021

Nyxara 

Azrael’s fingers were still slick from me when the scream ripped through the corridor—high, wet, abruptly cut short.

I eased his hand away and stepped forward, silk whispering back into place between my thighs. The scent hit first: fresh blood, hot and coppery, thick enough to taste.

No surprise who stood at the center of the mess.

Vuk cradled his little moon against his chest like she was spun glass, her crimson gown stark against his black. Severed hands lay on the stone behind them, fingers still twitching, blood pooling in perfect crimson arcs across the obsidian floor.

I scoffed, rolling my eyes so hard the torches flickered.

Azrael pressed against my back instantly, lips brushing the curve of my throat in soft, lazy kisses that did nothing to hide the sudden steel in his voice.

“What is it with you and her?” he murmured, breath warm against my skin. “The southern girl.”

“Nothing,” I said, the lie sliding out smooth as infernal whiskey.

He chuckled—low, dangerous—and cupped my jaw, tilting my face to his. His kiss was brutal: teeth sinking into my lower lip until blood bloomed, tongue licking the sting away like he owned the taste.

“You’re lying, princess,” he whispered against my mouth. “I don’t like liars.”

His golden eyes flicked down the hall—Vuk already vanishing around the corner with Maureen clutched tight—then back to me, narrowing.

“Don’t tell me you’re actually starting to—”

“No,” I snapped, sharp enough to cut. “That’s not it. That’s never it.”

He studied me for a long moment, thumb smearing the blood across my lip like war paint.

“Then what is it, Nyx?”

I pulled free of his grip, tail flicking once in irritation, and leaned against the cool stone wall. The blood on the floor was already cooling, steaming faintly in the torchlight.

“She’s weak,” I said finally, voice flat. “Soft. Gentle in all the ways that get you killed here. And yet he burns the world down for her. Chops hands off at his own feast because some drunk lord looked at her wrong.”

I laughed—short, bitter.

“It’s pathetic. She’ll break. Or she’ll get him killed. Either way, the dominion suffers.”

Azrael watched me, arms crossed, runes glowing faintly under his skin like embers under ash.

“That’s not all,” he said quietly. “You’ve watched weaker things die before and never blinked. Why does this one crawl under your skin?”

I opened my mouth to deny it—then closed it.

Because he was right.

I hated that he was right.

Maureen’s face flashed in my mind: wide silver eyes, tear-streaked in the frozen garden, whispering about wanting peace. About feeling safe without feeling trapped.

I knew that look.

I’d worn it once.

When I was small and starving and still stupid enough to beg.

The memory clawed up my throat like bile: three boys circling, broken glass at my throat, the rope burning my neck the next morning.

I’d buried that girl deep.

Dug the grave myself.

And here came this luminous little moon, shining light on places I’d sealed shut decades ago.

“She reminds me of someone,” I admitted, the words tasting like rust. “Someone who didn’t survive.”

Azrael’s expression softened—just a fraction, gone almost before it formed.

“Yourself?”

I didn’t answer.

Didn’t need to.

He stepped closer, crowding me against the wall, one hand braced beside my head.

“You’re not her, Nyx,” he said, voice low. “You never were. You clawed your way up with teeth and lies and blood. That’s why you’re still breathing.”

I met his gaze, violet eyes steady.

“Exactly,” I said. “And she won’t. Not unless someone teaches her how to bite.”

He tilted his head, studying me like a puzzle he’d almost solved.

“And that’s what you want? To teach her?”

I laughed again—genuine this time, sharp enough to draw blood if sound could cut.

“No,” I said. “I want to watch her burn. Or watch her learn. Either way, it’s entertainment.”

But even as the words left my mouth, they tasted like another lie.

Because part of me—some treacherous, buried part—wanted to see her survive.

Wanted to see if gentleness could win after all.

And that terrified me more than any rope ever had.

Azrael leaned in, lips brushing mine—soft now, almost tender.

“You’re a terrible liar when it comes to her,” he whispered. “Careful, princess. Feelings are sharper than claws.”

I shoved him back, tail lashing, and straightened my silk.

“Feelings are for people who can afford them,” I said coolly. “I have work to do.”

He let me go without another word.

I slipped through the shadows toward the elder wing, the scent of blood still clinging to the air like a promise.

Darius would want to hear about this.

The Devil losing control at his own feast—severing limbs in front of half the dominion’s elite.

Perfect ammunition.

And if my report came with a few… embellishments?

Well.

That was just business.

But as I walked, Maureen’s voice echoed in my head—small, broken, hopeful.

I just want peace.

I curled my fingers until claws pricked my palms.

Peace was a fairy tale.

And I’d stopped believing in those the day they hanged me in the snow.

Let the little moon learn that the hard way.

Or let her prove me wrong.

Either way, I’d be watching.

The elder wing stank of excess: infernal whiskey, overripe fruit, and the cloying perfume of too many bodies pressed too close for too long.

Darius’s chambers were exactly as I expected—worse, even. Crimson silk draped every surface like fresh blood, hellfire candles guttering in gold sconces, and the massive window overlooking the snow-swept city framed him perfectly: silver beard gleaming, suit unbuttoned just enough to reveal the soft belly of a wolf who hadn’t shifted in decades.

Two girls knelt at his feet, sheer silks slipping off their shoulders as they fed him chilled grapes. Another poured wine, her hands trembling slightly when she saw me enter. A fourth massaged his neck, fingers slick with scented oil.

He didn’t dismiss them.

He never did when he wanted to remind visitors of his power.

“Nyxara,” he drawled, popping a grape between yellowed teeth. “Sit. Drink. You look like you’ve seen blood.”

I stayed standing.

“I have,” I said coolly. “Quite a lot of it, actually. In the east passage. During the feast.”

His eyes sharpened, the lazy indulgence vanishing like smoke.

“Tell me.”

I leaned against the marble bar, tail curling slow and deliberate.

“Lord Harlan of the eastern ridges—drunk, bold, and stupid—cornered the southern girl in a side corridor. Grabbed her arm. Said something about wondering if the Devil would notice if he sampled the goods.”

I paused, letting the words sink in.

“Before he finished the sentence, Vuk was there. Severed both hands clean off. Dropped them like offal. Carried her away while Harlan screamed on the floor.”

One of the girls gasped softly. Darius silenced her with a look.

The room went very still.

Then Darius laughed—low, greasy, delighted.

“Lost control at his own feast,” he murmured, leaning back, fingers drumming on the arm of his chair. “In front of half the dominion’s elite. Blood on the walls while the violins still played. Beautiful.”

He spat on the floor—thick, deliberate, the glob landing with a wet sound near my boots.

“Dirty southern girl,” he sneered, voice dripping venom. “Unworthy. Unclean. A collared slave one moon ago, now paraded like she’s Luna-blessed. She’s poisoning him. Making him weak. Erratic. Dangerous.”

His gaze snapped to me, cold and calculating.

“You were there?”

“Close enough,” I said. “The screams carried.”

“Good.” He waved a hand, and one of the girls scurried to refill his glass. “Then you’ll get closer. Much closer. Befriend her. Earn her trust. Whisper in her ear. Find out what she wants, what she fears, what she knows. If she’s manipulating him—or if he’s truly lost to this… bond madness.”

I arched a brow.

“You want me to play lady’s companion to the Devil’s mate.”

“I want you to play whatever gets results,” he snapped. “She’s an outsider. Southern filth. No bloodline, no power, no right to stand at his side. The council grows restless. The border lords whisper. If she’s the crack in his armor, we widen it.”

He leaned forward, eyes gleaming with greed.

“Double your f*e,” he said. “Triple, if you deliver something useful. Proof she’s unworthy. Secrets. Weaknesses. Anything we can use when the time comes.”

I tilted my head, letting silence stretch just long enough to remind him I wasn’t one of his kneeling pets.

“And when the time comes for what, exactly?” I asked softly.

Darius smiled—slow, ugly, full of teeth.

“To remind the dominion who truly holds power,” he said. “The Devil rules by fear and flame. But fear fades. Flames die. And when they do… we’ll be ready.”

He spat again, this time closer to my feet.

“Get close to her, Nyxara. Dig deep. And if she breaks…” He shrugged. “Well. The North has always had a taste for fresh meat.”

I pushed off the bar, tail flicking once.

“Consider it done,” I said.

He waved me away like a servant.

As I turned to leave, one of the girls met my eyes—brief, terrified, pleading.

I looked away.

The door hissed shut behind me.