Scala (23 page)

“You didn't mind me touching you when I introduced you to the Earls.”

“That was before.”

“Before what?”

“Before, well…” I want to say, before I knew you could get my lust demon all riled up simply by standing around making small talk. But I don't. “Look, I don't want my eyes to flash in front of your people.”

“That is an inevitability.” He slides his palms up my arms, and then over to my waist. I contemplate batting his hands away, but decide against it. His touch is very yummy, after all. It doesn't hurt to enjoy it a little bit.

We stand on the ballroom floor, closer now, but not moving. Lincoln's eyes sparkle with held-in laughter. “This is the part where you put your hands on my shoulders and we dance.”

He has a point. Standing on the dance floor like two statues is mighty odd.

“Fine. No funny business.”

“Never.”

I slowly wrap my arms around his neck, and we start to sway to the mellow tune. Without consciously willing it, my fingers play in his silky hair. My body moves even closer to his. Warmth spreads through my veins. The music hits a slow crescendo, and I move nearer until my breasts barely brush his chest. Okay, that's reeeeeeeeeeally nice. Suddenly, touching the bare skin at the Prince's neck isn't enough. Like the day in my room, I can't wait until there's far less clothing between us. As in, none at all. Fire begins to build up behind my eyes.

I quickly pull back, careful to ensure there's at least two inches of airspace between us at all times. Note to self: keep hormones in check.

Lincoln keeps his grip on my waist, his thumbs arcing up and down my belly. “You're doing it again.”

“What?”

“Stopping her.”

I'm so snagged. “Her who?”

“Your lust demon. Ever since the hedgerow maze, you've been holding back. I like her, you know.”

I up the air-space quota between us to four inches. “We shouldn't talk about that here.”

“If you say so.” But he says that in a growly-sexy voice that makes the extra airspace between us totally useless. Grrrrr.

Once again, Octavia and Connor dance up to our side, their faces the definition of ‘up to something'. The Queen scrunches up her features in mock-confusion. “What did you say, my son?”

“I said not a word and you know it, Mother.”

“You didn't?”

“Nope.”

Octavia turns to Connor. “I heard something.”

“I did, too.” Connor loops his arm through Octavia's. “Let's help the kids get started.”

Lincoln sets his palms onto his eyes. “I don't know why I tell you two anything.”

Octavia speeds to the edge of the dance floor and claps her hands in a rapid rhythm. “Everyone! Quiet now.” The crowd instantly turns silent. Octavia gestures to Lincoln. “My son has an important announcement to make.”

The air couldn't have gotten knocked out of me faster if I'd been hit with a choke-slam. With Adair gone, the Rixa betrothal jewels must finally have resurfaced. Happiness percolates through me. Betrothal time, yeah!

Octavia launches into a cute speech about how much she loves her son. I use the opportunity to whisper to Lincoln.

“Found the jewels, did they?”

He leans in close, looking at me out of his left eye. “Maybe.”

“Cool.” I watch Octavia finish up her speech. She's getting misty remembering how the toddler-Lincoln tried skewering the cat with a wooden sword. It gets a big laugh. After that, she asks her son to say a few words.

Lincoln turns to address the crowd. “My people. A few days ago, the Great Scala once again saved all of Antrum and the after-realms. Two times she has triumphed over the King of Hell. She's long ago won my heart.” Lincoln gets down on one knee and holds up a large velvet box that holds a diamond necklace, ring and tiara. “Myla Lewis, the Great Scala, champion of the House of Gurith, Greatest Warrior in Antrum, will you marry me?”

My eyes bead with tears as I meet the his gaze. “Lincoln Vidar Osric Aquilus, High Prince of the House of Rixa, yes, I will marry you.” I scan the audience filled with hundreds of thrax. Sure, I'm the Great Scala and I saved all their sorry hides, but these are demon hunters. Can they really be happy with a quasi-demon as their future Queen?

A long pause follows where I'm sure a bunch of thrax have ran off to boil tar and pluck feathers. At last, one reedy voice starts to chant ‘Scala, Lincoln. Scala, Lincoln'. My face breaks out into a huge grin, all kinds of happy pumping through my body.

More voices join in. Soon, the words ‘Scala, Lincoln, Scala, Lincoln' echo through the entire room. I wag my head in disbelief, the movement sending my gaze to the edge of the dance floor. There I see my parents, Lincoln's parents and the ever-present Walker standing in a neat row, all misty-eyed with joy. I get a little more sniffly myself.

Lincoln gives my hands a squeeze, making me return my attention to him. Rising to his feet, he speaks in a loud voice that carries over the din of his people's chanting. “Therefore, I offer you the mark of our betrothal.” Raising his hands, he sets all the jewels in place. “There.” His voice breaks with emotion. “That's perfect.” Cupping the back of my head, he slowly guides our lips together. The crowd breaks out into a wild cheer.

Once our sweet kiss is over, I whisper softly in his ear.

“No, together's perfect.”

My back presses against the thick mahogany door to my suite in Arx Hall. Lincoln's chest moves against me, pushing me a little too roughly as his mouth grazes up the most sensitive part of my neck. Unholy Hell, that's good. I pant for breath, heat pooling in my veins.

Lincoln's lips brush the shell of my ear. “What to show me your rooms?”

Panic zooms through my nervous system, short-circuiting my brain. I'm sooooo not at peace with the super-special relationship Lincoln has with my inner lust demon. Twice now, Madame du Lust has almost taken over, getting the rest of us into situations we absolutely aren't ready for. And being that Lincoln's my first boyfriend—and as of fifteen minutes ago, fiancée—I don't have a lot of
experience chatting about this stuff. I brainstorm different ways to raise the topic and yet remain cool-looking at the same time. I got nothing.

Eventually, I do what I do best under stress, and say the first thing that comes into my head.

“Shouldn't we go back to the party?”

“No, everyone's drunk or dancing by now. We won't be missed.” Pulling away from me, Lincoln carefully scans my face with his mismatched eyes. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah. Fine. Tired.” Why can I only speak in single syllables? “Night.”

I wrap my fingers around the handle and slip past, quickly closing the door behind me. I really hope I didn't bop Lincoln in the nose, there.

Inside, the room looks the same as when I changed for tonight's Ball of Welcome. Lots of space, lots of bric-a-brac. Now that Clover's gone for the night, it's awfully quiet-slash-creepy in here, too. Not sure I'm psyched to be alone in the same room where I saw Clover turn all demon-eyed. Plus, Lincoln was definitely in for a visit. So why did I slam the door in his face again?

Oh, yeah. My lust demon issues.

Damn, I keep panicking every time she shows up. And now, it's got me hanging out by myself on the night of my own engagement. Smooth, Myla. I kick off one of my stilettos and sigh.

A voice sounds behind me.

“Wait a moment. Weren't we planning a discussion about stilettos?”

I look over my shoulder and dang. The Sultan of Stealth has opened some kind of door hidden in my wall. Lincoln now leans in the doorjamb, wearing his leather pants and a white high-necked shirt.

“Lincoln!” I shift my weight onto my shoe-free foot. “How'd you get in here?”

“I had my things moved in next door. Didn't I mention that?”

“No.” I kick my second shoe aside. “You're a downright Peeping Tom.”

“Only on nights when I get betrothed.”

Crap, we're totally engaged. He's totally hot. And I'm still totally panicking. Ugh.

Lincoln grips his fist behind his back and rocks on his heels. Long minutes tick by while I stare at him, scrunching my toes into the carpet, and feeling awkward as Hell. Every so often, I open my mouth, ready to finally start some kind of conversation. Each time I start to speak, Lincoln looks at me, an expectant gleam in his eyes. After that, I chicken out, close my yap, and go back to scrunching my toes.

This is the pits.

Lincoln scratches his neck with his hand. “I'll leave you to it, then.” Turning on his heel, he starts to leave. The sight snaps me out of whatever communicative funk I've been stuck in.

“Wait.” My hands ball and un-ball with nervous energy. “Here's the thing. It all started when I was twelve.” I stare at him like that will make sense.

Lincoln leans against the doorjamb once again. “Go on.”

“The ghouls sent me to fight in the Arena. The first evil soul came for me and whoa, my wrath demon had to rip loose or I would've died. I've spent years getting to know my battle side. But my lust demon? I didn't even know she existed until I met you.” My face burns with embarrassment. “I can't even imagine how that must sound.”

Wow. Could I be a bigger loser?
This whole experience is so cringe-worthy, it isn't funny.

Lincoln steps closer. “I'm honored. Really.”

I set my betrothal jewels onto a nearby table and try to think of something cool—or at least not humiliating—to say in reply. Nothing comes to mind.

Lincoln takes another cautious step closer, like I'm a wild animal that could bolt any second. “What are you worried about?”

“Honestly, I have zero self control around you. First, I almost tackled you in the hedgerow maze. After that, it happened a second time, the other day in my room. Don't get me wrong; I want to do things with you. Really. But I have no idea what'll happen.” I wince. “My inner lust demon.”

Lincoln's voice is gentle. “It's like I told you before. I'm not worried. I don't think she'll be as crazy as you think. And if she is, I can handle it.”

“I don't know. In my room, you got pretty carried away, too.”

Lincoln's brows lift with surprise. “Did you ever see me lose control?”

“No.”
And I liked that, too.

“Is my experience the problem? Does that upset you somehow?”

“Not at all. It's good that one of us knows what they're doing. You're the first guy I ever…” I search his eyes, but he's doing that unreadable-thing again with his face. Worry rises up inside me. Does he expect me to be experienced, too? “Don't get me wrong. It's not like I don't know anything. I think about stuff a lot, when I'm alone. Well, I think about you, if you know what I mean.” I press my lips together, beyond embarrassed. That was the worst speech about sex and masturbation from someone who's part lust demon, ever.

I straighten my spine. I'm the Great Scala; I can say this. “Here's the thing. I don't want to go too far. But I don't think she feels the same way.”

Lincoln takes another step closer. “Leave her to me. How far do you want to go?”

“Not sex, but, you know, anything up to that.”

“All right.” He offers me a knee-melting smile. “But we don't have to go that far, either. We'll be together for a long time, Myla. I'd like to take things slowly. Is that okay with you?”

I exhale a shaky breath. “Sure.”

Another long pause follows, which I decide to fill with a too-fast laugh. “Why is this so weird all of a sudden?”

“May I make a suggestion?”

“Please.”

“You said that you thought about me when you're alone.”

A blush crawls up my cheek. “Yeah.”

“What do you picture?”

“Us.” I look his way, catch his eyes, and look away again just as quickly. “In the stables.”

“After the Winter Tournament.”

“Yes, when you…” I mime-pinch my fingers like I'm giving a massage.

“Got it. Let's start there.”

“What do you mean?”

“I never did finish that massage. Would you like me to now?”

I nod so fast, I'm shocked I don't get whiplash.
Yes, yes, yes.

Lincoln gestures to his room. “Perhaps we should move in here.”

More fast nodding.

I step past Lincoln and into his room. It's a nice mix of modern and medieval with lots of brown and grey tones, accented by comfy leather chairs. “I like your place.”

“Thank you.” He gestures to the oriental carpet at the floor of his bed. “Why don't you sit here?”

“Right, like I was at the stables.”

“Yes.” He hands me a blanket. “You'll need to cover up again, like you did back then.”

Stripping down in front of Lincoln feels a bit advanced for me. A more intense blush crawls up my cheeks.

He covers his eyes with his hands. “I promise not to peek.”

I quickly slip off my Scala-robes-plus-over-gown combo, and then wrap the blanket around me. I tap his arm. “Okay, you can look now.”

Lincoln opens his eyes, watching me with a coiled interest, like he's sizing up an opponent before a fight. My lust and wrath demons agree; that's a crazy-hot look on his face, right there.

“Excellent. Sit down.” The way he says those last two words—a little bossy and husky—starts my pulse pattering away at double-speed. After making sure my blanket isn't tangled up, I sit down on the oriental carpet, carefully folding my legs beneath me, exactly as I did in the stables so long ago. Excitement pours through my veins.

Lincoln sits directly behind me, the body heat from his chest radiating along my back. He runs his finger along the line of fabric behind my shoulders. “As I recall, you weren't wearing anything from the waist up. This blanket does limit my massage moves.”