Page 36 of Bond of Passion

Chapter 13

Deja’s heart pounded against her rib cage as if it wanted to go to Tavin. She tore her gaze away with Neethul ruthlessness, but she’d never forget the sight of the desperate hope in his pain-glazed eyes.

He thought she was there to help him.

Nausea and guilt suffocated her, which was absurd, given that she had every right to enjoy what was happening here. She had every right to cheer along with Mr. Green Slimy Guy next to her or spit at Tavin’s feet like Maggot-faced Man was doing.

So why was she retreating to the back of the room where Bald Snaggletoothed Wrinkly Dude blocked her view?

As if needing comfort, she reached down to the knife sheath at her hip and stroked the hilt of the blade she planned to kill Tavin with. She just hadn’t wanted to do it today. And for all the Neethul pep talk she’d given herself, she’d still rather not do it yet. Besides, killing him at this point would be a kindness, which was definitely not what she wanted.

She glanced over at the weird cat clock, but it was the sword hanging over it that drew her gaze. Its blade had been forged of metals extracted from Satan’s own mines. She’d given that sword to Tavin as a token of her love—a tradition among the Neethul people. Why had he kept it? It was worth a lot, she supposed. And his walls were decorated with ancient human and Sheoulic weapons, so he was a collector.

Maybe it was a trophy. Maybe he’d collected all those weapons as mementos of his victims.

That bastard.

The cat clock’s tail swished, reminding her that she had more important things to do than dissect Tavin’s reasons for doing anything. Gorm had five minutes left. Which meant she had five minutes to figure out how to handle this.

She could try refusing to kill Tavin, but she suspected the honor of ending Tavin’s life would fall back to Gorm. Or maybe they’d draw straws. Either way, she was certain they wouldn’t let her take Tavin out of here alive, no matter how much she promised that she’d kill him later.

Later, after he’d fallen in love with her. Later, when her betrayal would hurt the most.

“Time’s up!” the vampire on the table shouted. “We’re almost done. I can’t wait to see what the female is going to do to him.” He clacked his fangs sassily at Deja. “Females are usually the most vicious. Love. It.”

Everyone turned to look at her, anticipation gleaming in their eyes. Well, those who had eyes.

A few of the demons filed out of the house to take advantage of the break in the bloody entertainment while the fallen angel healed Tavin. It seemed to take forever this time, and when Anius was done, Tavin still looked dead. Healing didn’t make the blood on his skin disappear either, but the vampire came down off the table to lick Tavin clean. What he didn’t get with his tongue, he sopped up with a wet cloth.

“You need a clean canvas for your art,” the vampire told her with a cheery smile and bloodstained teeth.

She drifted closer to Tavin, whose head rested on the back of the chair, his eyes closed, his breathing shallow. He’d lost a lot of blood, and his pale, grayish skin was sunken in at the ribs and hip bones as if he’d been starved for a month.

I wasn’t prepared for this. How could anyone be okay with this?

Flashbacks to her years with her Neethul family slapped against her brain, the ugliness and horror of living in that cruel society. As a family, they’d gone to Neethul festivals that made human horror movies look tame. Texas Chainsaw Massacre? Hostel? Saw? That shit was comedy. Kid stuff.

“You have two minutes,” the vampire said. “Get a drink, take a piss, eat someone, whatever. But be back here in two.”

She glanced over at Tavin. As if he felt her gaze, he opened his eyes. The hazy blue depths swam with exhaustion, and this time, there wasn’t even a hint of hope in them. Had he given up?

Pity or guilt or some wretched emotion clawed at her, begging her to save him. If only so she could get her revenge later.

But how? These bloodthirsty people wouldn’t allow her to spare him. And she couldn’t fight them all herself. She needed help.

She needed to call Eidolon.

Wishing she’d come to the decision sooner—when she’d first run into Gorm outside would have been good—she hurried to the entryway where she’d dropped her duffel. She found her phone, but her call to UG wouldn’t go through. She tried Ronnie with the same results. What the hell?

“Anius put a shield up so no one can use their electronics to livestream any of this,” some demon offered as he shuffled by. He gestured to a camera staged on the bookcase. “But he’ll happily sell you a copy of it for fifty-nine, ninety-nine,” he said, his voice dripping sarcasm. “Like we didn’t pay enough for the Dar’grut. What a rip-off.”

“Hey!” the vampire called from the other room. “It’s showtime. You want your private session before or after?”

Her mouth was too dry to speak. She worked up some moisture and finally rasped, “After.” That would give her ten minutes to figure out what the hell she was going to do now that she couldn’t make a call.

“There are tools available to you”—the vampire gestured to a table strewn with bloodied implements of torture—“or you can use whatever you brought. The only rule is that you can’t kill him during your fifteen minutes. He will be healed, and then you can kill him.”

“Of course.” Holy shit, how was she going to get out of this? “Makes sense. We want him fully aware when he dies.”