“Not true.”
“You have my soul, not the rest of me. Not my body, mind, spirit, abilities, consent, or free will.”
“Semantics.”
“Do you hear that, Delaney?” Myra asked, obviously at the end of her patience. “Do you hear him? He thinks you’re hisproperty.”
“Yes. He’s wrong. And kind of an ass. But he’s our card to play for Ben. So why don’t you uncuff him and let him do what he promised me he would do.”
She didn’t want to. I could see it in every line of her body. In the tension rolling off of her.
This might be the time I’d finally pushed it too far. Just because I was the oldest and her boss did in no way force Myra to blindly follow my lead or do what I wanted. We were all stubborn, us Reed girls. And for all I knew, she was planning on tying me down, locking me up, and launching a get-Delaney’s-fool-soul back campaign.
She drew her hand from mine. “Will you immediately leave here to find Ben?”
Bathin nodded. “Yes.”
Green.
“Will you bring him immediately back to Ordinary, whole as per the agreement you entered into willingly with Delaney and she, stupidly, entered into willingly with you?”
“Yes.” He wasn’t smiling, wasn’t pouring on the charm. He calmly met her gaze, and if I knew the guy, which I didn’t, I’d guess he was being very serious and very sincere.
Green.
“Will you ever entertain giving Delaney’s soul back to her?”
He didn’t say anything for long enough, I knew the pause was uncomfortable.
“Not even I know the future.”
Green. Not helpful, but truthful. Also, not a flat our refusal. It was something. It was more than I expected at this point, frankly.
“Myra,” I said softly. “Let’s get Ben back. Let’s put this horrible mess to an end before we throw ourselves into a new one.”
She pocketed the seashell, and motioned for Bathin to stand so she could unlock the cuffs.
“Turn,” she ordered.
He did, quiet and complacent. But when her fingers skimmed against the inside of his wrist, I could see the slight shiver that ran through him.
She keyed the cuffs, tugged and latched them back onto her belt loop. She knew better than to stay in arm’s reach, but Bathin was quick.
He turned and for a moment, just a second, they were close, bodies aligned in a dancing stance, waltz, or perhaps the tango, his tall and strong and intense, hers shorter and made of curves and edges of strength.
She looked up at him, her lips parted in a breath that was not fear, was not anger, was not pain.
He looked down, those pale green eyes saying yes to the question in her eyes.
It was a second, less than that.
And then the connection, the draw between them was broken as she stepped back, scowl in place, whatever softness she’d shown gone as if it had never been there.
Bathin stepped back too and tucked both hands in his pockets, as if he were making a conscious effort not to touch her.
No. No, no, no. This demon was not going to touch my sister. Not now, not ever.
“Hey,” I said, too sharply. “That is not happening, hear me? You stay away from my sister.”
