“Are you planning for your situation to change?”
“Why, you interested?” I volleyed back before I could stop myself.
“I cannot make two people fall in love.”Not interested then.
Before I could get another word out, he turned his back toward me, picking up the serrated bread knife from my kitchen counter. I made to scramble off the stool, mentally calculating how easy it would be for me to grab Mortimer, who was still mewling at my bedroom door, before making my grand escape.
But just like everything else in life, there wasn’t any immediate need to panic… I don’t think. Because instead of brandishing the weapon at me, he carved a straight line into the palm of his hand before passing the bread cutter to me. Holy shit balls, he doesn’t expect me to do that, does he?With the serrated knife I use to cut bagels?!
I tried to swallow down my rising nausea, turning my gaze away from the knife in a way to still my beating heart. My attempt to calm down fell short as I watched the black, oozing liquid pool in the palm of his hand. It steamed slightly as it hit the very cold air of my apartment (window still wide open for Mort’s coming and goings) before dripping onto my kitchen tiles. If I hadn’t believed he was a demon before,thatwas probably the best indication I was going to get.
He handed me the knife, before motioning toward my hand at the same time I looked down, balking at it. “Oh, you want me to—” I looked to my opposing hand and swallowed down the vomit that had returned with a vengeance, rearing its ugly head and hurling threats my way. I couldn’t do this, could I? It was uncivilised. Barbaric. And quite frankly, downright insane. In fact, all of this was insane. Was I really going to make a deal with a demon?
“Wait,” I stalled, trying to ignore his clenched jaw and the obvious frustration displayed on his face. “What about my soul? What happens to me after—” I made a small circular motion with the knife in my hand, “this.”
He rolled his eyes at me. He actually rolled hisfucking eyes at me as if that were a stupid question. Did he forget the part where the incantation literally stated the cost of this bargain?
In pact, we’ll be tethered, all wishes made whole. In return, I offer everything, everything, and my soul.
God, if I was offering everything and my fucking soul, the least he could do was not be such a fucking asshole about it.
Thallor assessed me once, letting his eyes rake over my bare legs (I hope he didn’t notice the way they goose-bumped under his gaze), moon-printed pyjamas, and partially damp hair. His jaw clenched again, and his eyes darkened slightly when he met my eye before he shook his head and scoffed. I’m not sure what I did to make him hate me this much. I wasn’t the most confident of people but the way he looked at me really spurred on my own intrusive thoughts. “I don’t want your soul.”
Well, that doesn’t fucking hurt. Not even a little bit. No, no, the opinion of a drop-dead gorgeous demon and his lack of interest in my soul (probably a first for him) definitely wasn’t sending me into an internal spiral that I would think about for years to come. But I supposed that from a bargain perspective, I seemed to be getting a lot more out of the situation than he was. So, pushing my doubts and disappointment to the side, I held the knife to my other hand and let out a shaky, incredulous laugh.Yeah, I can’t do this at all.
“Um, can you please do it?” I whispered. This was embarrassing. So utterly and tragically embarrassing. And his gaze upon me, the one that didn’t seem in the least bit shocked about my inability to cut my own hand, did nothing to quell the humiliation I felt bubbling up inside me.
Thallor didn’t move. He didn’t take a step closer to me. He just held out his hand. I motioned to hand him the knife, handle firstfor safety,before he took it and placed it on the kitchen counter behind him. Once again, he settled me with an unimpressed look as he held out his hand again.
“I—what?”
“Come here.”
For a beat, I didn’t move. I just sat staring at him and his outstretched hand, trying to push the fact that I liked him telling me what to do down into that deep part of me where all my other stupid notions went to die. Slipping off the stool, I approached tentatively, taking a few painfully slow steps before the lingering, familiar smell of campfire smoke wafted around me.
“Your hand.”
I was hesitant at first, keeping my shaking hand suspended in the gap between his and my body, before placing it on his outstretched palm. I sucked in a breath, once again feeling the searing heat of his skin. He was hot. So unbelievably hot. But the heat morphed. I could feel it beneath my fingers. Any lingering pain dissipated until the warmth was inviting, tempting almost. I had to do everything in my power not to melt into the touch.
He raised his other hand toward mine, the one that was still trembling slightly. Unlike the hand below mine, his other hand had taken on a form I couldn’t pull my eyes away from. It was large, blackened, and had deep-set claws that almost had my knees crumpling beneath me.What the fuck am I doin?—
He pulled a long, sharp nail across my hand. I hissed, trying to keep the pain I felt from my face, as sanguine liquid seeped from the small open wound. The cut was deep enough to draw blood, but from the looks of it, definitely not deep enough to leave a scar. Maybe I was terrified to look up at him, and maybe I was simply enthralled by the way the blood puddled at the centre of my palm before trickling down my forearm, that I didn’t process him moving before his black, bloodied hand was settled against mine.
For someone who seemed to hate me so much,he moved with a gentleness that seemed so at odds with the rest of him. Other than the prickling sensation that felt oddly cool as it coursed through my body, there was no obvious change to me or him or our surroundings that would have suggested the contract had been made.
“All you have to do is call out my name and I will come.”
“I don’t even have to take you to dinner first?”Jesus, Quincey, you are an adult woman, not an adolescent boy. What has gotten into you?
For a minute, one that felt much closer to ten, we just stood there staring at each other. He didn’t smile, and I suddenly felt painfully aware of how awkward I was being, if that was truly any more possible. Neither of us breathed, finding a strange sense of kinship in an increasingly uncomfortable conversation. Well, that’s what I told myself anyway; I wasn’t actually sure if he even needed to breathe. My heart continued to beat aggressively, and it took a Herculean effort not to laugh awkwardly as a way to break the silence.
Noticing he still clutched my hand, Thallor let go, letting it swing back and collide against my body. “Tell me what it is you wish for so we can be done.”
I grimaced, realising that our conversation was about to take a turn, and not for the better. The truth was, I wasn’t at all sure what I wanted to wish for. I was correct about there being rules, and the likelihood was that wording was probably important too. The last thing I wanted was to make a wish only to have it blow up in my face. Whilst there was little to be found in my previous learnings about demons invoked through rituals of gifting, I was sure there would be some sinister thrown in for good measure. And he may not have wanted my soul but he could just as easily change his mind now that we were bound in some contract.
“Um, I’ll have to think about it. I’m not sure yet,” I said quietly.
“You. Are. Not. Sure.” He spat the words, his eyes turning blood red. A telltale sign, I was coming to realise, that he was more than a little upset. He pulled his hands to the bridge of his nose, took one long pull of breath, and let it go before daring to look at me again.Hello, it’s me, the cause of all your ire.“When will you know?”
