No scary beastie emerges from the shadows to eat me.
Kincaid is nowhere to be seen.
The room Kincaid is keeping me in is near to a wide staircase placed in the center of an even wider foyer. About thirty steps away to my right is the front door. The large windows above it in the high-ceilinged entry give away that it’s nearing dawn.
Though the sky is still filled with the light of the moon and speckle of stars, it’s begun to brighten. The deep gray clouds turning shades of eggplant and lavender on their bellies.
Go, Paige, I scold myself, grinding my teeth in frustration at my body’s natural response to stay put. This isn’t Ford’s house, I tell myself. Though I can’t help but check each corner of the large entryway for cameras. Searching for any hint of an alarm system console near the door. There is nothing like that.
One, two, three.
I step toward the door, conscious of the small slapping sound my bare feet make against the wood. Once past the staircase, I hesitate. The wide opening on the opposite side leads to what looks like a sitting room.
It’s vacant, but it isn’t the room itself that catches my eye. Beyond that room, through another doorway, there’s a light on.
I can just make out the edge of a bookcase. The tomes packed tightly upon its shelves don’t possess the colorful, lettered spines of fiction. They are thick-spined and leather-bound. Without any titles at all.
Biting my lower lip, I curse myself, glancing between the shelves and the door only fifteen more steps away. They are magic books. I just know it.
This is the home of a Diablim. A powerful Diablim.
My mind whirs with all the possibilities—all the knowledge books like those could possess.
Ford hadn’t ever included anything to do with Nephilim or Diablim, or even angels or demons in any of our lessons other than to condition me against them. To attempt to teach me to fear and loathe their kind.
It mostly backfired, making me all the more curious about the one subject I was forbidden to learn about.
If I could just grab even one of those books.
My fingers twitch, and I lick my lips. My feet move of their own accord. One step, then two.
Stop.
No.
I grit my teeth, cursing myself in a whisper beneath my breath. What the hell am I doing?
I spin around, intending to march straight out that door and then run. Run and not stop until I find a way back. I’ll figure out what to do after that once I’m safely away from this place.
A weight like an anvil drops in my gut and I take in the figure now standing in front of the door like a gatekeeper of Hell.
Kincaid’s yellow eyes spark in the murky foyer. They are all I can see save for his tall, broad-shouldered shape. I gasp, my body bracing for punishment, aching to run.
“Good,” Kincaid says, his voice a deep and cold monotone. “You’re awake.”
He steps forward into the light, and I can’t help but notice how the moonlight glints on strands of colors close to silver and blue threading his raven-black hair. His jaw is sharpened by shadow and his cheeks paled by moonlight.
His yellow eyes skim the makeshift sack clenched in my fist and his brow furrows. “Come,” he says and turns without another word, showing me his back as he walks through the sitting room and into the room with the books.
Briefly, I consider making a run for the door, but think better of it. If the Diablim bastard can sneak by me and get all the way to the front door in a matter of a few seconds without a sound, there is no chance of escape now that he knows I’m awake.
Death by Diablim now or bide my time to escape another day?
Turns out a slow and painful death isn’t as attractive as spending a bit longer as a prisoner after all.
In the back of my mind, I pray the Diablim in the demon slave market was wrong about what Kincaid wanted from me. Maybe the reason he hasn’t been seen with women around Elisium society is because he prefers the company of men.
Not because none can stand him long enough to bed him.
That was one thing Ford never used against me. He hurt me. Manipulated me. Kept me hidden away. But he never touched me like that.
No one had. Not ever.
Dutifully, with a lump in my throat, I follow the shadow of Kincaid into the room with the light.
The shelves of leather-bound tomes stretch on across the far wall, covering it in shades of brown, mahogany, and black buttery leather. It’s something like a library. A fireplace with nothing but cold ash and soot squats against the wall opposite the books, a single wingback chair and side table in front of it.
The rest of the space is empty. Like Kincaid neglected to finish unpacking when he moved in. A tinny bell jingles cheerfully, and I squint to see a plume of white fur vanish around the edge of the bookcase, exiting through a door identical to the one I’m standing in.
A cat?
I hope it’s a cat and not some hell beast waiting for its chance to take a swipe at Kincaid’s new guest.
I worry the hem of my shirt in the doorway as Kincaid moves gracefully to the chair, curling his fingers around the high back of it. “Please,” he says bitterly. “Sit.”
When I make no move to obey, he cuts his yellow eyes to me and his cheekbones flare. Something in the look he gives me makes my airway seize. I move, stomach fluttering as I cross the room and slowly sink into the deep crimson cushion.
The hairs on the back of my neck prick as he watches me from behind, unmoving.
“What is it you want?” I ask, finding my voice, but not daring to turn around and face him.
I asked him this question once before and he gave me no answer. I hardly expect one from him now, but I can’t help asking. I can’t help needing to know what I’m in for.
His hands slide from the chair back and he slithers into view as he comes around the chair to perch next to the dead fireplace. Kincaid stacks three logs in its ash-coated mouth. When he’s finished, a fire sparks to life. I didn’t see him draw a match or a lighter.
One second there was no fire, the next the wood had already caught. Without the need for kindling or paper to help it along.
A salamander then?
No. That didn’t seem right. Salamanders are low level Diablim. Possessing only power over flame and nothing more.
A salamander wouldn’t have evoked that kind of reaction from the crowd back at the demon market.
Kincaid rises, and I ready myself to feel the sting of his striking fist. Or maybe the branding of an iron poker heated in his magically started fire.
But when I squint my eyes open, I find him standing there, staring down at me curiously. His lush lips dip down at one corner, as though he is unimpressed with what he sees.
“You didn’t lie,” he says.
“You still haven’t told me what you want from me,” I blurt, emboldened by the fact that he didn’t seem intent on harming me, at least not right now.
But as soon as the words leave my lips, I know I’m wrong.
Kincaid’s eyes blaze at my haughty tone and his hands strike the winged back of the chair on either side of my head. “I am not to be trifled with. Do you understand?”
Pressed as far back into the cushion as I can be, I do nothing but nod. Fascinated and terrified all at once by the creature before me. He wants to hurt me, I can tell, but…he doesn’t. I don’t know what to make of that.
“Now, we can do this the easy way, or I can make you tell me what I need to know.”