Flushing, I turned away. That was not a thought I wanted to complete. I wiped at the chocolate sticking to the corner of my lips.
“What did you call me?”
“Hellion. Because that’s what you are. A problem, an annoyance, an irritating menace. Someone who doesn’t know how to dress herself appropriately before meeting the King of Hell.” His muscles coiled beneath his shirt, flickers of shadows wrapping around his crossed arms.
“Should I be in a gown with full skirts and some gloves? Do I need to go find my corset and bonnet, General?”
His expression narrowed. “Of course not. The king provided you with modern-day clothes. You’re not a soul from the 1700s, so why would you suggest something so foolish?”
I licked my lips and stood. Rune immediately came to my side, letting me rest against her, which I both hated and appreciated. Hated, because the general noticed and glared—as if I were unworthy of touching his Soulhound. But newsflash: he left her with me.
“Didn’t know the King of Hell employed such an asshole as a general,” I stated. The shadows that eclipsed his eyes gave me great pleasure, right before succumbing to dread.
What was I doing?
Aspen needed him.
But why did he have to act like this? What did I ever do to him?
“Fine. Wearthat.”
The way he said it made it sound like I wore rags. But I only wore these clothes to cover my torture—not that the high and mighty general would ever understand. I didn’t need his damned unsolicited opinion.
Before tears of frustration could destroy the carefully crafted glare I had going, he raised a hand and positioned his fingers like he was about to snap at me. Like I was a disobedient Soulhound needing to listen to her master.
“I’mnota dog.So much as move those fingers together, and I will risk passing out on this carpet in favor of smothering you in ice,General.”
He dropped his hand, and the shadows left his eyes. “Fine. But your father is waiting.”
“And my mother?”
General Ronen stilled. “Your father can tell you about your mother.”
I moved closer to him with Rune’s help. “What does that mean?”
He took in my leaning posture and scowled at the space where my body touched his Soulhound.
“I’m not going to damage Rune. Now what the hell do you mean?”
Needles prickled my hands, signaling my wayward Glory. Now was not the time for this, or the sudden squeezing pressure in my lungs that I had yet to deal with.
General Ronen stared at me, silent.
“Tell me!”
Why wasn’t he answering? Did Oliver leave something out? Was she dead?
Oh shit, I couldn’t breathe—I couldn’t?—
I let go of Rune, afraid I’d burst into flames and burn her, and sank to the floor, clutching at my chest. General Ronen followed me, watching with a look that was part confusion, part reluctant concern.
I heaved on the floor, hunched over my knees. He reached out to touch me, his hands swallowed in shadows once again. I flinched. He dropped his hands, looking down at them like he’d just realized the shadows were there.
“What’s wrong?”
“She’s having a panic attack,” Oliver said from behind him.
I didn’t even hear the door open.
