Wicked Ruin (Se7en Sinners Book 3)

  “Holy shit,” I squeak out as we make our way down the hallway. I can already hear music and exuberant voices.

  “Yeah, magic can have jarring physical effects. At least mine does.”

  “Are you nervous?” I’m asking more for myself than him.

  “No. Why should I be?”

  “Irin’s parties can get pretty outrageous.”

  “I know. I’ve been to one.”

  When I whip my head to face him, my eyes wide with shock, Niko merely shrugs. “I’m old.”

  “Does Irin know you’ve been here before?”

  “Of course she does. But it’s not that big of a deal. Every supernatural crosses her path one way or another.”

  I know he speaks the truth. There’s something unsettling about The Watcher that goes far beyond her ancientness. Considering she’s all-seeing, she has the power to put an end to all of the destruction, yet she doesn’t. Why? What’s in it for her?

  “What is she?” I whisper.

  Niko looks around as if the very paint on the walls has ears. “Something very old and very powerful that wasn’t created to be on Earth.”

  There are partygoers just yards away, so I deem it best to file the information away for later, just in case. Irin isn’t a threat to us—not yet anyway. And she’s been more than helpful by taking us in and helping us to prepare for whatever battle awaits us.

  The glitz, the glamour, the overwhelming beauty…it’s all a feast for the eyes. Lilith and Andras have outdone themselves in every way. The ballroom is the visual embodiment of decadence and excess, from the sparkling gold candelabras to the crystal teardrop chandeliers. Even the bubbling drinks in crystal-encrusted champagne flutes look like they’re flecked with gold.

  “Don’t drink that,” Niko notes when he catches me staring after the effervescent liquid.

  I nod, heeding his warning. “Let me guess…the punch.” I know about that all too well. Hell, I still can’t bring myself to use any bathroom other than the one in my room.

  “We’re on the job, and one of those will have you dancing on tables.”

  “Trust me. I’m not touching the stuff.”

  On that note, we sidle up to the bar, manned by three shirtless, damn near pantsless, beautiful men. Their bare torsos are all streaked with gold body paint, and they’re wearing simple black masks to match their tiny trunks. Niko holds up two fingers.

  “Champagne.”

  One of the bartenders nods and within seconds, brings us our drinks.

  “Cheers,” Niko says, tapping his glass against mine.

  “To what?”

  “To living forever.” He smiles, but there’s a certain sadness to it, like he doesn’t quite believe it.

  I sip my champagne and look out into the rapidly growing crowd. The DJ is spinning radio hits for now, but I wouldn’t be surprised if a chart-topping band takes the stage later on tonight. Irin has major pull, plus most entertainers are supernatural in some way or another.

  “Well, E, this is where I leave you. Time to work.” Niko downs his champagne before coming in to gently kiss my hair. “Try to stay out of trouble.”

  “But what fun would that be?” A smooth baritone answers.

  I don’t even notice that he’s beside me, leaning against the bar.

  “What do you want?” I snap at Lucifer, who somehow looks good even in the horned mask. Dammit.

  “Just enjoying the festivities.”

  A member of Irin’s staff sashays by, a tray of hors d’oeuvres hoisted on her hand. Lucifer snags two of something bacon-wrapped. It looks and smells delectable, but I shake my head when he offers the bite from his fingertips.

  “Suit yourself,” he says, popping them into his mouth and devouring every morsel. “You know, you really should eat more, especially with all your training. You’re starting to look a bit thin for my tastes.”

  “I honestly don’t give a shit about your tastes,” I retort.

  “And you honestly aren’t being honest,” he bites right back. “And if I recall, we were in this very home when you cared very much about my tastes. Shall we revisit that fated powder room?”

  “Fuck you.”

  “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  Not able to stomach his vulgar banter and his mocking smile for one second longer, I quickly down what’s left in my flute and set it on the bar. Now I’m regretting not waiting for Legion. Despite the raging violence in the city, the place is getting packed with gyrating dancers and heavy-lidded lovers, and I’m not sure if I’ll be able to find him. Still, I start to walk away.

  “Wait,” Lucifer calls out before I can make it more than two feet. “Stay put.”

  “Why?” I snap, spinning around with a hand on my hip.

  “Because our guests of honor have just arrived.”

  Horror drains the color from my face. The bubbles from the champagne riot in my belly. I feel spiders crawling all over my skin.

  The Seraph are here. Uriel is here.

  Oh, shit. Shit, shit, shit.

  “Calm down,” Lucifer instructs, his voice low. “Walk towards me.”

  I do what he says, trying desperately to school my features and act casual. I doubt it works.

  “You’re all right,” he assures, his voice oddly comforting. “He isn’t here. He sent his cronies.”

  “Who?”

  “Three lesser angels. One Seraph: Raphael.”

  “You can sense them?”

  Lucifer nods, those celestial eyes scanning the crowd. Even with him on high alert, he seems so cool, so nonchalant. “If I leave you here, will you stay?”

  “What? Where are you going?” I don’t even try to hide the panic in my voice. Whatever courage I thought I had before is obviously nonexistent

  Lucifer winks, apparently amused at my discomfort. “Do you want me to stay?”

  I shake my head. Of course, I want him to stay, but there’s no way I’d tell him that.

  Lucifer takes a step closer, until we’re almost touching. The heady scent of deadly belladonna and sex fill my nostrils. “You can say it,” he whispers. “Tell me you want me to stay. Go ahead.”

  I muster what’s left of my waning resolve and turn to look him in the eye. “No.”

  “Say it.”

  “No,” I stubbornly repeat, biting back the quiver in my voice.

  Lucifer snorts out a laugh, and takes a step back. “Enjoy the party, Eden.”

  Then he dissolves into the crowd, leaving me to the wolves lying in wait. However, this time, it’s not the wolves I’m terrified of. It’s the sheep.

  I’m not sure how long I stood at the bar, but I know there was champagne.

  Lots of it.

  I was so nervous, and after a while, the anticipation became harder to bear than the actual anxiety. So I drank.

  I drank until I stopped feeling like I wanted to crawl under a barstool and hide. I drank until I stopped thinking about Lucifer getting under my skin. I drank until I stopped scanning the crowd for Legion, who I hadn’t seen since we parted ways in Irin’s quarters.

  And when Imagine Dragons takes the stage, I decide to dance, despite the niggling feeling that I should stay put.

  But we’re here to blend in, right?

  Well, I’m blending in.

  Everyone is so friendly, overly so. You know how drunk girls at clubs become best friends in the bathroom? It’s like that, but on the dance floor, and soon I’m pretty much pulled into a circle of beautifully buoyant young women wearing colorful masks and gorgeous gowns. We laugh at absolutely nothing, our hips swaying to the beat and singing along. I don’t know what they are—demon, vampire, witch, werewolf—and I don’t really care either. They look normal and they’re nice, which is a welcome reprieve from walking on eggshells all the damn time. Plus it’s a great way for me to gauge if something is amiss. At least that’s what I tell myself.

  A smiling server stops by our group with a tray of sparkling flutes. The girls cheerfully begin to distri
bute them; however, I’m smart enough to turn down the offer.

  “No, thanks,” I say with a polite grin. “I’m only drinking champagne.”

  “Well, then,” one of them replies, a curvy, mocha-skinned beauty wearing a shocking yellow gown with a matching feathered mask. It reminds me of a canary, and the color is stunning against her smooth complexion. “Let’s get the girl a glass of champagne then!”

  It only takes what seems like a minute before we’re obnoxiously toasting to getting laid, having great hair, or whatever else giggling sorority types toast to after several drinks. One thing’s for sure—these girls are definitely not human. Not with the way they’re guzzling the gold-flecked punch. But who am I to judge? I’m not exactly human either.

  “Oh, shit! Did you see that guy looking over here?” one of them exclaims. She’s swathed in all red, her mask also matching her dress. Funny. This one reminds me of a cardinal.

  I follow her line of vision, wondering if she spotted Legion, but I can’t decipher more than a couple hundred grinding, twisting bodies. I shrug and go back to dancing.

  “There he is again!” Cardinal crows.

  The blonde beside her beams, nearly giddy. “I see him! He is soooo freakin’ hot!” She’s wearing a frilly, floor-length frock shaded in blue from head to toe, like a…bluebird?

  “Me too!” Canary chimes in.

  Meanwhile, I don’t see anyone looking in our direction. At least I think I don’t. Maybe they have a keener sense of sight than I do. You know…like hawk-eye vision. And if that’s the case, and they can see what I can’t, I probably shouldn’t be smack dab in the middle of a group of girls in bright colored dresses, singing at the top of my lungs.

  I try to formulate a believable yet polite exit strategy. “Hey, I think I’m going to…”

  “Here he comes!” Cardinal trills, grasping my arm. “He’s looking right at you!”

  I shrug out of her grip, suddenly feeling sober. And terrified. Because the man who maneuvers through the crowd, expression unreadable, is, in fact, looking right at me. And he isn’t Legion, as I had hoped.

  “I have to go,” I insist with a tight smile. I try to back up without making a scene, stepping on toes and colliding with more than a few partygoers.

  The girls try to coax me back, confusion pinching their perfectly arched brows.

  “What’s wrong? Need another drink?”

  “Come back! This is a great song.”

  “Ooooh, I bet he wants to dance with you.”

  No, you squawking sycophant, I want to yell. He does not want to fucking dance with me.

  “I have to go,” I repeat, taking another step back, my eyes still locked on the male swiftly cutting his way through the sea of partyers.

  Why is he looking at me as if he knows who—and what—I am? I’m wearing a mask and I’m veiled. There’s no way he knows, unless…

  Unless he’s stronger than warlock magic. And there are few creatures on Earth that could be.

  A Seraph.

  I stumble back a few more steps; my feet weighted in fear. I have to get out of here. I have to run. But where would I go? And fleeing would be a clear sign that I’m the exact person he’s looking for—and hoping to kill. The bar is several yards away—shit, how did I stray so far? And I don’t spy any of the Se7en or Nikolai. Hell, at this point, I’d settle for Adriel.

  Think, Eden. What do I do?

  I brush by two guys dancing and kissing passionately, their movements nearly pornographic, and use their gyrating bodies as shields. Then I shimmy through a wall of scantily clad dancers with glittering red eyes. Vampires. Luckily, their attention is on their glasses full of thick crimson liquid, too preoccupied with bloodlust to be bothered by my intrusion. I cut right, then left, trying to put as many bodies between me and the ancient archangel as possible. But it seems like the farther I flee, the closer he gets.

  I make it to the bar, only to realize that there’s nowhere else to run. I’m trapped between sweat-slickened bodies on either side, as if some mystical magnetism draws them towards me, locking me in place. I don’t have time to ponder the cause of it; I just need to get the hell out of here.

  And it hits me.

  I shouldn’t. I know it’s a total suicide mission. But desperate times call for desperate measures. And if the veil has somehow slipped, revealing my identity, I’m already dead anyway.

  Eyes narrowed in concentration, jaw clenched, and fists tight at my sides, I fling my consciousness out towards the approaching angel. Even though he’s too close for comfort, he’s still a good distance away. I’ve never tried to infiltrate a mind from this far before, and it takes every bit of my will to stretch that invisible arm towards him, snaking through the writhing bodies separating me from my impending fate. I can feel my mind straining with effort, causing little beads of sweat to dot my forehead and the back of my neck. But I push forward, forming that invisible hand into an arrow spearing straight for the ethereal man. I have no idea what will happen once I pierce through flesh and bone and penetrate his frontal lobe, or even if I’ll be able to get in, but I have to try. Anything to get him away from me.

  I’m so engrossed by the task before me that I don’t even see him in my peripheral vision, moving towards me like a serpent. But the moment his hands cup my face and his mouth covers mine, my mind’s connection stutters and dissipates onto the dance floor. And I can focus on nothing other than his warm lips moving against my own, coaxing them to open and welcome his tongue. He tastes of the way the sun feels on my skin in July. I remember rare and treasured summer trips to Navy Pier in his kiss, the sweet taste of cotton candy while laughing at the very top of the Ferris wheel. I see fireworks behind my shuttered eyelids—sparkling reds and greens and blue streaking across the sky. And I feel a sense of safety and familiarity that makes my lips quiver as they dance with his, so desperate to wrap myself in the comfort of him for just a little longer.

  My gaze is hazy when Lucifer pulls away, but I notice that his eyes crackle and glow just like those fireworks in the memory he gave me. Breath stolen and cheeks hot, I touch my fingertips to my lips and merely stare in awe at the dazzling creature in front of me.

  How? And better yet, why? The questions are sizzling on my tongue, but I can’t speak. I’m afraid if I open my mouth, the drumbeat of my heart will drown out the music that already seems to be muted in this little cocoon for two.

  Lucifer kissed me. And in his kiss, I felt both human and immortal. I felt good and evil. And I felt his…his and his alone.

  I begin to shake my head, dispelling the thought, when I see him, frozen amidst a sea of swaying bodies, his quicksilver stare as bright and blinding as diamonds.

  Legion.

  I look back at Lucifer, who oddly enough, isn’t donning his usual cocky grin. If anything, he looks just as shocked and affected as I feel. And if his surprise is so blatantly obvious, how must my expression read to the man I love?

  Shit. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He wasn’t supposed to see this.

  I have to get to Legion. I have to make him understand that I have no idea why Lucifer would kiss me. I have to tell him that I didn’t want it. And I have to make him believe that I didn’t like it.

  Because I did.

  And even as I stand here, swathed in guilt and shame, I still feel the burn of Lucifer’s kiss, marking itself deep within my skin. Because in those carved memories, I remembered a time when I was just a girl. Hopeless, yet so unremarkably human. And I remembered what it felt like to want. What it felt like to dream.

  And isn’t that just the saddest fucking thing of all?

  I try to step around Lucifer, but he swiftly grasps my arm, halting my retreat.

  “Let me go,” I grit through my teeth.

  He shakes his head. “Not yet. Raphael is still here, but he can’t see you behind my veil.”

  “What?”

  “Yours was slipping. I realized it and moved in as fast as I could.”

 
“And you had to kiss me in order to shield me?”

  Lucifer shrugs, a tiny smile pulling at the corners of his luscious mouth. “I had to make it believable.”

  I roll my eyes and look back to Legion, hoping to convey my irritation at being in Lucifer’s proximity. But I only get a glimpse of his retreating back, stalking through the crowd.

  “Shit,” I spit out.

  Lucifer follows my line a vision, and although Legion is long gone, he successfully guesses the source of my unease. “He’ll understand.”

  “You don’t know that.” There’s panic in my voice.

  “I know that he would do anything to protect you. I was just closer. He should be thanking me.”

  I narrow my glare on Lucifer’s smug face. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

  “If you’re referring to upsetting my brother, actually, no. No, I do not take pleasure in his fury. There are enough catalysts that could potentially set him off. I don’t need him flying off the handle over a kiss.”

  “Then why even do it? If not to get under his skin?”

  Lucifer leans in, his head dipping down towards mine. When he speaks, his gaze flares with violent passion. “Because I wanted to.”

  I don’t know how to respond to his confession, or even if I should, so I just look away. The crowd is still as vibrant as ever, but there are no signs of Raphael. I guess Lucifer’s little trick worked, although I could have done without his particular methods. He’s anything but hard-pressed for intimacy with both women and men flocking at his feet every ten minutes. So what gives? He set me up to be killed by Legion before I was even born. Kissing me was just a game to him, just a way to further prove that he’s a self-absorbed prick who doesn’t care who he hurts.

  “I need to go find Legion,” I say, shrugging out of his touch.

  “I’ll go with you.”

  “Why?” I snap. “To gloat? You already know he saw everything.”

  I sift through the crowd, desperate to put some distance between us, but somehow Lucifer keeps up right beside me, as if the horde of dancers part just for him. Of course, they do.

  “I know, Eden,” he says quietly. I hear him loud and clear, even over the music. “That isn’t what I wanted.”