Moon Daughter Rituals should be observed during each full moon. To release that which no longer serves you, you’ll need a pale blue candle, bowl of water, pen, paper, and a handful of sage to burn.
—Notes from the di Carlo grimoire
It started innocently, like Pleasure took human form and dragged a cool finger down my spine, tracing little circles over my flushed skin. I lifted my arms and arched into the sensation. Happiness, pure, radiant, and all-consuming, filled me.
If I’d been angry a moment before, standing high up on the cliffs, it was a forgotten memory the second I walked across the sand. If I’d been worried about invading demons, I no longer could recall why. Now all I knew was bliss.
I was so preoccupied with happiness, I just wanted to dance; sway my hips and feel another body moving in time with mine. Rhythmic, joyful, unfettered. As if my desire summoned a dance partner, invisible hands roved across my bodice, down my sides, gripped my bottom.
I gasped. I didn’t slap my bold partner. They’d given me what I wanted the second the thought entered my mind. And I liked it.
Music and laughter drummed all around. The beat was life. Enticing. It called to my most primal witch instincts. I moved without thought, giving myself over completely to nature and my senses. I spun away from my invisible dance partner, and my skirts and hair flew around.
The serpent and root dress I’d slipped on earlier reminded me of the wilderness—I tossed my head back and soaked up the dying rays of the sun. Maybe I’d left my body and was a cloud. It felt so good to just be free, to move and forget. Here, near the crackling fire and invisible dancing people, I didn’t think about murders, or curses, or creatures of the underworld, and the devil’s horns.
I didn’t think about stolen amulets and diaries.
Dancing, down here on the beach, I only knew peace and joy and pleasure. I didn’t need to worry about anything. I could stay here, drifting from one good sensation to the next, forever. He was coming for me. My king. My damnation. I don’t know how I knew, but I did.
Balance. Light and dark. The sun and moon. Good and evil. A snake winding through a bed of wildflowers. Offering a taste of the most forbidden fruit. Scales of justice were tipped; a choice hanging there for me to decide. To right a wrong, or damn us all.
A tiny voice screamed in warning, this was all terribly wrong, but was silenced as music and movement swept around me, through me. Whispers grew louder, more frantic. I shoved them aside.
I must have kicked off my sandals, my soles slipped over warm sand, and I was overcome with the sensation of it. Everything felt so good. So intense. Like all my pleasure receptors had been spelled a hundred times their normal rate. I didn’t know I was capable of so much feeling.
I wriggled my toes, laughing as grains of sand slipped between them, tickling and teasing. Someone handed me a glass of wine and I drank deeply. It tasted sweet, strong. Apples dipped in honey and blessed by the stars. It was one of the most delicious things I’d ever had. Vittoria would have loved it. I gulped more—maybe to forget, maybe because I wanted it.
Then my glass was gone and I was pulled into another dance.
I wanted to stay here for eternity, lost to these good feelings. And it felt like I had. Here I didn’t have to feel grief. I didn’t have to mourn. Here I could simply live.
Minutes passed, maybe hours or days; time had no meaning. I moved and swayed, closed my eyes and listened to the enchanting sounds of the water, the murmurs of voices that belonged to people I couldn’t see. Those invisible hands from earlier became bold explorers, mapping the uncharted territory that was my body. They slid down, lower . . .
“Remember.” A strange voice whispered to me. “Inferus sicut superus.”
As above, so below. There was a memory buried there, skirting the outside of my mind.
Something piercing in my arm, cold and sharp, jolted me from my trance. My eyes flew open. Fear reached icy tendrils out to me again, but just as quickly as it happened, it was gone. Replaced with pleasure. Rapture. Complete and total freedom from all thought. I liked it there, deep in a cocoon of oblivion.
Then I saw him.
He cut through the crowded beach like a blade, his anger setting the peaceful joy ablaze. My invisible dance partner vanished, but I hardly noticed. There was a much more interesting creature stalking closer. The most terrifying and feral. Vaguely, I felt I should run in the other direction. That he was a carnivorous beast and I was a lamb, stumbling ever closer to danger. Amidst a group of shadowy figures, he burned brightly—the only form that wasn’t hidden.
I thought about fire, about plumes of smoke and flames licking the air. Which made me think about dragging my tongue over him, seeing if he was as hot as the energy steaming off him. Drums beat. My heart pounded. I wanted to experience pleasure on all levels.
I wanted a spell to bottle this feeling and sip from it whenever I desired.
Magic was life and life was made by making love and feeling good and our bodies constantly tried to remind us to live. I’d spent the last several weeks consumed by death and destruction—I needed balance. I deserved it. As above, so below.
He stopped before me, his expression wary. “Time to go, witch.”
Hardly. I twirled away, but he grabbed my hand, spinning me back until I crashed against his body. Heat poured off him, enveloped me. I had the strangest feeling I should hate it. “Hello, demon. Let’s dance.”
“You need to get out of here. Immediately.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re tearing your clothes off and looking at me like mine are next.”
I glanced down and laughed in surprise. I was trying to undo the stays of my bodice, but he thwarted my efforts. His tattooed hand covered mine. I looked up at him, my brow crinkled. “Don’t you want to see me naked?”
“I have.”
“And?”
“If you still want to rip your clothes off when we get home, we can discuss it then.”
A blast of ice on my arm doused flames of desire. Then they were back with a vengeance. I gave up trying to remove my dress and focused on him. I went for the button on his trousers, and he deftly moved back. He was a difficult creature. I placed my hands on his chest and dragged them down instead. Power thrummed beneath my touch. Responded to me. It was intoxicating.
“For the living embodiment of sin, you aren’t very sinful.”
I tugged him close. Drums beat. Passion stirred. He closed his eyes. I pressed closer, and he didn’t stop me this time. The music grew sultry. I swayed automatically against him. I wanted him to swing me up into his arms, and dance us across the sky.
The stubborn demon didn’t move.
“Why won’t you touch me?” I ran my thumb across the seam of his lips and he gently bit down, holding my finger in place. If he meant it as a deterrent, it wasn’t working. He opened his eyes and I was struck by the beauty of them. “Is it because I’m a witch?”
He trailed big hands down my arms. I leaned in, waiting for him to crush his lips against mine. In the far reaches of my mind, I recalled him saying one day I’d beg him to kiss me. That I’d love it or loathe it, but still crave it. He hadn’t been wrong. I hated him . . . for denying me. The anticipation was building to a point that was almost painful. When he finally dragged his hands to my wrists, instead of pulling me closer, he gently pushed me back, holding me at arm’s length.
“There are many reasons. One of which is because you’re under my brother’s influence.” He glanced over my shoulder, his expression forbidding. “Lust.”
Intrigued, I slowly turned. Desire scorched every last sentient thought I had. The Prince of Lust was golden skinned, dark haired, and had a body Michelangelo probably used as inspiration for his sculptures. I didn’t just want him, I needed him. I craved his attention as much as I longed for his touch.
“Hello, Signorina di Carlo. You’re absolutely delicious, aren’t you?”
His voice was unearthly. Pleasure mixed with pain. I was enraptured and terrified. Ice prickled my arm. The same insistent feeling that kept haunting me. It dulled my emotions long enough for me to fully grasp the horror of what was happening. What he was doing.
Lust was using his influence on me. And it was worse than Envy by far. He made me feel so good, so happy, I forgot who I was. What I wanted. And what I hated above all. Or maybe I didn’t entirely forget my hatred, but I certainly didn’t care. Passionate flames razed my conscious thought, and I was once again gripped by pure animalistic need. I had a lust for life, for fun, for . . .
The demon prince circled me. He wore an unbuttoned, silver suit jacket—without a shirt—and matching trousers that hung so low on his hips, I could die. A circlet of flames sat on his head. His eyes were charcoal. Penetrating. In them I saw a bottomless pool of desire. I wanted to tear off my clothes and dive in.
I started moving toward him, but someone grabbed me around the waist. I stopped trying to escape, focusing instead on the warmth behind me. The solid frame. The power. I’d almost forgotten how much I wanted him.
Lust must have sensed my shifting emotions. He looked from me to his brother, his expression indescribable. He started speaking, but I was distracted by too many sensations. His voice, the warm breeze, the scent of Wrath, and the friction of his strong arms as he held me in place. Lust kept talking. My mind tried to focus on his words, not the shape of his lips.
He stepped close to where we stood. Wrath’s arms were bands of steel around me. “Do you know what that means, witch?” I drew my brows together. His smile was crafted of beautiful nightmares. “Go, dance. Enjoy the party. This is a practice round before the Feast of the Wolf.”
A familiar scent wafted toward me, beckoning. Lavender and white sage. Vittoria! She was here . . . if I left to go dancing I’d find—
Stop, the same voice whispered in the back of my head. It was a trick. Vittoria was dead.
“No.”
I was as startled by my refusal as Lust was. His expression turned from desire to fury.
He snapped his fingers and his influence over me vanished. My knees buckled. If Wrath wasn’t holding me, I would have fallen. All the happiness and bliss I’d felt were ripped away, leaving me hollow and trembling. Terror coursed through me. What he’d done . . . the things I’d felt. I wanted to claw my skin off. Or maybe I wanted to sink my nails into him, the creature who’d violated my emotions. Who made me forget and want things I should fear. The wine I’d had suddenly made a reappearance; I bent over, hurling everything up. Wrath didn’t let go.
“Why are you here?” Wrath’s voice was quiet, low. A chill slid down my spine.
“To deliver a message, dear brother. You’re needed at home. Immediately.” His gaze cut to me. “Don’t worry. I’ll watch over your little friend. I have much to tell her. Stories of demons and witches. Villains and heroes. Curses and a king’s vengeance.”
“No.” My fingers dug into Wrath’s forearm. “P-please.”
I don’t know if it was the way my voice broke, or if he’d been waiting for an opportunity for his own reasons, but one second Wrath had me in his arms, and the next I was behind him and his blade was buried deep in Lust’s chest. Bones crunched. He twisted the dagger up, dark blood poured from the wound.
“Don’t come back here again. I’ll go home when I’m ready.” He yanked the dagger out, wiped it across his pants. And waited. “See you in Hell, brother.”
I wasn’t sure what disturbed me more—the cold indifference on Wrath’s face as he watched his brother die, or the brutal efficiency of the attack.
I knew he was dangerous, but seeing it . . .
Lust coughed, glanced down at his mortal wound. And was suddenly gone. As in, vanished completely from sight, like he’d never been here.
I collapsed on the beach, staring at the space the demonic prince once occupied. Tears streamed down my face. I heaved again and Wrath watched impassively. After I stopped retching, he knelt beside me. I couldn’t bring myself to look him in the eye. “Is he dead?”
“No. Being struck with a House blade only severs ties to this realm. He’s back in the kingdom, and won’t be able to use his powers for a while.”
A small blessing amidst the curse. “Good.”
Wrath handed me a cloth to wipe my face. I don’t know where he pulled it from, and I didn’t care. “Lust takes the pleasant emotions you have and inflates them. You might experience a void now. Picture it like a well—his influence rapidly depletes the supply. Where you were once blissfully happy, you’ll feel a sharp contrast. It is a hell in its own way. Giving someone ultimate pleasure, only to rip it from them before they fully grasp it. Done often enough, it drives mortals mad. You should be all right soon enough, though.”
“He wouldn’t have . . .” I fisted my hands at my side. “Made me . . .”
Wrath shook his head. “No.”
“But I felt—there were invisible hands.” I also didn’t forget how hard I’d been trying to take my clothes off in front of Wrath. Or how much I’d wanted him to touch me.
“Manifestations of your desire. They were a part of you, not anyone or anything else.”
There was little comfort in that. Lust might not have violated me physically, but the emotional manipulation was equally bad. He’d twisted goodness until it was cloaked in evil. Wrath was right. It did feel like I’d crashed—like I’d been soaring, and the wind abruptly stopped and I was plunged into the frigid sea depths below. A vast abyss of nothing swallowed me.
I wanted to curl up on the ground, and sleep for eternity. I didn’t care about the curse. Or the nagging feeling I’d learned something important. I no longer worried about my sister’s murder. Or vengeance. Nothing mattered anymore.
I must have said that last part out loud.
Wrath reached over and lightly brushed blood-smeared knuckles against the side of my neck. The exact place I thought he’d kissed me the night he’d saved me from the Viperidae. I shivered and he dropped his hand.
“Valeas.” Be strong. “It will again soon.”
