Holding my arm against my chest to try to reduce the amount of movement in my shoulder, I follow the sound of Kincaid’s footsteps to the room with the books, allowing myself only a single wistful glance at the front door.
I am not so stupid to try to run again. Not now. Not injured and barely clothed.
When I enter the library-like space, I find Kincaid in the high-backed red chair in front of the fireplace. The hearth is cold with black ash. But the room still feels warm from the heat outside and the company of books.
He sits with legs splayed—the white cat on his lap. His hand rests in its fur, but does not stroke. The cat hisses plaintively at me once more before launching itself from the chair and out of the room.
“I see you’ve made a friend,” Kincaid sneers sarcastically, eyeing me up and down. His piercing yellow stare alights on the bits of bare flesh he can see between swaths of sheer white sheet.
“I-It’s not a normal cat,” I say awkwardly. “It has horns.”
His gaze narrows. “A very astute observation.”
I bounce from foot to foot in the entry, unsure where to look. What to say. The air between us stagnates as he stares unflinchingly, without speaking.
Thanks for saving me but I kind of wish that thing had killed you doesn’t seem like the sort of thing I should voice aloud. Instead, I settle on the simplest option.
“You…” I start, but trail off, unsure exactly how to begin. “You saved me.”
I edge the words in a question, leaving him the option to confirm or deny.
He doesn’t deny it.
“Why?”
“You were expensive,” he replies with a hard bite to the words. “Letting you perish would be a waste.”
Kincaid leans forward, perching his elbows on his knees. I think I see him wince with the motion, but the expression is gone too quickly to be sure.
He looks up at me from beneath dark lashes, his raven-black hair falling over one brow.
Once again, I am taken aback by his beauty.
Something so evil shouldn’t be allowed to be so pretty…
My mind filters back through nature documentaries and my collection of encyclopedias. I remember that sometimes the most beautiful creatures are the most deadly.
The poison dart frog, with its shining blue and black speckled skin. The box jellyfish, with its soft rose color and reflective tentacles. The Peruvian dragon snake, with scales the color of fire and eyes like Sauron’s.
That’s all Kincaid is. Latently beautiful. Until he’s ready to strike.
“Give no grief and you will get none,” he says, repeating the warning he gave before he left the house last night—or however long ago that was—I have no idea how long I’ve been out.
“We had a deal, Na’vazēm. And you broke your end.”
“How about a do-over?” I offer, wishing I could stuff the words back in.
After that thing attacked me in the field…
Now that I’ve seen with my own eyes, streets and apartments alive with the chatter of Diablim in the night…
I know I’ll never make it fifty miles to the nearest river crossing. Not without Kincaid’s help. I want to curse myself for even trying, but how could I not try.
“A what?” Kincaid asks.
“A do-over,” I repeat. “A new bargain.”
He squints at me—taking my measure.
“And why would I agree to that?”
I gulp. “Because. I didn’t barter last time. I would have agreed to whatever you said if I thought there was some way I would be able to escape. I don’t think you can blame me for that.”
I remember how he’d been disappointed when I told him I would give him no trouble back at the demon market. Well, I’d given him some trouble now. He should be pleased.
“I’ve never been to Elisium,” I continue when he steeples his fingers and presses the tips to his lips, thinking. “I didn’t know what I was up against out there.”
I force myself to say the next part.
“I didn’t know I was safer here…with you.”
It isn’t completely true, but it isn’t a lie either. It’s meant to placate him. Stroke his ego. Tell him in so many words that he was right and I should have listened.
It’s these little manipulations that I’ve used to my advantage in the past—to save myself some grief.
If there’s anything a psychotic sociopath likes best, it’s being told he’s right. And you’re wrong.
“Don’t do that,” Kincaid says, his gaze darkening. His sharp cheekbones flare. “Don’t stoop to that level. You’re better than that.”
What?
Kincaid sighs heavily and then purses his lips. After a pause, he drops his hands and raises his eyes back to mine. “Very well. I’m not in the habit of bargaining with my property, but I’ll humor you, Na’vazēm. Let us see if a new proper bargain can be struck. What is it you want?”
What do I want?
“Um…”
“Have you not already decided?”
“I—I didn’t expect you to agree,” I stammer, saying the first thing that comes to mind—the truth.
He lifts a thick brow.
“Very well, allow me to remind you where we left off,” he begins, a note of annoyance in his tone. “I require that you remain here, under my care for forty days. I require that you obey all of my requests during that time. You will be honest when asked questions. You will cooperate. You will not attempt to leave again.”
My blood turns cold.
I’m remembering just how much I didn’t like this bargain the first time. Why I had no intention of keeping my word to it.
“In exchange, I offered to return you to The Hinge once the forty days are spent.”
I nod. “Right.”
“A fair bargain already, is it not?”
But there are holes in this deal. I know enough of his kind to be wary of possible trickery. I need to be smarter than him. More cunning.
“No,” I say, more bravely than I feel. “I don’t know what I will be subjected to for those forty days. For all I know you could be planning to run some kind of experiments on me. Cut away parts of my flesh and bone for testing. Or try burning me to see if my skin reacts.”
I wait for him to deny that he plans to do any of the things I’ve just said, but he doesn’t, and my stomach sours.
“A fair point,” he says instead, leaning back in the chair to cross his arms over his chest. He cocks his head at me. “Go on.”
I move a little further into the room, wandering toward the bookcase to run a finger over the leather spines at my eye level.
“And if you’re right about me,” I continue, hating that I’m even saying it. “Then I may not be able to cross The Hinge at all.”
He nods appreciatively. “It’s a wonder you were able to once, though I believe I may know the reason why.”
A vivid flash of the searching pain I’d felt as the police carted me over the river in the back of their vehicle returns to me, and I lower my hand from the books, finding my one still-injured palm is almost fully healed now.
Curiosity getting the better of me, I turn to the Diablim man at my back and search his face, wanting to find any clue he may be lying, and failing.