The last time I’d seen my boots, they’d been covered in hellhound blood, and I’d already begun to mourn the loss of them. They’d served me well, and while I’d planned to attempt to scrub the gore off them, they’d never be the same.
Except, theywere.
I could never call them pristine— they were too old for that. But they looked better than they had on Tuesday morning when I’d pulled them on. Not only were they spotless, but someone had replaced the frayed laces and polished the leather until it gleamed.
I sat on the bed as I pulled them on. I didn’t know quite what to make of the gesture, so I shoved it down to think about it later and gathered up the rest of my weapons.
I slid the knife I’d found at the crime scene into the sheath in my right boot. I wasn’t planning to make myself a target by carrying it around Durham, and the sooner I could hand it off to an expert to analyze it, the better. Ignoring the way my muscles trembled, I strode toward the door, cracking it until I could see down the hall. Empty. I had no idea which floor I was on, so I peeked out the window.
My stomach swam dizzily, reminding me of how much blood I’d lost, and how little food I’d eaten. This was the penthouse. The stairs weren’t an option unless I wanted to be found in a humiliating heap on the floor, and if I attempted to slip into the elevator, Samael would likely be immediately notified. He’d ordered me to stay put.
Without warning, panic climbed up my throat, choking me. I leaned over, heaving, and forced myself to count my breaths. The gold mark taunted me as I fought back the nausea.
I couldn’t stay here. Wouldn’t. This couldn’t be my life. I still had eight days left. Eight days to regain my freedom.
In the wild, animals will chew off their own paws to escape a trap. As I stared at my arm, I understood exactly why.
Unfortunately, even if losing an arm could free me, the mark was just a representation of the bond, and not the bond itself. I blinked back tears, and it was the burning in my eyes that shocked me back to myself. I wasn’t this person. I was just tired. I’d figure this out. I used the palms of my hands to wipe away the wetness and forced myself to focus.
Hello sweet thief,the Mistilteinn Dagger purred in my head and I jumped. The demon blood. Oh shit.
“You’re uh… alive?”
I see all. Occasionally, when I have been fed blood, I do more than see.
That explained a lot. When I’d first found the dagger, it had urged me to feed it. Then, it’d helped me hide from the dragon.
If I’d been terrified before, this fear went soul-deep. Stealing the dagger and waking it up had been one of the worst things I’d ever done. It had burrowed deep into the heart of me, rifled through my memories, and finally decided I was worthy enough to take it from Samael’s horde.
I took a deep breath and blew it out. Then another. If the dagger was already awake, and if it had hidden me once before…
“Can you help me get out of here?”
I remember the witch’s look-away spell.
“You can use it again?”
Feed me.
“No way. I already fed you plenty of hellhound blood the other day.” And even my desperation wouldn’t allow me to feed my blood to something this old and dangerous. Again.
You’re no fun.
I shivered at that. The dagger had been given to Samael centuries ago, and he’d held onto it, with no need to use it… as far as I knew. I had a sinking suspicion that the dagger’s new fondness for modern-day colloquialisms was due to the way it had rifled through my memories six months ago.
Awesome.
“If you help me, we’ll go see a witch,” I cajoled. “Otherwise, we’ll be staying in this boring room until the demon allows us to be free.” And how that thought burned.
Very well.
The dull pop told me the spell had taken effect, and I gathered up the rest of my things and opened the door again.
I walked out into Samael’s huge living room. It was as impeccably decorated as his bedroom, but the living room was done in shades of gray, with a mammoth stone fireplace as the focal point. The U-shaped sectional could comfortably seat at least eighteen people, and the TV was massive. Did Samael have friends up here? Did he spend time watching the game on that sofa?
Four doors led off the living room, but I continued walking until I got to the one that seemed the most likely to lead me to freedom. I cracked the door open and peered out.
A woman was walking down the hall, a tray in her hands, and the scent made my stomach rumble.
