No. If this is going to work, I need her to understand. I need her to know—beyond a shadow of a doubt—she can’t fuck me over again.
I am in charge. I am in control.
And I’ll expend every bit of my power to prove it, even if it kills me before she can do so herself.
My wings must agree, because the left extends and knocks her chin upward with more force than necessary. It quivers like a fist in front of her face as if warning her, reminding her of what willhappen should she attempt to betray us again. I feel that knock on the chin as if it hit me too. Thankfully, I am accustomed to pain. It is as easy as breathing to ignore this fresh blood of hurt.
Zephyra, however, rears back in disgust, smacking it away. A revulsive shiver runs down my spine at the touch. “As you’ll notice,” she snaps, “I don’t have any nasty feathers on my body. So if I pluck them from your wings, it might not hurt me. You’ll be the only one to bleed.”
I’m not quite sure I believe that. I bare my teeth in a smile, imagining her broken and bloody. “Is that a risk you’re willing to take?”
“Hit me again and find out.” Her nails scrape along the rock, chiseling off pebbles and shells as she prepares to lunge again. To attack. I can see it in her eyes, the bloodthirst. The fury. She hates this just as much as I do, and—just as in her cell—she can’t conceal her emotions. They smolder in her gaze, each and every one.
Which should, hypothetically, make it easier to control her. And if sheisindebted to me… perhaps I can use that to my favor as well.
I cross my arms. “My wings have a mind of their own. I’m not sure they appreciated drowning either.”
“A mind of their own? What the shit does that mean?”
My wings shake, expanding wide under her critical gaze, and the movement carves deep pain between my shoulder blades. I feel it all the way to my core, though this pain is more familiar than any other. My wings are no different from the rest of my body at this point, save for the fact that they’re far more opinionated than any ordinary limb.
“So you’re not… moving them?”
I shrug, and the feathers bristle. “No.”
“How—”
The primary feathers extend to press against her lips, silencing her beneath ivory and gold. She swats them away, scrambling backward on her tail as if her scales are somehow less offensive. Less revolting.
“We don’t like to talk about it,” I say as she plucks a tendril of white from her lips.
She wipes her mouth on the back of her hand, appearing seconds from another dry heave. “You are both crazy.”
“Says the merrow.”
She scoffs. “I would peel your nails from your finger beds right this second if it wouldn’t hurt me too.”
“Yes,” I deadpan, “because I saved your life.” She continues to glower, but I really couldn’t care less. “Why—if you owemea debt—would I bleed when you’re cut?”
“Are we trying to scientifically analyze a gift from divinity, now?” She rolls her eyes toward the heavens with more exaggerated condescension, and gods, I’d love to wrap my hands around her throat. “Perhaps because a life debt can’t possibly be repaid if the one in debt isdead. We’re linked, asshole. Of course, if you’d like to slit my throat to prove me wrong, be my guest.”
She extends her neck, stretching the fresh cut there and revealing an angry pink welt from the noose. It mars her skin alongside a dozen—a hundred—small silver scars. They shimmer on her golden skin, on her arms, her back, her belly.
Interesting.
But those scars are nothing I can use now. I need to figure out the intricacies of this debt, and if it runs as deep as she claims. We both bleed in unison. Her pain has become my pain, but the only way to know for sure—to know that it’s evenreal, not just merrow manipulation—is with magic.Mymagic.
I place a fist above my heart, shut my eyes, and breathe. My magic responds instantly, as if it’s been waiting for this very moment, almost eager as it blows through my ribs. But I don’t wince at the breathtaking pain. I don’t groan or double over, as my body yearns to do. Instead, I open my eyes and splay out my palm. Zephyra curses, her own gaze widening as she scrambles backward, away from me. Away fromit.
She can’t run from this, however. Neither of us can.
We are, indeed, bound.
A glowing silver cord—a million sparkling dewdrops of salt water and diamonds—connects my heart to hers. Proof of the life debt. Proof of the bond.
Fuck.
“No,” she whimpers. Her fingers curl around the silver cord, andshe tugs. My heart stutters, and my breathwhooshesfrom my lungs. Instinctively, I pull it back toward me, and she clutches her chest with a gasp. “No, no,no.” For some reason—though this is only a physical representation of the truth she already knew—she seems entirely panicked now. Against my better judgement, I move closer to her. The silvered bond shortens with the distance.
