Page 49 of A Match Made in Hell
‘It’ll make you thirst.’ His tone stays bland, but I do not like that word choice.Thirst, not thirsty.
Knowing he won’t elaborate, I take a deep breath, and bring the glass to my lips. Indecision keeps it hovered there, the rim chilling my lower lip. I have no idea what this is going to do to me.
‘You’ll need to resist another drink for three hours,’ Sath adds.
Three hours. It sounds manageable, if it weren’t for the lingering threat of what athirstingWillow might do.
If I want out of here, I haven’t got a choice. I drink it in one.
It tastes like sugar and strawberries, and it’s thick, almost like cough medicine. Despite that, it goes down easily and, immediately, I’m tingling. My fingers buzz like they’re connected to some sort of electric-shock machine, and my legs are weightless, like I could simply float and float forever. I swish the skirt of my dress around. It’s lovely and breezy. Sath should give it a go; he must be hot walking around in tight pants all the time. What if he’s got a tail like Aric’s hidden down there, and it gets crushed? I burst out laughing, beaming at him, because he’s really very pretty, but Sath merely raises an eyebrow and holds his own drink to his mouth.
I want it. I take a step towards him. His eyes flare gold, halting my tracks. ‘This doesn’t have the venom, I’m afraid. You don’t want this one.’
How does he know what I want?
If it tastes the same, I want it. I’m parched already. My throat is empty, my stomach a cavern. Why can’t I have it?
Sath drinks before I can snatch the glass from him. I pout. His gaze flicks to my lower lip, to the way it juts out in protest, beforetaking my arm and portalling us to the balcony on Dionysus’s level.
He keeps his distance as we head towards the entrance and the area grows busier, which is a pity, because walking is proving difficult. My head spins. The cavern’s fuller than usual, packed with bodies, the music barely louder than the buzz of chatter.
‘I’ll find you later,’ he murmurs, fingers brushing my lower back so quickly I might have imagined it. Then he melts into the crowd as though we’re perfect strangers, as though entering at the same time was by chance and not design.
I bite down a smile. I like the idea of him being my secret, the King of Hell who talks to no one but his demons, whose only interaction with the humans is when they need punishing. Not me. I’m special. Unable to contain it any longer, I grin at a nearby demon. It flutters its wings in response. They’re like cobwebs, made of fine silvery strands, and I want to touch them, to strum them like a harp, they’re beautiful –
The moth flies away. Rude. Where did it go? I want it. I want to touch the moth, its wings, they’re pretty, and I’m special, why won’t it let me touch it when I’m Sath’s friend? Maybe that moth should be bowing to me and not him.
I stumble into a pillar.
Fuck.
That drink did a lot more than make me thirsty. I clutch the pillar, dizzy now, the lights in the cavern too bright. My pulse is erratic, and my tongue feels fuzzy. I want another drink. That would be best. I’d feel better after that. One more drink, then another, and another, and then I can touch the moth and –ooh. Another demon prowls past me. Maybe I’ll touch that instead. I can yank on its tail; that would be good fun. It roams out of reach. Everything’s out of reach.
The music is too loud.
I try to focus. Sath watches proceedings from his throne,situated on a dais high above the dance floor. A waterfall of lava streams behind the seat, bathing him in an orange glow. He’s unfairly beautiful. Why have I never noticed before? It’s not like I was unaware he was attractive, but now it’s as though I’ve been seeing him through a misted lens and the drink has stripped away the fog.
It’ll make you thirst.
I knew there was a threat there I didn’t like. I can’t stop staring at him: at the angles of his cheekbones, the fullness of his mouth, at the way he’s neglected to button his shirt properly, revealing an expanse of skin I didn’t need to witness. I swallow. Wanting a second drink suddenly seems the least of my problems. I try to picture him like he is on our game nights: sweatpants, T-shirt. An infuriating smirk on his face because he’s beating me at Scrabble, again.
It doesn’t help. In a room full of people, he’s all I see.
A demon with pale scales approaches him, carrying a tray with more green drinks, and Sath takes two glasses. My eyes widen. One is for me. I know it is. He won’t give me the pink wine so he’ll give me this instead; a lovely treat for lovely Willow. I beam, shoving through the crowd, needing to get to him, get to that drink, my throat is dry, every part of me empty and bare, I need it to be filled, I need –
Sath drinks them both in two gulps.
Bastard.
I can’t work out what’s louder: the drums or my own raging breaths. He took my drink. I’m so thirsty.
And hungry.
Do they have chicken nuggets? I want chicken nuggets. Suddenly nothing is more important, not even ogling Sath. The room is as scattered as my thoughts, a blur of movement bathed in the streaky lights the strobes cast overhead. I need to find a chicken demon. I can cut it apart. Then I can have my chicken.Cluck, cluck, cluck. I raise my hands in the air and spin, round and round like the other humans. We’re all spinning, spinning together, isn’t that lovely –
Except they’re laughing.
They’re loud. Too loud; I don’t like it. I press my hands to my ears. I need them to stop. I need –
