Page 46 of A Dance Macabre

Instead, I reply with a question that has been weighing on me for a lot longer than I care to admit. “Have you ever wondered about the consequences resulting from breaking a divine law? The one which forbids two heirs to marry? Or—” I clear my throat, feeling like I’m crawling out of my skin. “Consummate?”

Aleksandr’s gaze turns wistful, his eyes flitting back to the aquarium. “Yes.”

We don’t have many divine laws, and even a lawless bunch like us would never dare to break them. The consequences would be too dire.

The most infrangible is the vow to never kill a servant of the gods, which would result indamnatio memoriae. Then there’s the vow to never mix our bloodlines and to only marry outside of the ruling families.

We’ve always assumed that the latter included any kind of sexual relationship between us. But the punishment for breaking this law has always been unclear, and I’ve never had any desire to look into it until now.

But ever since the night at Manor with Mercy, I’ve been brazenly toying with the boundaries of this gods-given law, half expecting to be struck dead at any moment.

And yet …

“What do you think would happen?” I gently probe.

Aleksandr’s gaze returns to mine, eyebrows narrowing. A small smile appears on his lips. “Why the sudden interest, Wolfie?”

I don’t bother answering at first, holding his teasing stare instead, my expression flat while my heartbeat doubles in rate behind my bespoke suit. Then I relent and give him a small crumb.

“Crèvecoeur and I have been … playing with fire,” I say slowly, chewing on my words.

He sits a little straighter, a large palm smoothing over his mustache before he speaks again. “I thought you two were feuding behind closed doors?” he says drolly.

I huff out a breath. “I never said otherwise.”

I expect him to press me further—or continue to mock me at the very least—instead, his eyes burn with unanswered questions of his own.

His chuckle slowly dies before turning thoughtful. “We’ve never had co-rulers before.”

My gaze drifts to the three axolotls lazily swimming in the water, then back to Aleksandr. “What are you implying?”

“Have you not wondered how Mercy walked away unscathed from her little coup at the Lottery?” Irritation flashes across his expression as if angered on my behalf and something inside me quiets somewhat. “Maybe the gods have a larger plan for you two …” Then he adds almost hopefully, “For us.”

I tap my index on my thigh while I ponder on what he just said. “Or maybe they’ve grown bored of us, and they’re merely toying with their servants for entertainment,” I reply flippantly followed by a long sigh.

Aleksandr’s phone dings beside him. Picking it up, his eyes begin to glimmer. “It’s Tinny,” he mutters while he reads her text. “Says she’s at Vore with Mercy and Belladonna to celebrate Crèvecoeur’s belated birthday.” His grin turns mischievous when he raises his gaze upwards to meet mine. “In the mood for a little fire?” he asks far too casually.

I pretend the dip I just experienced in my stomach has nothing to do with Mercy’s name. My mind sticks to the mention of her birthday, and I try to wrangle the thought before it sears my brain like a hot iron, but I’m too slow.Why didn’t she tell me it was her birthday?

“Surprised Belladonna would ever step foot in one of your clubs,” I say, avoiding the obvious.

He shrugs before standing up. “It seems like not just our gods are acting out of character lately.” He gives me a small flick of the head while pocketing his phone. “Let’s go.”

Vore is justas busy as always, the scantily clad acrobats faithful to their posts high up on their cushioned swings. I follow Aleksandr through the parting crowd, slightly miffed that he didn’t bother changing out of his tracksuit.

I spot Constantine first, a beacon of pink and sparkles even in this dark lighting, dancing by herself amidst the circle of booths and tables in one of the VIP sections. I don’t bother fighting the burning urge to locate Mercy in the sea of people. I find her sitting a few seats over, chatting with Belladonna.

As Aleksandr and I walk up to the bouncer guarding the area, my throat grows dry at the sight of the skin-tight leather pants she has on, her dagger on display over the leather. Unusual for her but just as striking as her typical dress or skirt, her tits spilling out of her black lace bustier, red painted toes in five-inch stilettos.

Gods help me.

I ignore the crowd in the VIP section, most of them witless and power-hungry upper-class drones hoping to one day marry into the ruling families anyway. My eyes stay on Mercy, her gaze now tracking my movements, flawless face stoic as I sit at an empty table near her. I meticulously endeavor to keep some distance, our seats connecting into one long booth with a vacant table between us.

When a bourbon on ice appears on the table moments later, I break eye contact with Mercy and wrap my hand around the sweating glass just for something to hold, my body thrumming with heightened tension. And if the truth wasn’t so maddening to swallow, I’d admit that the tension was sexual in nature.

I survey the area while I take a slow sip of my drink, the smoky alcohol warming my chest as I swallow it down. Aleksandr has joined Constantine as she continues to dance, now practically using him as a stripper pole. I notice Dizzy, her body half in the shadows on the opposite side of the crowd, kissing a blonde on the neck, her hand up her dress.

The patrons seem particularly uninhibited tonight. Although, I wouldn’t expect anything less at a club like Vore. The establishment is an extension of the god of excess. Aleksandrfinds pleasure in witnessing the perverse and gluttonous needs of others. He instigates it, seeks it, and revels in it. His power is an ironic one. He himself can never be satisfied, whether it be from food or drink, and try as he might, he will never experience the freeing release of inebriation. He is but a humble spectator to the hedonism of his adored god.

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