He held out his hands, exactly as before. I kept mine in my lap, ice dagger at the ready. His nostrils flared so slightly that I might have missed it, if not for the tiny shadow the movement created on his olive skin.
“What do you think happens if you stab a god?”
I lifted my dagger and made a show of examining it. “Let’s find out.”
His tongue darted out over his lower lip. I was getting better at this by the minute.
“I’ve never seen you this bloodthirsty. You’ve always clung so hard to your humanity and your self-sacrificing obsession with mercy.”
My stomach dropped. I was lying to myself. I would never win a game of manipulation against the Dark God. Not even Maura had his talent for pressing directly on a wound.
“I have mercy for those who deserve it,” I said.
The words were feeble even to my own ears, because they were not true. The men in the street in Canmar who’d attacked me had both deserved to die, but I’d hated myself for the one I’d killed when I lost control, and I’d let the other go willingly.
I’d let Maura kill that fae woman. To my knowledge, she’d done nothing to earn Maura’s torture. I was a mess of contradictions that not even I could justify and understand.
“Then let’s not waste our time trying. Give me your hands.”
I would never—ever—get used to that.“Get out of my head!”
“Very good, sweetling.”
It took my beleaguered mind a few seconds to sort out what had happened. I’d answered him without speaking. Not in the way it usually happened, where he spoke before I could form a thought into words. I directed them right at him. It felt differentthan the connection I shared with Isanara. A pathway existed between me and my familiar, created by the unique bond she’d forged when she chose me as her witch. We could only see what the other wished to share.
The Dark God saw everything and seemed to process my thoughts as quickly as I did. Until now. I’d gotten a word in before he could. And he’d called mesweetling.
“I hate nicknames,” I said aloud, enunciating every word. Just because I could speak to him in my mind did not mean I wanted to. My mind was a muddled enough place without any extra voices crowding into it. Especially him. “And I am not your anything.”
The Dark God slanted a look at me, a lock of silken black hair skimming across his brow. “You will be my wife.”
“In a thousand years.”
“Speaking aloud does not change anything between us,” he said, and then to illustrate his point—“You cannot block me out.”
“You may be able to see into my mind, but you cannot control it,” I said, my hands still stubbornly in my lap. I sounded petulant and childish. I did not care.
He swiped his tongue over his lower lip again. Maybe it was not a show of annoyance. “You are correct. Your choices have always been your own.”
Fuck. You.
I did not care if he heard it in my mind, aloud, or saw it burning in my eyes. So long as he knew how much I hated him.
“Give me your hands,” he ordered, holding out his own palms. I’d avoided looking at him the last time we’d done this. But I forced myself to take in the details now. It was not me and Garrick against the Dark God. It was me against the whole entire world. Me and Isanara.
Care to join us?
Busy, she said. It sounded like her mouth was full. But her response was immediate, so she must not have had to go far in pursuit of food. She was eating more and more. If she were anything like a human adolescent, I could expect a surge in her growth any day now.
The man sitting across from me might be a god, but the sound of annoyance in his throat transcended power or immortality. It was all male impertinence. “Do exactly as I asked before. Unleash your power. Let it be free entirely. You cannot hurt me.”
I snorted. That was not the problem, now or then.
“I know you are capable of focusing. You managed it with the acolyte.”
Was there anything he did not know about me?
“No.”
