather die than subject myself to kissing you, demon.”

His expression held little humor as he took my measure. It was a slow, deliberate sweep of my body, my stance, the way I aimed his own dagger at his heart. If he looked at the bleached bones that surrounded us, he didn’t give them more than a cursory glance. When he dragged his attention back to my face, something dark lurked in his gaze, forged deep in the pits of Hell.

Chills ran down my spine, tingling in warning. This was not the kind of prince written about in fairy tales. There was no golden crown sitting atop his dark head, or promises of safety waiting in his sculpted, tattooed arms. He was death and rage and fire and anyone stupid enough to forget that would be consumed by his inferno.

“One day you might beg me to kiss you.” He stepped close enough for me to stab him. Heat radiated off him. Around me. A bead of sweat rolled between my shoulders, slipped down my spine. I shivered. He smelled of mint and warm summer days—so at odds with the darkness of his luccicare. “You might hate it. Or love it. But temptation will surge through those magical veins of yours, obliterating all common sense. You’ll want me to save you from the endless torment by giving you everything you love to loathe. And when I do, you’ll thirst for more.”

An image of him pressing me against the wall, the stone sharp as talons in my back, his lips soft but demanding as he tasted me, crossed my mind. My mouth went as dry as the bones in my summoning circle. I would sooner sell my soul than be with him.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered, his lips brushing the delicate skin on my neck. I froze. He’d moved so swiftly, I hadn’t even seen him take a step. “You’d need to be the last creature in all the realms combined for me to want you, witch. Even then it might not be enough to tempt me. What I’m offering is a blood trade.”





Twelve

Never enter into a bargain with a demon, but most especially a prince of Hell. The Malvagis’ lies are like sugar—sweet, but deadly when too much is ingested over time. Beware: Very few antidotes can be crafted for such a wicked poison.

—Notes from the di Carlo grimoire My heart thrashed from his proximity, the sound almost as loud as the waves attacking the cliffs below. He lingered a moment before stepping away, like he not only heard it, too, but relished the rhythmic, primal beat. I wondered if it reminded him of war drums, and if he suddenly craved battle. I certainly did. Too many emotions were swirling inside me, making my decision especially hard. My sister’s possible bargain with his brother. Wrath’s blood trade. This whole strange, impossible night. I was barely able to wrap my mind around the fact that the Wicked were not only real, but that one was standing before me, offering a bargain.

“Well?” he asked. “Do you willingly accept my blood trade?”

“You haven’t bothered to explain why you’re offering it, so no.”

He took a deep breath, like the very act of explaining himself to a witch was exhausting. “Per the terms of your protection spell, I must ensure your safety. The spell binds me from harming you, but it also requires me to grant you protection from others. A blood bond between us will alert other demons that you are a temporary member of House Wrath, and therefore they should not kill or maim you too terribly. There. Will you agree to the blood bond now?”

Not maiming me too terribly wasn’t the same as not maiming me at all. I stared, lips pursed. After a minute, I slowly shook my head. “No, I don’t think I will. You’re bound until I release you, and I don’t plan on summoning any other demon. Therefore, I don’t need your protection.”