“You are the epitome of brat,” he retorts.
And ooh, boy, do I want to keep bratting. The memory alone of that last punishment is enough to stoke my inner fire. But also, if he was telling the truth about the severity of the skreet problem, we should probably work.
I look around at the massive windows, then back to Rhazan. “Someone might see you.”
He nods. “We’ll start in the back, tie into the runes along the pantry doorway first. There’s only so much magic I can expend before I’ll need to…recharge.”
I arch an eyebrow. “What, are you a Roomba or something?”
He scowls. “I’m not sure what a dance has to do with needing my energy reserves filled.”
“Never mind,” I say, shaking my head. “How do you recharge?”
He leans away from me, throat rolling as he swallows. “We demons all have our ways.”
I stare at him a second longer, waiting for him to fill me in. He doesn’t. I growl and turn for the empty takeout bag, picking up our trash. I grab a bucket of black paint and a brush, then storm past him.
He follows silently, yet his presence is all-consuming. Why won’t he tell me? Why doesn’t he tell me anything? Why am I already so invested in this dude who’s done nothing but spank me and be a menace?
Heat envelops my arm, and he tugs me back, his grip firm but gentle. There’s agony in his pinched brow that makes me wait before unloading on him. I set the paint down and turn to face him.
“Pain,” he says, just above a whisper. “I get my power from pain.”
He holds my gaze and shows me all the shame inside him through his wounded eyes.
“What kind of pain?” I ask.
His jaw hardens and he looks away. “Mainly physical.”
I chew my lip. “Like my spanking.”
His chest glows brighter and his eyes snap to mine. “Yes.”
A shiver travels the length of my body at the thought of him feeding on my pain, growing stronger from it. Maybe this is a sick thought I shouldn’t be having, but I want him to spank me again.
I suppose I’ll have to act out to earn myself a punishment.
“And the things going on in the rooms behind your bar?” I ask.
“Mostly knockout brawls, some other things, no death or torture. All the pain is consensual.”
“And what about your pain? Does it fuel you, too?” I ask, taking a step closer.
He nods and reaches for the waist of his pants. I suck down a breath as he pulls his tucked shirt free and drags it up his abdomen.
Scars.
Everywhere.
They all glow with the same lava-like light from the inside. The crackling marks on his arms and chest feel different to me now. I touch his stomach. His skin is hard and thick under my fingers. He’s like stone around the old wounds, as if his body changed. I skirt the scars because just doing that feels like putting my hand on a hot kettle.
“I’m a monster,” he murmurs.
I look up at him, seeing through this rough façade for the first time. Of course a creature who feeds on pain would be an asshole—it’s his nature. And while I don’t understand the full extent of the rules of his magic, I believe him.
“You’re not,” I say. “There are a lot of people in this world who cause pain because they like to feel superior, because they’re afraid of what they are when they’re noton top.
“Are you afraid of what you’ll be without it?”
