Lara shut the door behind her with a little more force than she intended, barely keeping the sound from becoming a full-on slam.
Her heart thundered in her chest. She had faced dragons, waded into the thick of battle with fire and steel, but nothing in her considerable experience had prepared her for the living mortification of that moment in Sarisa's bedroom.
Not just the accidental teleport. Not just the sight—gods, the image—of Sarisa, golden and bare and utterly unashamed.
But her own body's humiliating reaction, impossible to hide. The worst part? She'd wanted to look. Still wanted to look, even now, even as shame burned her skin.
Her pants were still painfully tight, the evidence of her desire as obvious as a scar, and every step sent a pulse of heat through her.
Lara was rarely flustered, never one to lose her cool in front of an audience, but she had no wish for that audience to be a small battalion of Celestian guards.
She ducked her head, avoiding the curious stares of two women posted at the end of the hall.
Of course, with the attack only days behind them, there were always guards stationed outside the royal suites—especially Sarisa's, after what had happened at the banquet.
One guard—tall, blond, a little too interested for Lara's liking—looked as if she was about to say something.
Lara didn't give her the chance. She shot past with the long, predatory stride of a woman who had somewhere important to be, anywhere that wasn't here.
As she passed, she felt eyes follow her, whispers beginning to stir, and she just prayed to every hell that no one would comment on her obvious state.
She took the long way toward her own rooms, cutting through the shadowed back halls, weaving around a cart stacked high with fresh linens. Her boots echoed off the marble, heart thumping as if she'd just run a mile.
All she wanted was to disappear, or at least have a cold bath. Or maybe set herself on fire. Either way, anything but another humiliating encounter.
Of course, fate had other plans.
She turned a corner too quickly and collided, full-force, with someone coming the other way.
A solid shoulder met her chest, and for a split second, Lara was certain she'd just bowled over a new recruit—until she caught a familiar whiff of smoke, a presence too commanding to be anything but family.
Malvoria, Demon Queen, stared at her, hands on hips, eyes going from Lara's face to—well, lower—with an expression of delighted wickedness.
"Oh, for fuck's sake, Lara!" Malvoria cackled, not even trying to lower her voice. "You nearly knocked me on my ass. You running from a dragon, or did you just get caught with your pants down?"
Her gaze dropped, her lips curving into an evil smirk. "Oh, wait. Looks like you wish your pants were down. That's some serious wood, sister. Who do I have to thank for this blessed sight? Sarisa finally put out?"
Lara's whole face burned. She tried to cover herself with her hands, but it was pointless—the evidence was clear as day. She glared at Malvoria, but her sister was relentless, and if anything, the laughter just made her want to crawl into a hole.
"Shut up, Mal," she hissed, trying to squeeze past. "Not here. Not now."
Malvoria, far too delighted, blocked her with one arm. "Oh, no, you're not getting out of this so easy. You look like you're about to burst. You want me to get you a cold bucket of water? Or you wanna go find Sarisa and finish what you started?"
Lara grit her teeth. "Mal. Not. Now."
"Come on," Malvoria said, wagging her eyebrows, her voice dropping to a dramatic whisper.
"What happened? Did you walk in on her naked? Did she walk in on you? Did you finally grow a pair and tell her you want her to ride you 'til the guards hear her scream?"
"Malvoria!" Lara nearly choked, looking around to see if any guards were close enough to hear. "Can you just—fuck off for five minutes? Please?"
Malvoria relented, but only a little, leaning against the wall and crossing her arms.
"Fine, fine. Keep your secrets. But I swear, if you don't do something about that before dinner, I'm going to have to start a betting pool with the kitchen staff. You know how long it's been since anyone saw you flustered? You're a legend. A very, very horny legend."
Lara's glare could have scorched earth, but Malvoria just grinned wider, letting her go at last. "If you need tips, let me know. I'm the married one, after all."
"Remind me to thank the gods Elysia is the one with restraint in your marriage," Lara grumbled as she stalked away, not trusting herself to say anything else.
Malvoria's laughter followed her down the corridor, echoing like a taunt. "That's where you're wrong, sis! Elysia's the worst of us—just quieter about it!"
By the time Lara made it to her own suite, she was hot, bothered, and utterly exhausted.
The guards stationed outside her door barely looked up; one gave her a lazy salute, and Lara nodded back with all the dignity she could muster. She slammed the door shut behind her, finally, mercifully alone.
She leaned back against the heavy wood, pressing the heels of her hands to her eyes and willing the image of Sarisa, naked and golden, out of her head. It didn't work, of course.
Her mind conjured up every detail—the long, elegant lines of Sarisa's body, the tumble of moonlight hair, the way her eyes had widened, not with horror, but with surprise and—had there been something else there?
Hunger? Annoyance? The memory didn't help her predicament in the slightest.
"Great," Lara muttered, stalking across the room to throw herself on the bed. "Just great. I'm never living this down."
Except, as she dropped onto the mattress, she realized it wasn't empty.
A shape stirred in the shadows a woman, reclining with the easy confidence of someone who'd been waiting.
Her hair was dark, loose around her shoulders, and her smile was slow and dangerous, a hint of fangs showing in the low light.
Lara tensed, every muscle on alert. "Who—"
The woman shifted, rolling onto her side, the sheets barely covering a body built for sin and secrets. She propped herself on one elbow, appraising Lara with a feline, predatory gaze.
"I wondered how long it would take you to get here," she purred, her voice silky, accented with something foreign, old.
"You demons are always so dramatic. All that fire, all that pride, and not enough time for pleasure."
Lara's hand went automatically to the dagger at her hip, but she realized, with another flush of mortification, that she'd taken it off to sleep the night before. All she had now were her fists and her still-aching desire.
The woman's gaze dipped lower, lingering shamelessly on the bulge in Lara's trousers. She smiled, slow and appreciative. "Well, at least I won't have to work too hard to get your attention."
Lara took a step back, wary. "Who the hell are you, and what are you doing in my room?"