“That’s not very nice of you, High Priestess,” he admonished her.
“Gods, if I’d known how much trouble you’d be, I never would have sought you out!” Her movements were quick, jerky, as she began to grab as much of the food as she could. “I just need you to spy on Antonin for me. I don’t need youhere.I don’t want you here! Can’t you just do your job and leave me the fuck alone?”
His hackles rose as he watched her gather what food he hadn’t pilfered, her beautiful mask cracked to reveal not just anger, but real panic.
“Petra.”
“I have less than a week before he gets here. I don’t have time for your games. I don’t have time for anything. You think this isfun,but I’m the one living on the edge of a fucking knife. It’s not fun for me!” There was no screeching, but he might have preferred that over her breathless fury.
“I just need you to do your job, not break into my room and eat my food.” She spoke so fast the words began to blur together. A bag of pretzels tumbled from her overflowing arms. A low, wounded animal sound escaped her throat as she made a desperate grab for it.
It was with a great amount of alarm that Silas realized her eyes were glossy.
Suddenly,hewas the panicked one. The animal part of him balked at the sight of her unshed tears and the way she frantically gathered her things, as if she feared he’d snatch them from her at any moment. It disturbed the logical part of him, too, because something about seeing the perfect, regal witch unravel over a packet of candy was… wrong.
Without thinking, Silas’s shadows spread, blanketing the bed and reaching for her. Petra made another animal sound, this one of pure frustration, as she tried to twist out of their reach. More snacks slipped from her grasp.
“Stop it!” she hissed.
Silas discarded his candy in favor of restraining her the good old fashioned way. Instinct compelled him to shed his shadows as he banded his human hands around her upper arms. Touching her skin to skin was like reaching into a beam of scorching sunlight: it burned, but it also feltgood.
His voice was as sharp as a whip’s crack when he commanded, “Calm down.”
Petra’s shoulders rose and fell with the force of her breaths. She wouldn’t look at him but rather curled in on herselfdefensively. Wrappers crinkled where she pinched the packages against her chest.
Speaking in a strangled voice, she said, “You think this is all a game, but it’s not. This is my life, Shade.”
Grasping for some way to get the fun Petra back, he promised her, “I won’t eat any more of your candy.”
Petra let out a watery laugh and twisted, not to get away, but rather to sit on the edge of the mattress. He forced himself to let go of her. Gradually, her arms fell by her sides, allowing the snacks to tumble to the floor.
She braced her palms on her knees and dipped her head. Her eyes closed. “It’s not about the food.”
Silas eyed the packages on the floor warily. “Sure seems like it.”
“That’s—” She cut herself off in favor of taking a deep breath. “I don’t like people touching my stuff, that’s all. I get defensive.”
He could understand that. He usually killed people who touched his things. But there was more to it than that. It was written in the purple smudges under her eyes, the way she braced herself, as if she needed to lock her joints to keep from slumping to the ground.
This was not the woman who stood proudly before worshippers, giving succor and false promises of hope in the light of sunrise. This woman was… brittle.
He didn’t like it at all.
Disquieted, Silas threw his legs over the side of the bed and, careful to avoid the food on the ground, began to stalk around the room. Movement helped clear his head. Demons weren’t supposed to be kept pets, nor city-dwellers. They had too much energy, too much wildness. Even if they didn’t experience the volatility of the rut every year, they would have chafed under the restrictions of city life.
Mostly he did okay. Moving to a new place every few weeks helped. Controlled explosions of violence and lust did, too. His family attributed his tolerance to being half-witch, but he believed it was his unrestricted lifestyle that did it. After all, if he was never controlled by anything more than his own whims, what could a city do to rein him in?
But something about Petra’s little meltdown disturbed the animal in him. It pushed out, clawing for freedom, and made the bedroom seem even smaller and grimmer than it was.
Temper snapping, Silas demanded, “You don’t like me touching your things, but you’re fine with someone watching you sleep?”
Petra rubbed her eyes. She looked tired, her shine worn down by some tarnish he couldn’t see. “That’s different.”
“How?”
“It’s not your problem,” she replied, firmer. Petra opened her eyes to give him a pleading look. “Please, just do your job. I already promised I’d give you what you want.”
A niggling suspicion paused his stalking of the room’s perimeter. Eyes narrowing, Silas asked, “Is the entire cathedral under surveillance?”
