Eve leans against the bookshelf behind her, folding her arms across her chest as she stares into the distance on her right. The entire archive is filled with the white, dust-laden shelves and rows of nondescript, black-bound books.
I’ve no idea where to start looking for what I need.
“It eats at me, Ves,” she adds with a quiet, bitter laugh. “But I’m not angry because of—because of thesefeelings… I’m angry because I fear she won’t deliver on her half of our contract while I deliver on mine.”
“She’ll deliver,” I say gently, though I don’t believe the words.
Though it may not be in a way Eve expects.
Eve turns her eyes to me. “What happens if she doesn’t?”
My brows pinch. “What do you mean?”
“What happens if I die before she delivers?” She swings around the table and claims the seat beside me. “Does she still get mysoul?”
I stammer, taken aback by the questions.
I don’t want to answer.
She’s not going to like what I have to say.
“Ves.” She pierces me with her stare.
And I grimace. “Yes,” I answer, reluctantly. “Your soul still belongs to the hells.”
“And what happens to her?”
I swallow hard, bracing myself for the return of Eve’s anger. “Nothing.”
Netharis was the only demon who delivered on all his contracts. He was the only one with the capability to do so.
Eve falls against the back of her chair with a weak yet stunned scoff. Pursing her lips into a tight line, she nods.
“Nothing?” she repeats as if I’d spoken in a language neither of us understand.
Her darkened laughter rings through the archives. Dragging a hand over her face, she heaves a long, long sigh.
“Nothing…” she says again. “It can’t be nothing, Ves.”
I remain silent, fighting to keep my heart from tearing as she settles into the truth of her demonic contract.
“How are you sure she hasn’t already?” I ask, realizing too late it sounds like I’m defending Druka—I’m not.
Eve laughs.
“If she’s unable to communicate with you, how would you know if she’s fulfilled her end?” I ask.
“All of Eldoterra would know,” she shoots back with fire. “There would be headlines across every godsdamned paper on the continent.”
What in the nine hells did Eve ask for?
And what made her think asuccubuscould deliver something so grand?
“I might be able to negotiate your release—”
“I don’t want to be released!” she interjects and her fists find the table once again.
I fail to flinch, used to more severe outbursts.
