Page 95 of A Match Made in Hell
He gives me a sad smile. ‘Good job we have eternity for me to make it up to you.’
34
Back in Sath’s rooms, I’m gracious enough to let him warm up in the shower before he begins my Devil training. Listening to the water run, I practise summoning fire on my own, and while it comes easily enough, getting it to stop is . . . an issue. The wardrobe smoulders. Scorch marks sizzle on the rug. A clock is knocked from the dresser by a flaming whip that insists on behaving like an out-of-control hosepipe.
I finally manage to snuff them out when Sath emerges from the en-suite wearing a towel slung over his hips, bringing with him the scent of soap and hot water and wet man. Why does freshly wet man smell so good? It’s infuriating, honestly. His damp hair is slicked back, and rivulets of water drip down his chest into the ridges of his abdomen. I swallow, looking away. He’s here to help me, and that’s all. He betrayed me. I refuse to ogle him. Were his shoulders always that broad?
Perhaps sitting on the bed to wait for him was a bad idea. The last time I was here we . . . ‘Put some clothes on,’ I mutter.
He has the audacity to smirk. ‘You look tense.’
‘Of course I’m tense.’ I fold my arms. ‘You dumped all your responsibilities on me and now my mood dictates whether or not hell gets unleashed.’
Any humour on his face dies, like a dandelion stolen by the wind. He appraises me, taking in my face, my defiant posture,and I’ve never seen him so unsure. Either because he doesn’t know what to say to me, or because he knows what hewantsto say, and thinks I’ll throw it in his face.
He’s right to worry. I’m an unstable bomb, ready to go off if handled the wrong way.
Clearly, he thinks he’s capable of defusing me, because when his analysis is over, he pats the far end of the bed. ‘Come here.’
I hesitate before sitting cross-legged in front of where he stands. This brings me eye level with the top of his towel, and the fine trail of hairs leading beneath it. My mouth goes dry. I get an extra strong dose of the smell of soap laced with peppermint as he moves to sit on the bed behind me, legs straddling my hips.
I’m in too much shock that he’s got the nerve to do this, given everything, that I don’t think to stop him until it’s too late. ‘What are you –’
‘Shh.’ Gently, he brushes my hair over my shoulders, draping it over my chest and exposing my back to him. I’m wearing a strappy tank top – honestly, I might never wear a jumper again because I’m too damn hot all the time – and now I’m regretting it. Too much is exposed, and I don’t know what he’s planning, and –
My head empties as he digs both thumbs between my shoulder blades. ‘I told you, you’re too tense.’
‘Sath . . .’ It’s supposed to be a complaint, but it’s closer to a moan. He’s right; Iamtense. And his thumbs are in exactly the right spot, easing away a litany of knots. ‘You shouldn’t.’ He presses a little harder, as if to prove that he absolutelyshould. I grit my teeth to stop unfortunate noises escaping my mouth. Keeping his thumbs where they are, he squeezes my shoulders with his fingers, which has me stifling another gasp. I’m able to force out, ‘You can’t massage me into forgiving you.’
‘Is that what I’m doing?’ I can practically hear the smile in his voice. He leans close enough for the damp from his chest toseep into my skin, cooling the inferno there, and whispers, ‘Is it working?’
I go to elbow him in his rock-hard stomach, but he has my arm in his grip before I get the chance. For fuck’s sake. I’m supposed to be the one with the power now, and he’s still faster than me. I wriggle, but he tugs me back, flush against his chest, his arm banding around my ribcage to stop me escaping. I try my best not to sink into the embrace. Despite everything, despite all the lies he’s told, it’s nice. I’ve been walking a high wire ever since I shoved that heart into my chest, and having Sath here is the first time there’s been a safety net underneath.
As though he senses I’ve settled somewhat, he resumes his ministrations on my shoulders. I rest my head against him, breathing deeply, eyes closing. Asphodel could fall apart tomorrow. Let me have this. Let usbothhave this.
‘Your powers come from Tartarus,’ Sath murmurs. ‘To bring them forward, you have to feel a sin, but only in moderation.’ Into my ear, he adds, ‘What sin are you feeling right now?’
I squirm, practically in his lap now, and he shifts away slightly. Which is annoying. I was comfy. I try to scoot backwards, into what I’ve deemedmyspot, when he digs his thumb, hard, into a new knot, pushing me forward. ‘Willow.’ He says my name like a warning, but I’m too brain-fogged to work out why. He should have been a masseur in a past life. All we need is some essential oils and I’d happily fall asleep on him.
‘You can use the powers simply by thinking an order,’ he goes on. ‘For the order to work, you must remain in control. If the sin takes over, you won’t be able to suppress the flames, or close the link between you and the gates.’
‘You say that like it’s easy.’ I arch my neck to give him better access to a new spot he’s found. ‘Did you walk around not feeling anything?’
His hands pause. ‘I felt everything. Believe me.’
Something about the way he says that has my heart skipping a beat. ‘How do I stop myself getting overwhelmed?’
His fingers resume kneading my skin. ‘You have to think of something else. Something pure.’
Every stroke of his fingers is making me think of things that are definitely impure.
‘Okay.’ I gasp as his touch turns gentle, fingers trailing up and down my arms. If this is supposed to be soothing, it’s having the opposite effect. I shift away. If I catch on fire he’ll see what this is doing to me and I refuse to let that happen. I’m supposed to be mad at him, and all I can think is that we’re alone, on a bed, and he’s touching my bare skin. Forcing my attention to the matter at hand, I ask, ‘If I manage to do that, could I kill the demons?’
Sath sighs. I turn and the sight of his face next to mine sends the thing in my chest into overdrive. Is a part of him fused with me now? I wonder if that would be enough to succeed. His goodness, that he denied for so long, combined with my anger at the demons for taking what was never theirs.
‘I said I’d help you,’ Sath says. ‘And I don’t want to lie to you. But what I’m about to tell you . . . you have to promise to think it through before you do anything.’
My track record with thinking things through is not stellar. Nevertheless, I nod my assent, and his arms tighten around me.
