“Riiightttt,” I start, reeling and still trying to figure out how to navigate this insanity. “See what happened was… No...I mean, the thing is...that I am spoken for and not at all for sale,” I finally manage to get out, sounding surprisingly and impressively firmly.
Maybe too firm, I suddenly worry. Perhaps it would have been better to have gone withflattered but not in a position to accept? But it’s not like this is some rando hitting on me in the grocery store or at a darkened bar somewhere. No, firm is definitely the way to go. This is a demon trying to buy me for who knows what purposes, and I should be as clear as possible that it’s not happening. You know, while trying not to get myself killed.
Fucking hell, I am soooo out of my element right now.
I hold my breath, waiting to see if my refusal is going to have repercussions, but nothing happens. Dyad nods once, shoots Muda a look that makes me think this offer might be revisited at some point in the future, and then the High Demon clicks on a wireless mouse a couple times before returning a professional gaze back to me.
“Shame,” he tells me, disappointed.
I swallow down theyou’ll get over itthat tries to crawl off my tongue, and stare at him, refusing to drop my gaze and leave any doubt about where I stand on being purchased.
His black eyes deepen, but I can’t decipher what that means.“In that case then, why don’t you start from the beginning of your encounter with a demon, and we’ll see if your complaint has any merit,” Dyad croons at me, but I don’t miss the hint of a threat in those instructions. “Oh anddotell us everything. We’ll discover it all when we investigate, so save yourself any trouble, butterfly, and be forthright from the beginning.”
Yep, High Demons clearly aren’t a fan of rejection, and judging by the look on this one’s face, I might have just made another enemy.
Perfect, just freakin’ perfect.
14
“He did what?” Rogan bellows, his rage bouncing around the narrow street and causing other pedestrians to look over or scamper away.
I look around, slightly embarrassed, and hold my hands up to Rogan, indicating that he can be pissed but maybe let’s not announce it to the fine residents of Fenella Street, Glasgow.
Fury floats in his green gaze, but he quiets as he tightens his hold around my shoulders. He hasn’t stopped occupying every inch of my space since Muda popped us back into his house and then promptly kicked all of us out when the guys tried to attack him. I don’t blame them though; that demon really could use a lesson or two in manners.
“I told him no, and he didn’t bring it up again, so it’s probably fine,” I tell Rogan and the others, but Rogan’s eyes narrow on me, and if I had to guess, it’s because he just felt the trickle of trepidation that I was trying really damn hard to hide from him.
“I thought I knew about demons and what to expect, but I’m starting to think that we have no idea what we’re involved in right now,” Marx confesses, and I sigh, wishing I didn’t agree with every word he just spoke.
“The crux of my demonic education was to stay the fuck away from them. I’ve never even heard of the Accords,” Elon adds.
“I’ve heard of them,” Prek declares. “I’m sure only because it was part of my first case with the Order, but when I tried to pull up any information on what was in them, I could never find anything other than a file of fully redacted text. I pulled Muda’s information from an Order sergeant’s personal notes. They were scanned into the system from a notebook he kept. They were barely legible, but after staring at them—and a ton of other random documents—trying to piece together information, I saw the name and address sort of just pop out at me.”
“You could have warned us,” Rogan snaps at Prek reprovingly, and I stiffen.
“If I had any idea that there was anything to warn you about, I would have,” Prek barks back, clearly frustrated with all the blame coming his way. “I had no idea the guy was half demon. The titleLinkerwas written next to his name, but I never found any information in the Order’s databases explaining what that meant. The sergeant who wrote the notes is dead. I thought Muda was simply a knowledgeable mancer, not a High Demon Ambassador.”
“It’s fine,” I cut in when Elon opens his mouth probably to argue some more. “It was an honest mistake. Marx is right, none of us have any idea what we’re dealing with, and I think it’s safe to say that’s on purpose. Either way, my complaint is filed. Dyad determined it was valid, and hopefully that means one less threat breathing down our necks.”
Mumbles of agreement sound off around me, and we grow quiet as we walk steadily toward the loading docks of Tesco and the ley line that will whisk us far away from here. The sun has long gone down, and it feels much colder here than I thought it would. It’s the kind of chill that slowly gets its clutches around you, and before you know it, you feel as though you’ll never be warm again. I shiver and Rogan wraps himself around me even more. I appreciate his efforts to make sure that I’m okay, but he’s making it difficult to walk.
I chuckle as we start to trip over each other, and despite how annoyed and angry I can feel that Rogan is, his quiet, warm laughter joins mine.
“Is that it with the demons then? They investigate the demon Jamie was working with, and we’ll never have to deal with it again?” Elon asks as he wraps his light jacket even tighter around himself.
“Muda said there will be a trial and that they may or may not require my attendance,” I tell him, trying not to cringe as I prepare to tell him the rest.
Rogan stops, pulling me to a stop next to him, and bends down until our eyes are even. I take a deep breath, letting his smell wash over me and the feel of his hands ground me.
“What are you not telling me?” he asks evenly, and I close my eyes and pull in a fortifying breath.
“They gave me a mark,” I blurt and then hurry to explain when first confusion and then fury shutter down over Rogan’s face. “They said if I’m required to attend the trial, it will summon me. If not, it will simply disappear. Then I’ll receive word somehow of the outcome of the trial. Although Muda made it seem that the only possible outcome would be the other demon’s death. It appears he broke several laws,” I state, and I look past Rogan’s newly enraged face to find three more sets of outraged stares.
Crap.
“You have a mark. A mark that can be used to summon you anywhere...like a demon?” Rogan demands, his voice eerily calm, and the timbre of it causes goose bumps to rise on my skin and heat to pool low in my belly.
“On the top of my foot,” I concede and watch as Rogan closes his eyes and does his best to calm the storm of rage I feel building through our tether.
