“Place it here, Holga,” Belial urged, gesturing to the bedside table.
She moved, setting the tray down. With a wave of her hand, she produced a bottle of wine and set it next to the tray.
Holga offered a shallow bow. “Is there anything else I can do for you, sir?”
“Yes, there is. Fetch Cecil for me,” he said, making Holga stop short again.
“T-the librarian?” she asked, clearly surprised. As was I. There were plenty of books on the shelves by the fireplace if he wanted to read. What could Belial possibly want with a librarian?
“Yes. Go now.”
I stood by silently, arms wrapped tightly around myself as I watched the interaction between them. I noticed everything, from the way she spoke to him to the way she bowed.
The witch was nervous.
Belial’s position as the ferryman was obviously one of importance, and I don’t know why that turned me on so much.
Holga threw me another glance that had nerves eating at me from the inside out before turning to leave.
“Let’s eat by the fire,” Belial said when we were alone, shoving to his feet. He grabbed the tray, along with the wine bottle, and jerked his horns toward the sitting area.
I followed his lead, crawling up on one end of the couch as he set the food on the low coffee table. He removed the tray cover to reveal a small feast of food, along with two plates and a pair of silver goblets.
My mouth watered, my stomach twisting painfully with hunger. It was a small feast for two. I reached for a plate but he scolded me. “I told you, already. You’re not to lift a finger.”
“I broke that rule when I stabbed you,” I said, eyeing him carefully as he loaded my plate with meat, fruit, bread, and a delicious looking plum tart.
“Yes,” he said with a purring chuckle. “You’re lucky I liked that. But no more rule breaks.”
I nodded as he handed me my plate, a sob hitching in my chest. After suffering for two days in the maze with nothing but a scrap of bread and a few plums to eat, I’d never felt so relieved or spoiled.
Or wanted.
A wave of guilt washed over me, threatening to rob me of my appetite.
Belial was going out of his way to help me, and something as simple as a meal could be what killed him. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if that happened.
He turned to hand me a goblet full of red wine, the look in his eyes pulling me from my troubled thoughts.
“Drink,” he urged, taking a seat next to me.
I almost wished he’d tell me to chug the bottle instead. It would be nice to lose myself in the alcohol. Too drunk for me to fight the demon as he took his payment for the food and wine.
That rough, possessive side of him made sense to me. Even if it was nerve-wracking in the way he was helping me discover new things about myself.
I wasn’t sure. I didn’t know how to handle tender Belial.
The metal was cool against my lips and the wine burned a little on the way down. It was stronger, more bitter, than the last one I’d tasted, but the sight of the bottle on the table sent my thoughts careening out of control all the same.
Jesus Christ. I couldn’t go a minute without thinking about the things I wanted this demon to do to me. I needed a distraction, and I decided to bring up the first thing my eyes landed on—the bookshelves.
“Do you read a lot?” I asked, popping a grape into my mouth. Tart juice spilled across my tongue as I bit into it.
“Not much anymore,” he said. “Though, I’ve read these particular books so many times I’ve memorized their words.”
“What about the library?” I asked. “Have you read all the books in there too?”
I looked up to see him grinning through his mask.
