Page 41 of Bond of Passion

“Long story, and we don’t have time.” She also didn’t actually have a story. “Scream again.”

He let out a pained shout, hopefully enough to satisfy the sadists waiting in the yard for the grand finale. When he caught his breath, he said, “I need you to listen to me for a second, okay?”

She casually peeked out the window, taking note of everyone’s position. The fallen angel was MIA, but the vampire was hanging in the shade on the porch. Most of the demons wandered around the yard, smoking, snacking or…was that one guy taking a crap? Yes, yes, he was. Ugh.

She turned back to Tavin. “What is it?”

“You know how you were asking about my personal symbol? The viper?”

“Yeah…”

“It’s alive.” His loosened restraints rattled as he shifted in his chair. “Sort of. It’s an ancient assassination curse I got a couple of years ago from an angel who tried to heal me and screwed a bunch of shit up. It bites me when I’m fighting, and it’s full of poison that makes me go berserk.”

“How berserk?”

“I dunno. You ever see Venom?” When she shook her head, he tried again. “The Hulk?”

“I’ve heard of The Hulk, but I’m not sure—”

“Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde?”

“Ooh, that’s a classic. My family loved Mr. Hyde.”

He cast her an odd look, and she kicked herself. As Gristlen, she’d told him about her family pet, a vicious, spider-like thing called an arachorathat her parents had named Mr. Hyde.

“I mean, we loved to hate him,” she said quickly, “Go Team Jekyll.” She pumped her fist for effect, but now he was just looking at her like she was a loon. “Okay, two minutes to go. Let’s get you a weapon. What do you want to fight with? That, maybe?” She gestured to the sword above the fireplace. The sword she’d given him in her other life. “I can put it near your chair.”

His gaze skipped over to the blade, and a sad smile twisted his mouth. “Perfect.” He glanced over at her. “Unless you’re good with a sword. You can have it.”

She patted her dagger’s sheath. “I’m best with this.” She’d learned how to fight with a dagger in the cradle. All Neethuls did. Half of their education growing up revolved around combat and killing.

She cast a quick glance at the cat clock. One minute. Shit. Hurriedly, she retrieved the sword and propped it against the wall behind Tavin.

With thirty seconds to go, she moved to him. “It’s almost time.”

“Deja?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you. I’m sorry I put you in this situation.”

Bullshit. He didn’t give a crap about her. He just wanted to save his own skin. “Stop it,” she ground out. “Stop pretending you care.”

“I do,” he insisted, his fist clenching in his lap. “I don’t want anyone to die because of me. If you have to throw me under the bus to save yourself, do it. And if I become a threat to you…kill me. Don’t let me hurt you.”

She stared, incredulous. “Are you serious?”

“Promise me.”

“Why? You don’t even know me. Why do you care what happens to me?”

“I don’t have time to explain it, and if I did, you’d hate me.”

She laughed because she already hated him. Though for some reason, it was getting harder and harder to do.

* * * *

Why was she laughing?