Poison Kissed (17 page)

It hadn’t seemed a lie. Too real, that trapped emotion flooding between us, the urgency and desperation in our kiss.

If he knew what I’d just done, he’d turn from me now.

I squeezed my eyes shut on tears and banged my fists on my thighs, bruising. No. I was in too far to stop this now. He had to die. Even if it meant no one ever cared for me again.

Not that Joey cared. Not for real. He just wanted to fuck me, use me, work some frustrated lust from his system. The bastard lied to me. He deserved everything he got.

And so did I. I wanted to punish myself, smack my head into the floor, make my ears ring. Crunch my knife into my palm, pain’s rapid release, watch the guilty blood flow.

Disgust spewed sick into my guts. A black chasm creaked open in my soul, and I wanted to dive in and drown. I wanted to curl up in that dusty bed forever and cry.

But I dragged my aching body up from the sweaty sheets and stumbled into the bathroom, my legs trembling but holding. My eyes stinging hot, but dry. My face tried to crumple, and I pulled it straight.

If I’d learned anything in gangland, it was this: There’s no use sobbing over what’s done.

Just get up, and get on with making it right.

My reflection in the mirror glared at me when I flicked on the light, and I wrenched my gaze away. Blindly, I pawed the shower on, leaning my forehead against cracked white tiles. The pipes groaned, and cold gritty water sluiced through my hair, over my clammy skin, down my legs, washing the mess away. Slowly, the water warmed, and fairy shit and blood and Diamond’s fading pink glitterfluid swirled down the rusty plughole.

As I soaked in the steaming water, Diamond’s words echoed like shattered glass in my heart. He was right. I hadn’t forgiven or forgotten my mother’s death. But now I was acting on it, wasn’t I? Chasing her killer down? Making things right?

I inhaled the steam, soothing the ragged hole in my lungs where my magic used to be.

Or was I just holding on grimly to a past that was gone forever?

I swallowed, and untangled the sponge from its wire hook. I soaked it in fragrant golden soap and scrubbed, raking the rough plastic curls over my body until I was clean, at least on the outside. The familiar scent of Cobalt’s dusky cinnamon body wash strengthened me. I shampooed my hair twice, raking my nails over my scalp, lathering out smells and touches and vibrations, and with each soapy slide of bubbles down my body, my anger grew.

By the time I’d finished, my hands shook with indignation, and I flipped off the water and squeezed out my hair with a vicious jerk.

Screw feeling sorry for myself. And screw Diamond and his brittle lies. He didn’t know me. He wasn’t on my side. He cared only about himself. I should’ve known better.

Ice steeled my nerves. A scarfaced fairy named Ivy. A vague recollection of her face was all I had to go on. It’d have to be enough. I’d start at the club, with the sparklebrains, the spacers, the bloodsniffers. Maybe she’d even be there. I’d find her, explain the situation, get my spell back one way or another.

Relish set my teeth on edge, and my limbs flexed in anticipation as I toweled myself off.

And then Joey would die, and I’d be healed. And nothing he could say or do—no mesmerizing green glance or heartbroken whisper or dizzying mindfuck kiss—would stop me.

16

Delilah squirms her thighs on the velvet seat, and her shimmering silver dress sticks even though the air is chilled rigid. Around her, low couches and tables hide guests in seclusion, couples and more hidden amongst tall green plants and sculpture art. Rich, gullible soulflesh tantalizes her nostrils. Her mouth waters. Casinos are such ripe places for soulslaughter.

The sepia window beside her glimmers, reflecting chandeliers, caramel carpet, the trickling water in the black marble fountain, and twenty-nine floors below, the lights of Melbourne sparkle and dance in shimmering summer heat. Across the river, skyscrapers glitter, the stars fading overhead in orange cityglow. A magnificent view.

The view across the table’s better.

Kane sits, eye-shattering elegance in his charcoal suit, diamonds glinting in his flawless white cuffs, his tie knotted perfectly symmetrical. His golden hair sparks, a faint green halo. A tiny frown lines his brow, and he pokes at a sautéed prawn on his plate with a silver fork. “I like fish,” he remarks, his voice soft. “Swimming things taste good.”

Pleasure shimmers along her nerves at his smile. He pops the prawn into his mouth, and the crunch of that roasted pink flesh between his teeth makes her want to squirm. His shiny black gaze fixes on her, gentle but relentless, and his face betrays nothing but polite interest. At his most urbane and charming.

But Delilah imagines the ashen fire of his kiss, the power lurking just beneath the surface, and lust spills deep into her belly. She’s no aristocrat, and the demon courtiers sneer at her, laugh at her ambition, kick her aside like vermin, even though all she ever wanted was to be one of them. To dance in their candlelit halls, laugh and drink bloody wine at their soirees, play their heady power games with souls and black eternity. Instead of eking out a dirty, unseen existence in the serving classes, a starving dog begging for scraps from their table.

In hell, Kane was untouchable, a distant, haughty prince to fantasize about. Here, he’s all too near. All too real. She can barely believe she’s finally made it. And it makes her long for more than combat, more than the heady bloodrush of rivalry. His body fascinates her, his slightest movement a temptation.

A worthy adversary. Tricking him will be most satisfying.

Under the table, she clutches the vial Ivy gave her, the sparkles tingling sweet invitation in her palm. She sips her champagne—French, of course, not the local imitation—and smiles back, gritting her teeth. “Are you always this weird?”

He dabs his lips neatly with a napkin. “Apparently.”

Her covetous nature purrs. Fuck, his mouth is beautiful, his altarboy lips a seduction, those strong white teeth a sensual promise. Delilah laughs, charm littering ash from her hair. “Rubbish. Who told you that? Don’t pretend mortals don’t fall at your feet by the dozen.”

The promise of black demonic compulsion sizzles from his golden lashes, threatening. “That’s not the same thing.”

Claws prick and shudder inside her fingertips, longing to erupt, and she wraps her hands tight under the white tablecloth. “Really. You’re telling me you’ve never been on a date?”

“Not for a long time.” He folds the napkin away on the table. The silent black-suited waiter offers more champagne, but Kane waves it off, his rings glinting. When the man leans forward to whisper something in Kane’s ear, Kane turns away to listen, and deftly Delilah snakes forward and tips the sparkle into his red wine.

The spell glimmers softly and dissolves, mournful song’s faint echo lingering.

Swiftly, she tucks the vial safely away under the cushions. A tempting waft of sweet banshee sadness tickles her nose and evaporates.

Kane turns back. Her clotted heart beats faster, warmer. Did he notice anything? She forces a sultry smile. “Then what’s so special about tonight?”

Kane leans his chin on sparking hands, golden hair tumbling on his cheek, and fixes her in his hot stare. “You tell me.”

“Wh-what do you mean?” The press of his red tongue against his teeth makes her weak. Her skin shivers, tightening. Her silvery evening dress barely covers her breasts as it is, the narrow twin front panels slanting down to meet somewhere just below her navel. Surely he can see her nipples, thrusting out eagerly into the silk. She wants to touch them, stimulate herself, put an end to waiting.

Fuck, this is embarrassing. He can’t have cast a hex on her. She’d smelled no threat. He’s just a man, even if he is powerful, snarling and graceful like a tiger. If she’d realized she was this horny, she’d have downed an appetizer before she arrived.

A moan of frustrated desire wells in her throat, and she tries to swallow it. She’s tried mortal men. It’s not the same.

Kane shrugs. Reaches for his glass. Sips. Lets the tainted wine spread on his tongue. “I mean, you tell me. Why you follow me, watch me. Why you’re so desperate to be nice to me that you’ll risk a flaying.”

“Surely you’ve figured that out.” She drinks more champagne and watches, her breath catching.
Drink up, pretty. Then we’ll see who’s desperate.

He swallows again, deep, and sighs, a faint dark stain sliding on his lips. “Mmm. I like this. Your choice?”

“Of course.” She fingers her glass’s rim. His gaze follows, and triumph bubbles rich in her blood. She gives a playful, naughty smile, the one that brings mortal men to their knees. “Kane, are you staring at me?”

His lips drift apart, and he licks them, candid. “Yes, I think I am.”

She wants to purr.
Here, kitty kitty.
“Why, you naughty prince, whatever for?”

“Because you’re pretty.” He drains his drink. The spelled wine stains the glass dark as he tips the last of it between those sulky red lips. He savors it and swallows, and slides the glass away with two fingers, leaning forward to sniff the air in her direction.

She wriggles closer, folding her arms on the table so he’s only lazy inches away. “Am I? What are you going to do about it?”

His smile quirks, wicked. “Maybe I’m imagining that flaying we talked about.”

Her own lips curl in response. She can smell his ashen lust. Hellflames spring alive in her hair, and she doesn’t puff them out. “Why don’t I believe you?”

He reaches over scattered scarlet roses and brings her hand to his lips, and the shock of his kiss burns. “Because we’re both from hell, honeychild. You’d be stupid to believe a word I said.”

In the shadows behind tall green foliage, Ivy stares, and a single hot tear slides down her newly perfect cheek.

Shining golden hair. That perfect face, those mesmerizing lips and hot black gaze she’ll never forget. So elegant, every movement a seductive melody, his rich stormy scent filling the room even though no one else can smell it.

She clutches soft greenery, crushing it in a faint chlorophyll tang. It’s him. Her beautiful golden lover. So long ago, those sultry nights in . . . where? Her memory mists over, like a love scene veiled in gossamer, and all she can remember is his kiss, his hot smooth hardness inside her, her body awakening to ecstasy beneath his skilled fingers.

Her golden skin swells, sticking tight to her flowing dress. Her heart thuds, rocking her body with a strong pulse of desire she can’t ignore.

He said he loved her, and she knew it was true, in the way he looked at her, touched her, made her feel.

And now here’s that nasty wine-haired demon girl, with her dirty fingers and slutty half dress and flaunty female curves, using Ivy’s own slinky songspell and those big pretentious near-naked breasts to seduce him.

Her guts twist tight.
No no no.
It just won’t do. Kane is hers. When he sees her, he’ll know. He’ll remember, and his jaded heart will melt and he’ll never look at another woman again.

Her gaze clings to him like a magnet. Her body thrums. Already she can smell him, his ashen hair, his rich charcoal skin. And now Delilah rises, throws him a red hellharlot’s smile, and sways away toward the ladies’ room.

He’s alone. Now is her chance. Ivy’s nerves bubble with excitement, and she tidies her flowing silver hair and flutters over.

Kane’s velvety black gaze flicks over her. Her heart seizes with love, her breath stolen.

He glances away, and doesn’t look back.

Ivy swallows, and summons her courage, her voice shaking. “Umm. Excuse me. Don’t you remember me?”

Kane looks up again, sparking fingers toying with his wineglass. His face so perfect, young, his gentle cheekbones a temptation. Golden hair falls over his cheek—so endearing, she wants to weep. He sips, showing pouty scarlet lips. Danger glints like fire in his eyes. “Should I?”

Ivy smiles, bright as she can. “It was a long time ago. Somewhere. We danced. You kissed me. We made love.”

Kane shrugs, elegant. “If you say so.”

“You must remember.” Doubt seeps into her blood, sour and unwanted.

Ash puffs from his hair, and he tosses his head impatiently, his neat nails flushing blue. “Lady, I’ve had a thousand like you. Hardly surprising if you didn’t stand out.”

“But you said you loved me!”

He grips the glass tighter, claws springing sharp, and the liquid boils inside, angry steam wisping. “To shut you the fuck up? Very likely.”

Ivy’s heart wrenches painfully, tears scorching. “But—”

The air shimmers and shifts, and suddenly she’s pressed against his powerful body, his arm crushing her wings flat and trapping her immobile. His lips burn her skin, still an inch from hers, and his hair flushes angry blue. He whispers, and rich thunderscent sears her lips. “Want to try it again, fairy? Want to fuck? I’ll rip your wings off with my teeth and drink your blood from the hole. I’ll tear your soul screaming from your stupid heart and chew it to shreds before it even gets a whiff of sulfur. Suggest you leave me alone, whoever you are.”

And he’s back in his seat, suit fresh and elegant, not a blond wisp out of place. Like he never moved.

She staggers, her tender wings a splash of abused bones. Her vulnerable mind sloshes sideways and backwards, time spinning in meaningless gray froth. He never loved her. Didn’t recognize her. Doesn’t even remember touching her.

And here’s Delilah again, approaching behind, sharp heels tapping across the floor.

Swiftly, Ivy ducks back behind the ferns before Delilah sees her, hot doubt piercing her guts. Delilah takes her seat with a flourish, long brown legs on show.

Ivy studies them together, squinting with cunning. Kane is fixated on the demon slut, his smoldering eyes dark with intent. The horrid woman laughs, fiddling with one purple spiral curl, and Kane laughs with her.

Ivy’s palms tingle, and hot sparkle remnants fly on her breath. Of course. Delilah is bewitching him, with the very spell Ivy sold her. He didn’t recognize her, because Delilah won’t let him.

Well, two can play at that.
Frustration grips her ribs like a vise, and she gnaws her knuckles bloody on sharp anxious teeth. At least she knows the spell’s working. So she’ll make an even stronger one, thwart that hellcow hussy at her own dirty tricks, and Kane will fall in love with Ivy all over again.

But where to get the spell? Where to get more pretty blue banshee juice?

Ivy giggles, and covers her mouth. That particular toy isn’t dead yet. The pinkjewelly fairy boy was most certain about that. His cute little scheme to trap her depended on it.

Grab her. Hold her tight. Squeeze out that last, strongest bit of magic, the elusive golden spark that makes the banshee’s heart beat and her breath rise and fall. Add lashings of stolen sympathy. A drop of intrigue. A sparkling splash of desire. And then Kane will be Ivy’s.

Simple. But how to lure a tricksy little banshee?

Crafty shadow fingers stroke Ivy’s cheek.
Why, with a snake for bait, of course.

Ivy laughs, tosses silver hair over her slender shoulder, and skips to the elevator, tiny daisies of happiness shedding a flowery trail from her wings.

Delilah pours more wine, and rich scarlet grapescent intoxicates her. “Might I suggest dessert?”

But Kane’s eyes are fixed on her lips. “Suggest whatever you like.”

Her power over him sends a thrill deep into her belly. She anticipated fear, but she’s not afraid. She smiles, triumphant. “Well, we do have a little business to discuss. The matter of that flaying, for example—”

“Never mind that. I was hasty. Forgive me if I’m wary, after . . .” He trails off, reluctant even through the haze of songspell.

“After?” she prompts gently, twirling a saucy finger in her hair.

“Well, you know. Phoebus and I fought. My mother left. I’m alone, you understand. The court accepts me for now, but—” He flashes a charming smile. “I can’t be seen to be weak. To tolerate intruders.” For a moment, his gaze shines hard, so swift, she might have imagined it. And then he smiles again. “That sort of stuff. You do have a way of making me look soft, sweet thing.”

Delilah laughs, secret delight licking her veins. He’s talking like he’s drunk. “Get your hand off it, Kane. You’re a full-blood prince of hell. Far as I can see, you own this town. You’re raking in souls by the thousands. Do you really give a moldy ratfuck what the demon court thinks?”

Kane grins, wickedly seductive. “Not for an instant. Bunch of jealous limpwits. But—” He tapped blue-streaked nails on the table. “—they have their uses. And for now, I must comply.” His eyes glinted angry green. “Play their protocol games. Ask their
permission
. Me. Can you imagine?”

She purses her lips in sympathy. “Oh, I know. Poor baby. Humiliating, isn’t it? But . . . maybe if we could be seen to form some kind of . . . relationship . . . the court might be more impressed?”

Ash coats his nails, and he flicks it off, lazy. Promise glows molten in his eyes. “Tell me more.”

She savors a delicious shiver. “We can play their game, make them think we’re enemies. Lure them in and crush them all when the time is right. Make them bleed, watch them scream, you know the sort of thing. And then, we can rule—” She sucks the strawberry from her champagne between her lips and crunches it, slowly, so he can watch. “—together.”