The doors creaked open a fraction, iron dragging against stone, and a wave of nerves rolled through me. This was it. Bastien took my hand, the one that was holding tight to his dagger, and kissed the inside of my wrist. His breath cool against my raging pulse.
“Remember what I said.”
His gaze shifted to the dagger still clutched in my grip. I swallowed and nodded. “I will.”
Lovingly, he set his hand on my cheek. “You are fire.”
I turned into his palm and kissed it. “You are mine.”
He lingered for a moment longer, our eyes holding, before his attention shifted to Gorrath. “Take care of her for me.”
A stunned breath left me. He was going to leave me with the demon?
Gorrath smirked. “I’ll take care of herfor me.”
“That dagger works just as well on demons as it does on werewolves.” Then Bastien raced off through the crowd. Chastity bristled and followed after him. Once he was gone, Gorrath offered me his hand. I stared at it, unsure what to think. Ten minutes ago, everything was different. Now I wasn’t sure if he was my ally or my enemy.
“Let me show you that you’remorethan just fire.” He tipped his chin toward a narrow stone balcony overlooking the entrance hall. “Come on. It’s time to learn how your magickreallyworks.”
Gorrath wasn’t proposing to protect me. He was offering toteachme. Which was something I wanted. If I could help at all, and not distract Bastien, then that’s what I was going to do.
Bastien had his teeth and his strength and his sword. And I had this.
Gingerly, I set my hand in his. And as soon as our skin touched, power flared inside of me.
Chapter 33
Interlude
GORRATH
Werewolves and white-haired witches poured through the doors. By Damien’s hairy dick, there were more of them than I anticipated.
Claire looks over the balcony ledge, watching with her hands wrapped around that dagger.
“So how do I help them?” she asks. “How do I use this power?”
I place my hands on her shoulders. Her spine stiffens.
“Close your eyes,” I whisper. “And imagine you’re the damp in the walls. The slow creep of mildew no one notices until it’s in their lungs. The fever that ends with mourners in black.”
Her breathing deepens. “You want me to imagine I’m death?”
I smile at the word. Death. Such a tidy little concept for something so expansive.
“You’re more than death,” I tell her. “You’re the consequence they pretended wouldn’t come for all the hate in their hearts.”
“I am the consequence,” she repeats.
“But you need to want it. More than anything. Can you do that for me?”
She hesitates. But she needs to understand this. “How do I do that?”
The perfect question. The most important question.
“I know exactly how your family treated you.” She shifts her attention toward me. A flicker of fear passes over her. “They treated you like a disease they couldn’t rid themselves of fast enough. They hated you for being a good apple in a bucket full of rotten cores.”
Tears prick in her eyes. Good. She’s getting it. “If they thought you were a disease, then be the disease.”
