Page 37 of Hell's Secret Omega

I can use that.

Need to stay focused.

But I stillwant?—

The last thought devolves into a maelstrom ofhold-touch-close,threaded with arousal.

The poor little demon is all mixed-up. Yet Mezor can also sense his determination. Cyrus might be good at pretending, but Mezor is not. He does desire Cyrus.I can be your vergis—those words are like brilliant explosions, sweet-tart want on his tongue, running down his throat to whet his appetite. There’s no small measure of guilt in there, too—he owes Cyrus after leaving him to the bond sickness.

He finds his voice before he can think better of it. “A temporary agreement, then. Be my vergis when I’m here, and keep me apprised of Leuther’s plans. Our time together will strengthen the bond. When my work is done our agreement will end—and I’ll tell the King you did everything I asked.”

Cyrus nods shortly. He practically trembles, he’s so taut with emotion. “Good.”

“Are you certain?” Mezor asks, one final out, but he can tell Cyrus won’t take it.

“I can learn to be a good vergis,” Cyrus says defensively. It’s obvious he’s ducking around the question. “I had a book I used to read. It’s where I learned about things like…knotting.”

He looks up through his lashes and Mezor’s gut clenches with want. Oh, that look is sharp as the point of an arrow sliding home between his ribs. But there’s real longing there, too. Whether it’s for the eventual freedom Mezor can offer, relief from the pain of the bond, or even just the touch of a primus to soothe him…it hardly matters. In Cyrus’s dark eyes he sees himself hurtling toward his own doom, and he can’t hold back.

He will make it delightful for Cyrus—teach him to want things he never dreamed of wanting.

“Let me show you something,” Mezor says, standing.

What he aches to do is flip Cyrus over, open those tender thighs dusted with fine silvery hairs and press his nose to the place where that scent is strongest. To reward him for being so clever, preferably with his tongue.

But that would be a disservice to him.

Instead he takes down his robe from its hook and rifles through his chest for something Cyrus can wear that’s not his ridiculous uniform.

“Put this on,” he says, holding up a shirt.

Cyrus frowns. He lifts the shirt over his horns. “Why?”

“Hmm.” It’s too big, of course, but in a rather delicious way. “Decency.”

Cyrus snorts, then falls quiet as he remembers he’s supposed to be playing at being coy and teachable.

Who knows what that book taught him about vergis. If it came from Mount Hythe’s library it was written by angels, andthey have some bizarre notions. After all, they were the ones who built a viewing room for mated pairs to fuck in while their entire upper caste watched. Mezor might be tickled by the idea in the heat of the moment, but even he can see it’s perverse.

He leads Cyrus out of his bedchamber and through the main room. Cyrus keeps his hands linked behind his back, but his eyes fly back and forth, absorbing everything. He’s silent until Mezor opens the door. Then his mouth drops open in real awe and he gasps.

“The grotto.” Mezor shuts the door behind them.

Entering the grotto is always bittersweet. Once his home was an intrinsic part of Hell’s biome. The stream, the vines, the moss underfoot—all connected to the rest of the land by threads of life. But when the realms split open and Mount Hythe fell, bringing corruption spilling into Hell, the grotto was cut off from the rest and preserved under the mountain.

He sometimes wonders if it’s the reason he can’t sleep. He had this place, an uncorrupted gem in the heart of their razed lands. His brothers had nothing. Their homes burned. Their lands died. All the while, Mezor hid like a coward in his cave.

“What…is this?” Cyrus spins. He gapes up at the ceiling far above, where glimmering stalactites drip with water and glowing mosses.

“It’s Hell as it used to be.” He can’t help feeling proud as Cyrus stares with wide-eyed delight.

Cyrus kneels and buries his fingers in the moss. Light flickers under his fingers and he gasps. “It’s like you. All lit up.”

A chuckle escapes Mezor’s lips. “Yes. We’re made of the same stuff.”

“What did you want to show me?” Cyrus asks, his usual wariness falling away.

Mezor has to hold himself back from scooping the little demon into his arms.You don’t need to be taught anythingabout being a vergis, least of all by me. You’re perfect already.He’s going to do himself a lot of harm with this fool’s arrangement.

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