Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 51407 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 257(@200wpm)___ 206(@250wpm)___ 171(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51407 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 257(@200wpm)___ 206(@250wpm)___ 171(@300wpm)
Rusalka is a good person. Maybe I haven’t known her long enough to make that claim unilaterally, but it’s hard to argue otherwise. In the same situation, my parents and Pastor John wouldn’t have hesitated to accept my sacrifice as their due. Even Ruth wouldn’t question the necessity of it, though it might bring her more sorrow than she’d show to anyone but me. Of course one person sacrificing to benefit the whole is the way to go. Of course we don’t need to worry about that single person. They’re doing the right thing.
I’m so distracted, I can’t even enjoy the rainbow of clothes that showed up in my wardrobe while I was out this morning. I’m nearly certain they’re the same as those options from Azazel’s castle, which raises questions I’m not sure I’m brave enough to ask.
I manage to pull on a pretty deep-red dress with an overlay that floats around me as if by magic and a fitted, shorter sheath bottom layer. Even as I pull my hair up into some semblance of order, I pretend I didn’t pick the dress because it’s red and made me think of Rusalka. I tell myself I don’t care what they think of it.
In short, I lie.
A knock on my door has my heart leaping into my throat. I rush over and throw it open, but my smile fades as I don’t find the person I’m most looking forward to seeing.
Instead, there. are two strangers. One is a few inches taller than me and has dark-brown skin, an athletic body, and flames flickering around their form. Succubus, then. They wear loose black pants that taper to their hooves and an equally loose gray shirt with a daring deep V that leaves most of their chest exposed.
The other is nearly as tall as Rusalka, with a mass of dark curls that seems to move in a wind I don’t feel and skin that’s a patterned combination of medium brown and a color pale enough to be termed literally white. I know what this is called. It takes a moment for the term to come to me—vitiligo. No flames to be seen. Is this an incubus? They have on a flowing set of robes in a deep orange that simultaneously shows off and hides a curvy body depending on how they move.
I realize I’m staring and clear my throat. “Hello.”
“You are a pretty little thing, aren’t you?” The curly-haired one takes a step toward me, but the succubus pulls them back. They give the succubus a pouting look. “I was just being friendly.”
“Save it for the party.” The dark-haired one turns to me and offers their arm. “I’m Danik. This is Zhenya.”
Zhenya jerks a thumb at Danik. “He/him.” They point to themselves. “Ze/zir. Rusalka said you would ask.”
To my shame, I’m already so overwhelmed, I don’t know if I would have remembered to ask.
They’re both beautiful in a way I don’t know how to define. It’s not necessarily the kind of beauty I grew up feeling shame from wanting to strive for—too sharp, too off-kilter—but it draws me all the same. “I’m Belladonna,” I finally manage.
“We know.” Zhenya doesn’t say it unkindly. Ze smiles. “Come play with us, pretty human.”
I set my hand on Danik’s arm in a daze. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“So polite.” Danik’s smile is a little too wicked to be comforting. It makes my whole body go tight. I try to fight the feeling; it feels like a betrayal to Rusalka. From the way his smile widens, he senses my desire the same way Rusalka always seems to.
I’m too overwhelmed to come up with a response as they escort me down the hall to the stairs. This house is larger than any I’ve been in to date, Azazel’s castle excepted. It looks like something out of a movie, all luxurious carpet and deep greens on the walls and brown of the trim. The stairs are wide and curving and take us down to the foyer. There, we turn inward again, and go through yet more halls to a wide set of double doors.
Inside, the air smells of cloves and cinnamon, and it’s several degrees warmer than the rest of the house. There are strangely shaped couches and chairs arranged around the area, and a large chest is tucked in the corner near a wardrobe that’s easily twice the size of the one in my room.
“This will be fun, Belladonna. Don’t worry.” Zhenya drops onto one of the wavy couches, exposing one smooth thigh that morphs into hooves the same deep black that both succubi and incubi seem to have. Ze turns on zir side and props zir head on one hand. “Sit down. Danik will get you a drink.”
“I don’t really drink,” I say faintly. It’s one of those holdovers from the church, even though my reasoning for it now is less sin-related and more because I don’t like feeling out of control.