Kingdom of the Cursed (Kingdom of the Wicked, #2) (68)

He was a difficult creature then, and doubly so now.

“Is this not what you desire?”

“Not at all.” He took a large step away, placing a hateful distance between us. “You will address me as master from now on. Drop to your knees.”

“I will never—” Anger flared, then extinguished as quickly. I went to the ground, head bowed. “Does this please you, master?”

“Remove my right boot.”

I undid the laces of his boot, then pulled it off, waiting for his next direction.

“Slide your hands up my to calf.” I reached for his leg and he yanked it back. “Start from the ankle.”

Without hesitation, I dragged my hands up his body, and over the muscle of his calf. My fingers brushed against something hard. I glanced up. “Have I pleased you now, master?”

Wrath reached down to lift my chin, his focus roaming across my face. He was searching for something, but the deep frown indicated he hadn’t found it.

“Learn to protect yourself. That will give me ultimate pleasure.”

With him, I somehow understood the very essence of pleasure. That I could do. I let go of his calf and reached for the band of his trousers. “Let me please you now, master.”

The temperature around us plummeted several degrees.

“If I wanted you on your knees, bare before me, without a thought of your own in your head, I would will it. If I desired to fuck you into our marriage, you’d do exactly as I said. And you’d beg for more. Neither attracts, nor pleases me. I long for an equal. Grab the dagger hidden on my leg. Get up.”

I slid the blade from the leather sheath and pushed myself to my feet, heart sinking at his harsh tone and dismissal of my advances. I reached for his hand, hoping to entice him to take what I was offering. “I—”

Fury, untamed, overwhelming, and all-consuming burned away the lust I’d felt. I gripped the dagger so hard my hand ached. Wrath did not take his attention from mine as he slowly undid the first few buttons of his pristine shirt. “Press the blade to my heart.”

I closed the distance between us, the tip of the dagger pricking his skin. I was now wrathful. I was fury in the flesh. And I would take what was owed to me and mine.

Beginning now. With this hateful prince.

Wrath leaned in, his voice low and seductive. “This is what you dream of. Blood and revenge. Take your vengeance, witch. Recall what I just made you do. How you fell to your knees, begging to please me. Let hatred and your favorite sin consume you.”

“Shut up.”

“Perhaps you liked it when I made you strip. When I bent you to my will.”

“I said shut up!”

“Maybe I should show you how very wicked I can be.”

I stared at his chest, at the blade piercing his skin. A slight trickle of blood rolled down his body. Through the wrath and fury overwhelming my senses, I remembered. I’d taken a blade to his heart before. In the monastery. He’d sworn it would take much more than a dagger to his chest to end him. I’d wanted to test the truth in those words then. He was offering me the chance to do so now. I swallowed hard, my throat bobbing. Unshed tears burned my eyes.

My hand shook, the blade digging in harder as I strained against it.

“Take. Your. Vengeance.”

His demonic influence battled my will. And won.

A tear slipped free as I leaned into the blade, using my upper body weight to shove through muscle and bone. I watched with blazing fury as it slid into his chest. Blood poured from the wound, stained his shirt, made my fingers slick. I didn’t pull it out. I twisted the dagger, gritting my teeth before I screamed loud enough to summon Satan himself.

The demon prince watched impassively as I yanked the blade free and stabbed him again.

And again.

And again.





EIGHTEEN


Wrath removed all influence over me at once.

I stared at the blade sticking out of the demon’s chest, my whole body violently trembling in the aftermath. Nausea coursed through me in place of the rage I’d just felt. I let go of the weapon and jerked back, unable to look away. There was so much blood. Wrath’s blood.

It bloomed obscenely across his white shirt like a flower of death. And if it had been anyone else, they would be dead. I would have killed them. I dragged in breath after breath, the weight of what could have been, of what I did, nearly crushing me.

Wrath wrenched the dagger from his chest and tossed it away. I flinched as it clattered against the far wall, the only sound in the chamber now aside from my ragged breaths. He’d made me stab him. In the heart. I… I couldn’t stop looking at the place I’d shoved the dagger in. Couldn’t stop hearing the sickening crunch of bone as I pierced his chest. I fought to keep my hands at my sides, to not cover my ears and scream until that wretched sound ceased in my head.

The wound was already healed, but his shirt was damp with blood. Memories of another chest, another heart, flooded my senses. My twin. All I could envision was her brutalized body. How easily it could have been her under my blade. Fighting back had been useless.

I turned my hands over, sticky, bloodstained palms up, and cried, “How dare you? How dare you subject me to that depravity?”

“Yes, how dare I teach my wife to protect herself against her enemies.”

“I am not your wife yet. And if this is your idea of proving why we ought to marry, you’re mad. You are the most despicable creature I’ve ever had the misfortune to know.”