Chapter 909: Feeding the Flames (R-18)

The hotel Hela had chosen occupied a renovated historic building near the Grand Canal, with an entrance far too discreet to betray the luxury inside.

As soon as the two passed through the doors, they were greeted by a spacious, quiet, elegantly lit lobby, completely different from the movement of the streets they had left behind.

Hela slowed down for a few seconds to observe the place, but Vergil walked straight to the reception desk like someone who had already decided he did not intend to waste much time on bureaucracy.

"Good evening. A suite for tonight," Vergil said, resting one hand on the counter.

The receptionist gave the two of them a professional glance and began checking the system.

"Certainly, sir. We still have a few suites available. Would you like—"

"The best one."

Hela slowly turned her face toward him.

The employee also hesitated for a moment before continuing to type.

"We have the presidential suite on the top floor. Panoramic view of the Grand Canal, private terrace, living room, two bathrooms, and—"

"That one."

Hela placed a hand on Vergil’s arm.

"You’re not even going to ask the price?"

Vergil looked at her.

"No."

She let out a laugh through her nose.

"Of course not."

The receptionist admirably maintained her professional composure, although she had clearly realized that this couple did not seem particularly concerned about budget.

After requesting the necessary documents and completing the registration, she placed an electronic key card on the counter.

"The suite is ready. The private elevator is to the right. If you need anything, our reception is available twenty-four hours a day."

"Thank you," Vergil replied, taking the card.

Hela leaned slightly over the counter.

"Anything?"

Vergil immediately grabbed her by the waist and began pulling her away.

"Let’s go."

"I was only asking."

"No, you weren’t."

The receptionist lowered her eyes to hide a smile.

Hela let herself be led toward the elevator while laughing.

"You got embarrassed."

"No."

"You did."

"I’m preventing you from traumatizing the staff."

"I rule the dead, darling. My standard for trauma is considerably different."

"I noticed."

The elevator doors closed, leaving the two of them alone.

Hela immediately abandoned the polite distance she had maintained in the lobby and moved closer, leaning her back against the wall while gripping Vergil by the collar.

"And now?"

Vergil looked at the panel.

"We still have several floors to go."

"That isn’t what I asked."

"I know."

She narrowed her eyes, but a smile appeared soon after.

"You’re doing this on purpose."

"Maybe."

"You spent the whole night teasing me, and now you want to play patient?"

Vergil rested one hand beside her head, moving close enough that his answer came almost like a private provocation.

"You said you were on fire. I’m checking how long it lasts."

Hela tightened her grip on his clothes.

"Keep testing me and you’ll find out in the worst possible way."

"That sounds less threatening than you think."

Before she could answer, the elevator chimed.

The doors opened.

Vergil immediately stepped away and walked out as if nothing had happened.

Hela remained still for one second.

"Bastard."

He looked over his shoulder.

"Are you coming?"

She followed him out with a dangerously amused smile.

The top floor had only two doors, and the presidential suite occupied practically half of it.

Vergil passed the card over the reader and opened the door, allowing Hela to enter first.

She took three steps inside and stopped.

The suite was enormous.

A main living area opened toward large glass windows showing Venice glowing below, with the Grand Canal cutting through the city like a dark ribbon covered in golden reflections.

A terrace occupied much of the exterior side, while inside there were sofas, a dining table, a private bar, and a short staircase leading up toward the bedroom area.

Hela slowly turned as she took everything in.

"Approved."

Vergil closed the door behind him.

"What a relief."

"It would be very embarrassing to have to go back to reception because the room isn’t good enough for the Queen of the Dead."

"You said you weren’t a queen during the date."

"I’m still a queen when it gives me advantages."

Vergil laughed and carefully placed Yamato on a nearby table before removing Mjölnir from his waist.

The hammer vibrated.

"No."

Another vibration.

Vergil pointed at it.

"Don’t even think about it."

Hela looked at Mjölnir.

"What does she want?"

"Probably to stay."

Hela started laughing.

Vergil placed Mjölnir beside Yamato.

The sword immediately vibrated, almost satisfied at having received the privileged position.

"You two stay here."

Mjölnir trembled in protest.

Yamato answered.

Vergil closed his eyes.

"I really need to start establishing rules."

When he turned his attention back to Hela, he realized she had already crossed half the room.

And she was taking off her coat.

Vergil watched.

Hela let the garment fall onto a sofa without any concern and continued toward the bedroom.

Then she loosened one of the accessories holding part of her clothes together and placed it on a table.

"You don’t waste time," Vergil commented.

"I spent hours having a date."

"You make it sound like an ordeal."

"It was wonderful."

She glanced at him over her shoulder.

"But it’s over now."

Vergil crossed his arms.

"Over?"

Hela continued slowly removing accessories from her clothes as she walked.

"We had dinner. We walked around. We went on a ridiculous gondola. You made me eat ice cream, we danced, and you spent half the night flirting with me."

"You stole my ice cream."

"That is not relevant."

"To me it is."

She stopped at the bottom of the steps and turned fully toward him.

"Vergil, I literally told you I wanted to have sex with you before we got here. I don’t understand why you’re surprised."

"I’m not surprised."

"Then why are you standing over there?"

Vergil pointed toward Yamato and Mjölnir.

"I was preventing a diplomatic crisis between weapons."

Hela looked at the two of them.

Yamato vibrated.

Mjölnir answered.

"Fair."

She then brought her hands to another part of her outfit and began loosening it with an almost provocative calm.

Vergil finally started walking toward her.

"Are you planning to scatter your clothes all over the hotel?"

"Yes."

"The staff will have to collect all this tomorrow."

"You’re paying for the presidential suite. I’m sure they’ll survive."

Vergil reached her and gently caught her hands before she could continue.

Hela raised an eyebrow.

"What now?"

"You really are impatient."

"I ruled Helheim for ages. I have enough patience for several lifetimes."

She moved closer.

"I just don’t intend to waste it tonight."

Vergil smiled.

"That was a good answer."

"I know."

Hela wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her forehead against his, no longer joking for several seconds.

"You’re still thinking too much."

"It’s a habit."

"Then stop."

This time, Vergil did not argue.

He pulled her in by the waist and kissed her.

Hela responded immediately, as though she had spent the last several hours waiting for exactly that moment.

The kiss began playfully, still carrying the humor of the evening, but became slower when both of them realized there was no longer any need to rush.

Vergil did not hesitate anymore.

With one smooth, powerful movement, he lifted her into his arms, their mouths still locked together.

The kiss deepened, an act of possession and surrender at the same time, while he crossed the room in long strides.

The air left Hela’s lungs in a rough, satisfied sound when her back touched the soft, cool mattress.

She sank into the bed, her dark hair spreading like spilled ink across the white sheets.

Vergil stood at the edge, his blue eyes moving over her form with an intensity that almost burned.

The layers of Hela’s clothing had come undone along the way, leaving her wrapped only in loose fabric that emphasized the curves of her body.

Her pale skin seemed to glow beneath the faint light coming from the city outside.

She looked defiantly beautiful, a vision of power and deadly invitation.

Vergil climbed onto the bed, positioning himself above her, supported by his knees and one hand.

With the other, he touched her chin, tracing the line of her jaw down to her neck.

"Last chance," he said, his voice lower now, almost a growl. "Are you sure?"

Hela’s eyes, green as drowned forests, locked onto his without a trace of hesitation.

A slow, wicked smile curved her lips.

"Vergil," she whispered, her voice carrying an ancient promise. "If you stop now, I’ll kill you. Then I’ll take you to Helheim and keep you there just for myself."

That was the only confirmation he needed.

He lowered himself.

Not violently, but with a fierce, precise determination that stole the air from Hela’s lungs.

His mouth found the soft flesh of her inner thigh, his lips tracing a burning path toward her center.

When his tongue finally touched the heat and wetness between her legs, Hela arched her back, a deep, guttural moan escaping her throat.

Her hands dug into the sheets, fingers tightening.

Vergil was in no hurry.

He explored, tasted, learned her with the same dedication he used when mastering a sword technique.

Every touch was calculated to draw out a response, every movement of his tongue another strike meant to dismantle the Queen of the Dead piece by piece.

He was relentless, and Hela, caught in his grasp, made no attempt to escape.

Her hips moved against his mouth, instinctively seeking more pressure, more friction, more of him.

Her moans turned into broken words, a mixture of insults and pleas in ancient languages, until she finally cried his name.

"Vergil!"

Her voice was torn apart by pleasure.

He felt the tremor running through her body, the warning of the storm he was provoking.

Then he intensified everything, his hands holding her hips in place while his tongue and lips worked in a cruel, perfect rhythm.

The first wave hit her like an earthquake.

A strangled cry.

Her body arching violently.

Her hands grabbing his hair.

Vergil did not relent, holding her through the convulsion, taking in every tremor, every wave of pleasure he pulled from her.

When the last aftershock finally passed, leaving her breathless and trembling beneath him, Vergil lifted his face.

His chin was wet.

His eyes burned with dark satisfaction.

He moved back up along her body and captured her lips in a fierce kiss, letting her taste herself on him.

Her taste was salty, sweet, and infinitely powerful.

Hela, still catching her breath, looked at him with a mixture of fury and absolute admiration.

"Bastard," she breathed, but her eyes were shining.

Vergil smiled, a rare and genuinely wild expression.

"The night isn’t over yet," he said, his hands finding the last remnants of her clothing and tearing them away with one decisive movement. "And you said you were on fire. I’m only feeding the flames."