Throne of the Fallen

ENVY SPLIT HIS focus between the annoyed woman striding ahead of him—now sans his overcoat, as she’d promptly tossed it in his face—and the secret, arched tunnel.

When he’d been informed at dinner tonight that Camilla’s father was a bit eccentric, he hadn’t gotten the impression he’d been the sort to build secret art studios and subterranean tunnels, filled with doors that seemingly led nowhere.

Yet there they were, walking through a hidden passage that connected one side of the block to the other. He could have sworn he’d sensed a ward outside, too. One that gently encouraged passersby to move on, not to be interested in the house of riddles.

It explained why Envy’s spies wouldn’t have known about the studio. They would have simply gone by it, focused instead on Camilla’s town house, never the wiser.

It was an impressive feat for a mortal. One Envy imagined was due to the time the man had spent on the mysterious Silverthorne Lane.

Thankfully the old man had had gas lanterns installed at even intervals, ensuring that the space was well lit and easily passable.

Not that Envy needed the light to see. It was something Lord Antonius had clearly done for his daughter’s benefit.

An odd charge filled the air that had nothing to do with Camilla’s darkening mood or the way his gaze kept sliding to her torn bodice and the tantalizing lingerie that peeked out with each of her movements.

The design of the lace was beautiful, and he’d almost convinced himself that that was why he kept being drawn to it. Envy appreciated art, and the material was finely crafted.

Surely it didn’t have anything to do with the woman wearing the lovely garment, or the flashes of her smooth, golden skin under the black lace.

Camilla was a walking contradiction—he sensed that she was surprised by her attraction to him earlier, yet she also wanted to throttle him.

It would make an interesting combination in the bedroom.

The artist stopped near the middle of the passage and spun to face him, silver eyes flashing like blades in the dark.

A wiser male would take it for the warning it was.

But Envy preferred walking the knife’s edge of danger.

“Well?” Camilla’s voice was as frosty as the look she leveled at him. “What business is so important that it cannot wait until morning?”

No one would ever accuse her of not being passionate.

“I need you to begin work on the Hexed Throne immediately.”

She stared at him as if he’d lost his mind.

“No.”

“Why are so you opposed?” For the first time that evening, he felt genuine frustration bubbling up. And then it hit him. “Has anyone else asked you to paint a hexed object?”

She gave him an exasperated look. “We’ve been over this, Lord Synton. I’m not painting a hexed object. For you or anyone. Why on earth would you think I’d changed my mind?”

“I did you a favor tonight. I expect one in return.”

“I see.” Camilla’s tone was suddenly clipped. “How foolish of me to think you were simply being a decent human. Thank you for showing me who you truly are, my lord.”

If she knew who Envy truly was, she’d run away screaming and never look back.

In his experience, women like Camilla denied wanting romance, only to end up offering their hearts for bastards like him to eventually break. Lust was so often confused with love.

Envy gave her a slow, cruel smile that made her take an uneasy step away from him.

He was not good, and he was not mortal.

The sooner she realized that, the better it would be for her. If Camilla was sunshine, he was the darkest of nights. And if she wasn’t careful, his shadows would snuff out her light, if only for the fleeting chance to possess her warmth before destroying it.

Love was not for him, but he did rather enjoy one night of lust.

“I warned you. I’m no saint, Miss Antonius.”

He closed the distance between them, caging her between himself and the wall.

“Nor am I a gentleman. I didn’t help you out of the goodness of my heart. You have a rare talent—one that I am willing to pay an extraordinary amount of coin for.”

Anger flashed across her features, and she lifted her chin to meet his gaze.

“Find. Someone. Else.”

“No.”

“You want the painting. Why? Why must it be of that?”

“I desire it for my private gallery,” he lied. “Your talent is well known.”

Sensing the spike in her nerves—and desire—at his proximity, he brought his mouth to her ear. Seduction, he reminded himself, was the path to his second attempt. He needed her to want him badly enough to give in to her desires.

When he spoke, his lips whispered across her smooth skin, the touch barely there but potent in its effect. She shivered in his arms.

“Therefore, I want you. And only you.”

He shifted to see her face.

At first glance, Camilla gave no indication of being affected by their nearness; her expression was cool indifference; but then her gaze betrayed her by falling to his mouth.

He knew what she would see—lovers had always praised the fullness of his bottom lip, the crooked arc to his devilish grin that would free the dimples in his cheeks if he chose to show them off.

But he didn’t expect his own reaction. The heat in her look awakened something in him, something possessive.

Her breaths were coming faster, shorter, her pulse visibly pounding in her throat.

Camilla wanted him.

And he, in turn, now knew her secret, that this little minx desired the demon, excited by all the wickedly tempting things he would make her feel.

“Name your price, Miss Antonius.”

Envy dropped one hand to tuck her loose curls behind her ear, easing his body between her legs, forcing her thighs to spread as he pressed closer.

Her breath hitched as his knee settled at the junction of her body, anticipation thickening the air between them.

Camilla’s tongue darted out to wet her lips.

Earlier thoughts of that tantalizing mouth and all the carnal ideas it had inspired returned with a vengeance. He hardened and saw the exact moment Camilla felt it.

She shivered against the cool stone wall at her back.

“I think I know what you’d like in return.” His hand ghosted down her silhouette, coming to rest on her hip. “Shall I fuck you against this wall?”

Her desire for him flared as he gripped her harder, bunching her silken skirts between his fingers, igniting his own need. His mouth hovered against the skin of her cheek; his focus narrowed to each point of contact between them. Camilla’s chest heaved against his, teasing him with its uneven rhythm.

“First with my fingers, then my cock.”

His body strained to feel hers, soft where he was hard. In this battle of seduction, he was slowly winning. He felt her resolve dissipating, felt her slowly arch into his touch.

“Surely there’s some arrangement we can come to?”

Camilla’s desire evaporated at once.

In its place, he was hit by the familiar prickling of anger.

She shoved at his chest and Envy stepped back, giving her space, surprised at how immediately he felt his own sense of loss.

“There will be no arrangement of any sort between us, my lord. I’d sooner make a deal with the king of demons himself.”

Irrational jealousy barreled through him at the thought of Camilla striking a deal with his brother Wrath, but he bit the iciness of his sin back.

“That can happily be arranged. Shall we leave for his residence now? Once you’re good and sated, perhaps you’ll be more agreeable.”

A low, soft laugh escaped her lips, the sound sending a bolt of awareness through him, one he did not care for as he found his gaze ensnared by her.

“Go home, Lord Synton.”

Camilla grabbed the hem of her skirts and marched down the tunnel toward her house, leaving him where he still stood.

“I’ve had quite of enough of your charms for one night,” she called back over her shoulder.

And yet he could not say the same regarding her.

Envy would do well to remember that Miss Antonius—with her pretty smile, soft curves, and lilting laugh—was not for him, though as her words replayed in his mind, his sin ignited once again. I’d sooner make a deal with the king of demons himself.

Like hell she would.

Camilla was his until the game ended, and he was not known to share.