Do I strike her? Do I drive the iron point into her chest, between her eyes, fast and true?
Or would the demon simply slip free, retreating beneath the lake once more to wait, while I am left to bury my lover and his mother on the same night?
My eyes fall to Luceran.
Pain ravages him. He tries to stand, tries to intervene, but every time he grips the arm of the chair, his strength fails. He collapses back down, breath tearing from his chest. This winter, this curse, this demon is draining the last fragile threads of life from him.
I am not ready to lose him.
The demon takes another step.
This time, I step forward to meet it.
“You’ve taken strong bodies before,” I say, lifting my chin. “Men hardened by the mines. Bodies forged by labor.” My throat tightens. “Pax. Young. Strong.”
I swallow hard, refusing the tears that threaten at his name.
“Even Lady Aluna,” I continue. Luceran looks up at me then, his heavy brow lifting. “She was a powerful Fae.”
The demon’s lip twitches. It snorts, but it listens.
“Atilia is old,” I go on. “Even for a Fae, time has worn her down. Her mind may still be sharp, but her body…” I let my gaze travel deliberately over the stolen form. “…I imagine you can feel its weaknesses.”
The demon growls low in its throat. For a moment, it looks down at Atilia’s body, assessing. Measuring.
Then those black, empty eyes rise to meet mine.
“What is your point, human?”
I draw in a breath and force my lip to still, my hands not to shake.
I loosen my grip on Luceran’s hand.
He fights me, weak fingers clutching, desperate, but the pain wins. His hold slackens, his hand falling limp against the arm of the chair.
“Take my body,” I say.
My voice does not shake. It rings clear, steady, stronger than I feel.
“I am young. I am strong. I am clever. Take my body and you will never need to find another again. Let me be the instrument for you… and your master. Forever.”
“Neve, no.” Luceran’s voice breaks through the pain, ragged and desperate. He reaches for me, but I shove his hand away, stepping out of his grasp just as he clutches at his heart again, his body folding inward.
The demon tilts its head.
It studies me with infinite time at its fingertips.
Those empty eyes drag over my face, my throat, my frame, as if weighing flesh and bone. It steps closer. Atilia’s hands reach for me, fingers brushing my skin. My breath hitches when they slide along my neck, my shoulders, when they skim over my breasts, but I refuse to flinch. I will not give it that satisfaction.
Luceran snarls, surging forward, but he barely moves an inch before he chokes, gasping for air. The demon only laughs at him.
“You wish to make a bargain with a demon?” it asks.
The word stiffens my spine. “I thought… only Fae could make bargains.”
Its laughter deepens, vibrating beneath my skin like an earthquake.
“Any being who holds the power of the old world may bargain, human. Who do you think taught the Fae?”
