Page 12 of Garden of Poisoned Delights

“Yes,” Sebastien said again.

Devon stepped back. “What do you want of me?”

Before Sebastien could answer, Sariel began to manifest, pushing out of him in a slide of heavy smoke. Sebastien lost himself in the odd sensation of it, and then Sariel was there between them, shaking his horns and flaring his wings as his red eyes fixed on Devon.

“Beloved,” Sariel said, tail swishing, as something skittered in the dark. “You are not like the others who came here. You will not bleed. You will leave this room with us, for you are ours.”

“Yes,” Devon whispered, and there was a longing in his voice, thick like the agony that once rang off the walls of this strange place. “Is that what you want, Sariel?”

Sariel’s talons clicked on the floor. “It is what you want, Beloved. We will let you have it.”

“Strip for us,” Sebastien said, as he saw what it was his demon wanted, the plan that would shake Devon loose from the tangle of his old life, the mess his brother’s letter had made of him. “My Devon. You are always safe here, even under our knife.”

Devon looked as if he wanted to kneel, and Sebastien felt a low, warm throb of desire as he imagined Devon strung up, shivering under the knife glinting on the table beside the cross. Devon would be afraid, but that wasn’t what Sariel—or Sebastien—wanted from this. Devon would be unraveled, but not undone.

That was what they wanted, all three of them.

When he was naked save his collar, Devon walked over and leaned back against the cross. Sebastien saw how fast he was breathing, the rapid rise and fall of his chest, but his voice was even when he asked, “Do I just stand here, then? Is this how you…did it, with the others?”

“No.” Sebastien shook his head. “There were restraints, before.” He peered at the cross, wondering if Devon would be expected to stand with his arms out. Perhaps Sariel didn’t quite understand that discomfort would render this plan useless.

Sariel hissed slightly. “I will hold Beloved close, Host.” He approached the cross and crawled up the back of it, wings a darker stain against the inky black of the room’s interior, and Devon gave a little yelp and was lifted bodily up off the floor.

Sariel was holding him, one taloned hand resting just above the leather of Devon’s collar, tipping his chin up to bare his throat.

“Dev-on,” Sariel said, another of his talon-tipped claws resting low on Devon’s bare stomach, with smokelike tendrils wrapping around Devon’s limbs to keep him secure. “You are warm for us. Take the knife, Host. Make him feel like before.”

“You are very bossy,” Sebastien said, picking up the knife.

“Yes,” Sariel said, preening, wings flaring and rustling.

Sebastien met Devon’s gaze, and in normal circumstances, they would have smiled at each other. But Devon was still unsettled, so Sebastien merely approached with the knife and let him see it, and he noticed that Devon’s cock was half-hard.

It felt strange, doing this, even if he were only playing at it.

“This is the knife I would use,” he said, showing it to Devon. “I never did understand where it came from, or where it would go when I was finished. I would have made your father scream for you, my flame. If I had him here, I could have made it last for hours. I think Sariel would have done it himself, without the knife.”

“Yes,” Sariel hissed, behind Devon, his talons tracing gentle lines on Devon’s stomach and chest. “I have teeth. They are sharp.”

“Did Sariel ever hold them for the knife like this?” Devon asked, easily showing his throat when Sariel’s talon tapped at his chin again.

“No,” Sebastien answered. “Sariel only came forth at the, ah, end of things, to take the soul.”

“I would give you my soul,” Devon whispered, voice caught, “if you wanted it.”

Sebastien smiled, stepped forward, and gently drew the tip of the knife down Devon’s chest. “You have, Beloved. You are ours, body and soul, are you not? Sariel doesn’t need to swallow your soul, and I don’t need to flay you open and watch you bleed to know that.”

“That’s how I feel after reading that letter,” Devon said, “like one raw, bloody nerve with my heart exposed for the fucking world to see.” Tears fell unchecked, dripping down his chin.

“I imagine so. Do you want him here, then? Your brother,” Sebastien clarified, gently tracing over Devon’s pecs with the knife tip. “I’ll do it for you, if you’d like.”

“No,” Devon said, softly. “I don’t.” He shivered, unable to tilt his head down to watch the knife because of Sariel’s claw at his throat. “If it had been my father, I would have let you. I would have watched.”

Sebastien smiled, and Sariel’s wings flared, and he traced lazy circles on Devon’s chest and stomach with the tip of the knife. He wasn’t sure he believed that, but in the spirit of what they were doing, he could pretend. “We would have let you. And we would have made it last.” That, at least, was the truth. He traced lower, down toward Devon’s cock, which was continuing to thicken as the tip of the knife drew closer.

Devon was breathing too fast, and he twitched when Sebastien ran the flat of the blade over the shaft of his cock. “Be still,” Sebastien murmured, fascinated at the feeling of control it gave him to do this. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Fuck,” Devon whispered, and Sariel made the little clicking noise that meant he was amused.

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