Page 39 of Bond of Passion

“It was nothing personal, babe. You were just a contract.”

“Just a contract?” she shrieked. “I was just a contract to you?”

Wow. She deserved an Oscar. It wouldn’t be the first time an underworlder had won one. Humans were so focused on the demons they could see that they didn’t notice the ones living next door or playing characters in their favorite movies and TV shows.

But this wasn’t a script, and it wasn’t a movie. Was she stalling for time? Waiting for the rescue team?

One of the males laughed. “Sounds like Tavin bedded-n-deaded.” He made a tsk sound. “Hell hath no wrath like a fucked-over female.”

“This is gonna be good,” the vampire said from somewhere behind Tavin.

“You weren’t just a contract,” Tavin drawled, staying in character even though this was starting to get uncomfortable. “You were also a shitty lay.”

With a roar, Deja launched, catching him off guard with the first couple of punches. “You bastard! I hate you! I hate you so much!” Her fury was beyond incomprehensible, and she rained blow upon blow down on him until he tasted blood, and pain made him dizzy. “You deserve to die for what you did to me!”

Suddenly, the tip of a blade was pressing into his ribs, right where his heart was beating agonizingly fast. Deja’s eyes burned like blue fire as she stared him down, nose to nose.

“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t do this,” she snarled. “Just one.”

“Because it’s not time yet.” The vampire tapped her on the shoulder. “It’s your private time now. I’ve turned off the camera. You’ve got five minutes, and you had better not kill him.”

“Or what?” she snapped, still not taking her eyes off Tavin.

“Or we kill you.” He huffed. “Hello, did you not read the rules? They were on the website.”

For a few tense heartbeats, she actually appeared to weigh the pros and cons of killing Tavin.

She’s on my team, so why am I holding my damned breath?

Finally, she let out a curse and stepped back, the knife disappearing into the sheath at her hip.

“It’s about damned time,” he whispered, and she shot him a fuck-you glare.

Why did he get the feeling he’d been a mere blade’s length from death?

“Everyone out.” She gestured toward the entryway with that queenly authority again. “And someone get me my duffel.”

As people shuffled toward the door, someone tossed her the bag. “Thanks,” she called as she withdrew a syringe. “It’s acid. I’m going to make him boil from the inside.”

“Oh, sure. You couldn’t have done that when we could watch,” Gorm muttered. “Had to scramble him with your mind. La-de-da, so evolved.”

Then there was the sound of the door slamming.

And silence.

But for some reason, even though they were alone and could drop the act, Deja was still looking at him like he was lucky to be alive.

And given the way she was still fondling the hilt of her knife, that just might be the case.