“Number fifty-five,” she muttered, but her words turned into a yelp as the bars hummed and disappeared. Suddenly leaning on nothing, she crashed through the open air into the cell.
Frantically, she scrambled upright, shoving backward, but theformerly motionless creature had pinned her in one silent bound, its long curved black nails scoring into her throat and yellow eyes trailing over her.
Off to the side, there was sizzling as Grim shook the bars and cursed. The demon held her gaze, leaving her frozen and terrified as its rancid breath billowed out over her face. Inside her mind, she screamed at herself to grab her dagger, but her arms wouldn’t move. Nothing would move.I’m paralyzed. Fear claimed her, her gaze still stuck on yellow eyes. She was going to die here.
All at once everything went dark as a soot-drenched sky.
There was a sharp slice down her throat as the creature was ripped away, her head lolling now that nothing held it in place. A terrible wet sound squelched too close to her ear, bones crunching as it slammed into the cell. Unable to move, she watched the demon slide down the wall, motionless as its blood splattered out around it.
White button-down speckled in gore, Aidan didn’t waste a second glance at the disposed-of creature. He shoved his hands beneath her body, stopping only to reopen the cell and the enormous barred iron gate. Still paralyzed, she stared at his bloodied face. His normally bright blue eyes burned darkly, and his pale face was chiseled into an unreadable mask.
Once outside of the cave, Aidan stopped his heavy, purposeful walk, and traveled them both into the infirmary. Her body buzzed uncomfortably, pins and needles poking her as sensation returned. Setting her on a clean table, Aidan held her upright.
“Can you sit?” Voice gruff and angry, his eyes blazed as he waited for her to answer.
She forced a nod.Fuck. He was incredibly pissed this time. Walking over to a sink, Aidan rolled his sleeves even higher and roughly scrubbed his skin clean. He returned, carrying small white cotton pads and a liquid solution. Aidan soaked a cotton pad before meticulously cleaning the gouges the creature had left behind. Thumb on the base of her neck, the rest of his fingers held her firmly, guiding her movements as he searchedfor any other wounds. Silently, she allowed him to hover, her heart rate slowing to normal as he examined her. Relenting, he pulled back, squeezing her shoulders as he stared into her brown eyes, emotions flitting through his.
Drawing away, he backed into the table opposite the one she sat on, leaning against it with his hands pressed to its edge. Wordlessly, he shook his head, looking off and away from her.
“Aidan,” she tried, but he waved a hand, his brow creased and mouth drawn.
Unbuttoning his bloodied shirt, he removed it, casting it aside on the table before folding his arms. The blood had soaked through to his undershirt, but he didn’t seem to notice.
“What happened with the fates?” She blurted out the words anxiously, but she didn’t wait for him to answer. “You’re right, okay? We do need to tell each other what’s going on, and I don’t blame you for not telling me everything immediately. Or at least, I get that you didn’t at first, but I think we’re past the point where that’s going to work. You need to tell me everything. The fates, the ledgers, all of it.”
Aidan nodded, but he didn’t look pleased about it. “Are you well enough to go out?”
Perplexed, her voice lifted in question. “Yes?” The paralysis had quickly worn off, leaving her fine though shaken up.
His shoulders turned inward as he put his hands in his pockets. “Then clean up and meet me at the front door.”
Elysia had never bathed so fastin her life. Scrubbed clean with wet, wavy hair, she beat him to the foyer. She’d thrown on the first thing she could find, and now the longer she stood there waiting, the more concerned she became that the dress had been the wrong choice over the functional trousers and sweaters she’d been wearing lately. Burgundy silk crisscrossed and draped her upper body, flowing out into fluttering sleeves andgentling around her legs. It was the kind of dress she would have worn dancing in Kava—not that she’d ever gone, though she’d wanted to. She’d always been envious of the people spilling out of Shakes, the dance hall Remy and Daphne had talked about countless times. Topp had said he’d rather stab himself than get caught there.
Mind made up, she twisted to run off to her room and change, and plowed straight into a hard chest. No longer covered in a demon’s blood, Aidan’s scarred hands wrapped her shoulders, steadying her. Usually, he looked caught between being the death realm’s most attractive accountant and the guy you didn’t want to show up and collect.
Tonight, he looked like the god of the dead.
He’d traded his usual attire for all black. Black shirt, black vest, black jacket and trousers. Hair damp and slicked back, his blue eyes were full of swirling fire ready to consume anything in his path.
Given she was directly in said path, she swallowed, stepping delicately out of his grasp. Smoothing her hands over the silk, she avoided his eyes. “Sorry, was just going to go change.”
He spun her back around, grabbing their wool coats and tossing her hers. “Why would you do that?”
Before she could say anything else, they were out the door and his hand was on her lower back, guiding her in the direction of the village.
“Where are we going?”
“Remember when you crashed into my throne room—were literally dying, and then promptly went out and got wasted?”
Her gaze slid to his. “Yes.” She made the word as caustic as possible, but his mouth curved anyway.
“I thought you might like to go again with someone who actually knows what the potions do.”
For a brief moment, she was excited at the prospect of having a drink and being out like a normal person, and then she remembered he was probably ready to murder her. Anxiety slowed hersteps, and she glanced back at the diminishing figure of the house, considering making a run for it. She exhaled a chilly cloud—she didn’t really want to run, she wanted answers. He might be angry, but she was too.
“Can I pick yours? Your drink, that is.”
His steps faltered. “I had one in mind, but I’ll let you be the judge.”
