Page 47 of Quiet Burn

Across the room, I spy whathasto be the Bamford Academy contingent. They wear their thrifted finery like battle armor, a variety of funky hats, suits, and dresses with daring colors and chains that scream defiance. There’s a wildness to them, a sense of chaos barely contained beneath threadbare seams. They seem just as irritated as I am about the high society tinge to this party, and I wonder for a moment if I’d be able to relate to these demons better than anyone else in the room.

I won’t have time to find out because their disdain pales compared to the Brimstone Academy elites. These females are a vision of every possible species of demonic beauty, each one more stunning than the last, with their gowns hugging curves that promise both pleasure and peril. They move with a grace that’s almost hypnotic, their laughter tinkling like chimes in the sulfur-tinged air. Just watching them makes my pulse race as I remember the laughter of some of the queen bees from my past.

It would be best if we stay as far from those chicks as possible—both because they make me want to have an episode, but also because they might guess my secret.

“Kit, are you okay?” Slash mutters, his voice grounding me back to the present. His enormous frame is comforting and I draw in a shaky breath before I answer.

“I’m fine,” I lie, swallowing hard as I take in the grandeur and the expectant looks directed our way. Our caliphate’s reputation precedes us, and I can feel the weight of every scrutinizing gaze. “Or… I will be once we land somewhere.”

“Everyone here is mostly bluster and bravado for attention,” Jasper growls from the front, leading us down the steps with an air of entitlement that only true royalty can muster. “You are with some of the most influential demons in this room already.”

“That lot from Bamford isn’t a concern,” Anton adds, nodding towards the scrappy group. “All bark, no bite—they’ve got magical constraint spells when they aren’t on campus. So don’t worry about them trying to cause trouble for you.”

I snort, giving him an amused expression. “They are theleastof my worries, you snob. I’d probably have more in common with them than you guys.”

Slash puts his big hand over mine. “Perhaps, little demon, but we are demons. We are fine with so many things humans are not andthosestudents are the people we feel should be locked up. Consider what their crimes might have been to earn that distinction.”

Okay, that’s probably true, though I suspect some of them simply fell afoul of the wrong rich dude.

“Watch out for the Brimstone girls, though,” Zavida chimes in, his voice smooth and unreadable. “They’ll come for your throat without hesitation—that’s how they’ve been raised. Their goal is to land a well-placed husband and then rule the section of their line with an iron fist. You’re an obstacle.”

“Focus on just breathing, Kit,” Oriel murmurs as he slips his arm through mine, joining Slash in a protective sandwich. His touch is surprisingly comforting, reminding me I’m not alone in this sea of demonic aristocracy. “You’ll be fine if you don’t let all of this trigger panic. Two points of contact, remember?”

“We’ve got you—I promise,” Salem says as he looks over his shoulder at me. “Keep swimming like that silly fish you made me watch, right?”

“Right. And… thank you,” I manage, trying to mimic their confidence as we continue our descent. Inside, my heart isracing, anxiety clawing at my throat with every step we take into the belly of the beast.

Hell may be my new home, but tonight, it feels more foreign than ever.

Lucian’s silhouettematerializes before us with all the subtlety of a thunderclap in a silent chamber. His steaming drink wafts from the golden skull chalice like the smug smoke of his self-satisfaction. I can’t help but roll my eyes at the cliche villainy he exudes, more suited for a cheesy human magic movie than the hallowed halls of Discordia.

Of course, this fuckface would make himself known.

“Ah, our esteemed royal caliphate,” he coos, his voice dripping with insincerity. “Welcome to the festivities.”

The air thickens with tension as my demon compatriots puff up around me, each emitting their own brand of warning—low growls, narrowed eyes, and subtle shifts into half-transformed stances that would make any sensible creature think twice. Lucian merely chuckles, amused by the display, his eyes glinting with malice beneath the ballroom’s elaborate chandeliers. He knows they won’t do anything in this public forum, so their fury feeds his over-inflated ego.

“Delighted to see you too, Headmaster,” I say, cloaking my disdain in courteous venom. “If you’ll excuse us, we have someculinary delights to attend to. I don’t wish to spoil my appetite with unpleasant thoughts associated with classes.”

His fake laughter follows us, but it’s quickly drowned out by the encouraging snickers of my group. They enjoy when I cut people off at the knees, but I’m surprised Jasper gave me the opportunity to handle it on my own. He also likes to assert his dominance with the nasty assholes, but this time, he let me do it.

Weird shit going on at the Circle K tonight.

“Crunkleberry stuff should be right over there,” Oriel points out, his attention momentarily diverted by Jasper’s disapproving glance. “We should get some of your favorites and you’ll feel less edgy.”

“The shrimp doesn’t need Fae Fizz tonight if he’s eating those,” Jasper warns, though X interjects with a dismissive wave.

“Let Kit Kat decide for himself what he wants. We’re here to enjoy ourselves, aren’t we?” the cobra hybrid retorts, shooting me a conspiratorial smirk. “He and I look fabulous, and we should be able to have anything we want.”

I shoot Prince Prickface a defiant glare, feeling pumped up by X’s praise. “Exactly. I’ll eat or drink whatever I damn well please. You’re not my dad; I don’t even have a dad.”

Slash’s laughter rumbles in his chest, and slowly, the rest of guys turn pointed looks at the dragon prince. He sighs, throwing his arms up as he grumbles, “Don’t do anything stupid we have to deal with if you get buzzed, then.”

Well, that’s the end of his goodwill, I guess.

“Come on, little demon. We should get you fed,” Slash says firmly, leading us to the buffet while X, Anton, and Salem splitoff toward the bar. “Oriel, you will come as well. Zavida, stay with our prince.”

The buffet is a hedonistic spread of Hellish delicacies: skewered death bird tenders crackling with flame, bowls of writhing shadow serpent pasta, and succulent slices of beast roast sizzling on heated stones. Desserts are equally extravagant; towers of pomegranate tartlets filled with lava cream, trays of frostbite fudge that chills the skin on contact, and delicate crystalline crunkle and Cantu berry confections shimmering with abyssal sugar. I’m entranced by the variety, my mouth watering at the sight of crunkleberry clusters nestled among the fiery and frozen treats.

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