“If I touch it now, it will . . . alert those I wish to keep in the dark. I don’t want to draw any attention until I possess the entire Horn of Hades.”

“Wrath didn’t care about the Horn before. Why can’t I ask for his help?”

Envy gave me an odd look. “Wrath will never be the hero in your story. He’s carved from something other. In fact, he might be the biggest liar of us all.” I scoffed, which only seemed to delight him. “If you don’t believe me, then ask Wrath about the final soul he has to collect. The one that will grant him freedom from the underworld, regardless of the curse.”

I stared at the smug demon prince. I’d say it was a lie, but deep down I suspected it wasn’t. I knew Wrath had his own agenda, and this felt like the final piece I’d been missing. But a soul? I shook my head. He’d saved me when I’d been attacked by the Viperidae. If this was true, he could have bargained with me then. Or maybe . . . maybe he hadn’t told me because he’d wanted to use it to his advantage when the time was right. I exhaled. I was getting paranoid.

“You’re lying.”

“Am I? I thought you knew better. Why do you think he, the mighty demon of war, cares about safely escorting a witch to the underworld?”

“Because he wants to break the devil’s curse.” As I said it, I heard the doubt creeping in.

“I have a secret, pet.” Envy leaned across the table, his poisonous gaze alight with triumph. “Once he has collected his final soul, the curse won’t matter to him. He will have full power, and the ability to walk this realm freely without an anchor. He can either choose to stay in the Seven Circles and rule his royal House, or he can roam the earth until the end of days. Choice is powerful. And we princes do love our power.” He offered me a slow, vicious grin. “You didn’t think that deep down he could be redeemed, did you?”

Forty

A prince of Hell’s greatest pleasure is causing discord. Before an attack, his irises turn darker than a starless night with flecks of red, a sign of his wicked bloodlust. Do not engage them in battle; you will never win.

—Notes from the di Carlo grimoire

The tall, arched door clicked shut behind me. It hardly made a sound, but Wrath emerged from the darkness of the abandoned palace, his face half-hidden in shadow. He’d discarded the serpent jacket, and his dark shirt was unbuttoned and rumpled. Much like his hair.

I thought about running my fingers through it, and my heartbeat quickened. I didn’t want to believe Envy. Wrath had been there for me, even when he said he wouldn’t be. And yet . . .

“Are you hurt? You look . . .” his voice trailed off as I slowly walked over to where he stood. He didn’t move, hardly seemed to breathe as I backed him up against the wall, his shirt bunched in my grasp. His golden eyes latched on to mine, burning. I wondered if he sensed my emotions. If they somehow affected his, too. I held him captive there, caging his body with my own.

He could break from my grasp at any moment. But he didn’t.

I eased my grip from his shirt, and slowly splayed my hands over his chest instead. He looked down into my face, his expression wary but intense. Having all of his attention directed at me was intoxicating.

“I want to trust you,” I said quietly, holding his stare. His heart thudded solidly beneath my touch. “Why don’t you tell me what you really want? Let me in.”

His gaze fell to my mouth before he tore it away a breath later. I didn’t think the flash of desire I saw was fake. I knew the emotion it stirred within me wasn’t, either.

I’d always imagined he’d dutifully take an enemy to bed if it meant he’d gain something from it. Now I wasn’t sure that’s how he felt at all. There was a charge steadily building between us. And Wrath seemed poised to let it detonate. Because he wanted to. Maybe I did, too.

I moved a hand inside his shirt, keeping close contact with his skin. His pounding heart betrayed the response he was desperately trying to hide. My hand inched lower. The heat of him, the solidness . . . suddenly, I wanted this to be real.

One second I was standing there, and the next my mouth was on his, punishing, hard. It was damnation and salvation wrapped into one. I wanted to kiss him until I stopped being angry and terrified. Until I stopped thinking about my family being held against their will. Until the demonic world melted away, and all I had left was this one moment of pure oblivion.

Wrath was still for a beat before he met my lips with equal hunger. His hands slid down to my hips, anchoring me in place. It wasn’t nearly close enough. I pressed myself against him. He was gentle at first, then I swept my tongue into his mouth and he came undone.

He kissed me back hard, then his teeth were against my throat—in the exact spot he’d flicked his tongue over the night he’d used that spell to bring me back from the edge of death. I hadn’t been sure it had actually happened, now I knew it had. For one startling moment, I imagined him ripping out my throat. The fear quickly passed and was replaced by pure desire.

I gasped from the unexpected sensation. I swore I felt the strange heat from that first encounter simmering beneath my skin now. I wanted him to devour me.

Or maybe I wished to devour him.

I hated how good he felt. How right. I’d kissed boys before—drunkenly and on dares. Chaste kisses and passionate kisses, but none that were like this. Powerful. Savage. Sweet.

A reckoning awoke in me. The more I gave, the more he returned. We traded kisses like blows. And if this were a fight, I wouldn’t know who was winning. I understood why some thought kissing one of the Wicked was addictive. Each time his tongue touched mine, it felt as if the ground beneath me quaked. Like we were a cataclysmic event that shouldn’t be.

It only made me kiss him harder, faster. I tugged at his shirt, wanting it off. I wanted nothing between us. Buttons hit the ground as I yanked at the material. I dragged my fingers down the ridges of his hard stomach. His hands on my body felt like magic. It was more intense, more seductive than any spell. Somehow, we were now up against a column. I don’t remember moving. Maybe because all I could concentrate on was the way he was currently moving against me, hoisting me up. I wanted to rip off the rest of his clothes and see what else he could do. Discover what other feelings he could awaken in me. His hand slid down to my calf, then trailed up slowly, pulling my skirts with it. He didn’t stop, and I didn’t want him to.

I tipped my head back, giving him access to my throat again as he paused with his hand on my thigh. I leaned in to his touch, wanting him so badly I was almost driven to madness. Somehow I kept my hand on his chest, and pulled away from kissing him long enough to ask, “Was Envy lying when he said you need to deliver one more soul to gain your freedom?”

He startled away, but not before I got my answer in the form of a singular, thrashing beat of his heart. Understanding dawned before he shuttered his expression, and moved out from my reach. Anger filled the space around us, burning brighter and more furious than our passion.

“What is this, witch? Have you lowered yourself to kissing someone you hate after all?”

I stared at him, unblinking. It was true. I couldn’t manage anything besides a slight shake of my head. My eyes stung with unshed tears. Envy hadn’t lied—Wrath was after a soul. The realization hit me like a physical blow. I’d felt foolish when I discovered I’d accidentally betrothed us, but this?

I was going to be sick.

Wrath’s anger seemed to dissipate when he noticed the look on my face. He stepped forward, hand outstretched, stopping only when I shook my head again. He let his arm drop. “Emilia, I—”

“Don’t.”

He seemed ready to argue, but listened. Long seconds passed. I concentrated on steadying my breaths, letting my feelings untangle themselves. I was angry with him, but I was furious with myself more. I realized I’d wanted to trust Wrath. More than I’d even admitted to myself.

Even though I knew better, I wanted him to be the shining prince of this nightmare. I’d fallen under his spell and while there were times I loathed him, I’d also started to enjoy his company.

He distracted me from the pain of losing my sister, gave me something to focus on. He was someone I could jab and who’d jab right back. And now . . . it was like Lust reemerged and wrenched every last drop of happiness from me again. Only this time, there was only me to blame. I’d let him in. And I should have known better.

“Emilia.”

“I can’t. . . .”

Wrath curled his hand at his side.

“Envy whispers in your ear and every action I’ve taken is wiped off your imaginary tally. Tell me, Emilia, what has he done for you? Aside from trying to carve out your heart. What honorable thing did he do to deserve your trust? Spill the blood of those you love? Maybe you like threats. Maybe I should make some of my own.”

The ground seemed to rumble with the force of his anger.

He’d wanted me to study my enemies closely, and I’d done just that.

“Tell me it’s not true, then,” I said, surprised when my voice came out hard, and not pleading. “That Envy was lying, that you don’t need to collect one more soul to gain your freedom. Tell me part of the reason you accepted this mission wasn’t to use a witch for your benefit. Better yet, tell me you haven’t considered using my soul. Can you do that, or does our summoning bond make it impossible because it’s a lie?”

For once, Wrath didn’t seem to have an answer. He looked ready to lay waste to the rest of the crumbling palace. I was surprised when he didn’t.

“Envy is many things,” I said, my voice low. “Despicable. Selfish. Conniving. But he doesn’t hide those things. He told me what you were really after. He told me what he wanted, and what he would do if I didn’t listen. He’s made terrible threats, acted on them, but he never deceived me or pretended to be anything other than what he is.”

And there it was.

Despair crashed into me, hard. Wrath had lied. Maybe not outright, but he’d lied through omission. Which was still lying. I wanted to strike out at him, to make him hurt the same way I did. Instead, I turned and started walking away.