by Devon Monk
Okay, that. That pissed me off. Nobody told me I wasn’t doing my job right or wasn’t making good decisions for myself or my town.
“Screw you, Rossi.”
But even as I said it, the anger that had built into a hot ball of rage in the middle of my chest sputtered out, faded and was gone, leaving the cold and numb and stillness.
“Do you feel it, Delaney? The hole where your soul belongs? The absence of that which holds you centered, makes you human? That hole isn’t going to heal. It is going to grow. Until it cannot be stitched over, cannot be closed, cannot be filled. And then you will hunger. Hunger for anything to put in its place. And the only things that can fill that hole are the things that will make you no longer human.”
I inhaled, exhaled, knowing I should be terrified by that description, but only feeling the distant flicker of fear.
“That’s grim.”
“The truth often is.”
“Is coffee one of the things I can fill the hole with?”
“Delaney.”
“Or sleep? No? Well, then I’ll just have to fill it with the satisfaction of freeing my father and saving Ben. How’s that sound? Good? Sounds good to me.”
“You aren’t listening to me and this is not the time to make jokes.”
“I am and it is. You know why? Because we win this one, Rossi. We get Ben back and we don’t have to give away the dark magic book, Rauðskinna. Lavius doesn’t get his hands on dark magic, doesn’t get to use it against us. Plus, we now know he was using demons, which means we can put protections in place. I can’t see how this isn’t winning.”
“It isn’t winning if we lose you.”
“I’m right here.”
He didn’t say anything.
I strode into the kitchen. “Please tell me none of you are naked.”
None of them were, but they all looked my way. Bathin was the only one who smiled. He was sitting in a chair that had been turned so the back of it was against the small table in the corner. Still handcuffed.
Myra had put her gun away and held a clear seashell in her hand. I knew what it was, even though I hadn’t seen it in years. It was a token Dad used to keep in his pocket. He said it let him hear the truth.
Coupled with the spell-worked handcuffs on his wrists, that little shell was going to let Myra know if Bathin was lying or not.
“Delaney,” Bathin said. “Your sister seems reluctant to believe our agreement was entered into willingly by each party. Would you care to tell her?”
“No. Just because you have my soul does not make you my boss.”
He laughed, loud and deep, and yeah, somehow that made him even more handsome.
Myra’s expression softened into something near confusion or maybe curiosity. Her mouth even lost that hard line and sort of tipped up at the corner.
Bathin was a good-looking guy. Even Myra couldn’t miss that.
He shook his head. “I cannot begin to tell you how enjoyable you are.”
The little seashell glowed a soft green. The truth.
Myra made a frustrated sound. “You don’t need to be here for this, Delaney.” She hadn’t even looked at me yet. “I’ll handle him.”
I could hear it in her voice. Worry. Anger. She was standing in the middle of a nightmare and thought it was her sole responsibility to wake up us all.
Forget that. I walked over to her, and put my hand over her hand, covering the seashell so that it was in both of our hands. Then I turned her toward me so she would stop looking at Bathin like something she wanted to shoot.
“I know I made a bad decision.” The seashell glowed a kind of purple. Okay, not the whole truth. She raised one eyebrow.
“I know I’m going to regret my decision.” Soft green. Better.
“You’re worried and angry. So are Rossi and Jame. No one who loves me is going to think what I did is right.” All green.
“But I trust us. I know we’ll find a way to get my soul back. That isn’t what frightens me. What frightens me…” Lavender. “What I know frightened me more, is losing Ben. When I went to see Yancy, he said Ben would be returned to us through a favor given by something that does not walk the land of Ordinary. As far as I can see, we’re gold. Bathin owes me a favor and he’s something that doesn’t walk the land. He can bring Ben home.”
Green, green, green.
“I might be wrong, might have made the wrong decision, and I’m sorry for that, if I did. But we need to put that aside and play the cards in our hands while we have them.”
“You think I’ll just do what you want now? Now that you’ve…now that you’re…that?”
Ouch. Even though emotion was sort of at a distance right now, I felt her words like a sharp stab in my chest.
“This is too far, Delaney. You’ve gone too far for me.”
“For you to what?”
Love me?
“Trust me?”
Finally she nodded.
Green.
That should hurt too, knowing my sister didn’t trust me, but there was no sensation other than the need to see this through, to bring Ben home. Trust could be earned. I could earn it back from her. I’d have time.
“Then don’t trust me. Make sure you put someone on me to keep me on the level. Or have someone brew up a spell or something to make sure I don’t do anything crazy.”
“There will be no spells,” Bathin said.
“Not your property,” I reminded him.
“Not true.”
“You have my soul, not the rest of me. Not my body, mind, spirit, abilities, consent, or free will.”
“Semantics.”
“Do you hear that, Delaney?” Myra asked, obviously at the end of her patience. “Do you hear him? He thinks you’re his property.”
“Yes. He’s wrong. And kind of an ass. But he’s our card to play for Ben. So why don’t you uncuff him and let him do what he promised me he would do.”
She didn’t want to. I could see it in every line of her body. In the tension rolling off of her.
This might be the time I’d finally pushed it too far. Just because I was the oldest and her boss did in no way force Myra to blindly follow my lead or do what I wanted. We were all stubborn, us Reed girls. And for all I knew, she was planning on tying me down, locking me up, and launching a get-Delaney’s-fool-soul back campaign.
She drew her hand from mine. “Will you immediately leave here to find Ben?”
Bathin nodded. “Yes.”
Green.
“Will you bring him immediately back to Ordinary, whole as per the agreement you entered into willingly with Delaney and she, stupidly, entered into willingly with you?”
“Yes.” He wasn’t smiling, wasn’t pouring on the charm. He calmly met her gaze, and if I knew the guy, which I didn’t, I’d guess he was being very serious and very sincere.
Green.
“Will you ever entertain giving Delaney’s soul back to her?”
He didn’t say anything for long enough, I knew the pause was uncomfortable.
“Not even I know the future.”
Green. Not helpful, but truthful. Also, not a flat our refusal. It was something. It was more than I expected at this point, frankly.
“Myra,” I said softly. “Let’s get Ben back. Let’s put this horrible mess to an end before we throw ourselves into a new one.”
She pocketed the seashell, and motioned for Bathin to stand so she could unlock the cuffs.
“Turn,” she ordered.
He did, quiet and complacent. But when her fingers skimmed against the inside of his wrist, I could see the slight shiver that ran through him.
She keyed the cuffs, tugged and latched them back onto her belt loop. She knew better than to stay in arm’s reach, but Bathin was quick.
He turned and for a moment, just a second, they were close, bodies aligned in a dancing stance, waltz, or perhaps the tango, his tall and strong and intense, hers shorter and made of curves and edges of strength.
She looked up at him, her lips parted in a breath that was not fear, was not anger, was not pain.
He looked down, those pale green eyes saying yes to the question in her eyes.
It was a second, less than that.
And then the connection, the draw between them was broken as she stepped back, scowl in place, whatever softness she’d shown gone as if it had never been there.
Bathin stepped back too and tucked both hands in his pockets, as if he were making a conscious effort not to touch her.
No. No, no, no. This demon was not going to touch my sister. Not now, not ever.
“Hey,” I said, too sharply. “That is not happening, hear me? You stay away from my sister.”
Myra looked at me like I’d lost my mind along with my soul in some kind of two-for-one deal, and Bathin just blinked at me and tipped his head like he hadn’t heard me right.
Then he laughed, that deep chuckle again. “Your sister? Really, Delaney. Where do you come up with this stuff?”
Myra blushed, a hot slap of red over her cheeks. It was not embarrassment. It was anger.
Great. I just could not seem to do anything right.
“Stop being a dick,” I told Bathin.
He raised both eyebrows.
“Go find Ben. Bring him home to Jame’s arms like you promised. Don’t drag anything, or anyone along with him.”
“Now, now. There are no modification clauses in this contract.”
“There are gods and other creatures who would be more than happy to put you in a jar and shake you into ash and atoms, Bath. I have them on speed dial.”
“Nicknames and threats, like an old familiar tune.”
“Go.” Myra said.
“As you wish.” He gave her half a bow, that wicked glint in his eyes making him look rakish and kissable, which was weird that I noticed because the only man who I found kissable was Ryder.
But before I could parse that, or Myra’s stony reaction, he disappeared.
I exhaled and it felt like I’d been doing a lot of work just to hold myself up through all that. “I need a nap. Or a massage. Or both.”
“Is there a place where she can lie down?” Myra asked Jame.
“Spare room.”
Myra took me by the arm, her fingers a little more firm than necessary.
“You’re still mad.”
“Yep.”
“I don’t really need a nap.”
“I think you do.”
“You’ll wake me up when he comes back? I mean, it’s only a couple hours until midnight. He might be back any minute.”
“I’ll let you know if he comes back.”
“When.”
She opened the guest room door, flicked on the light, and guided me in to the bed which was covered with a fluffy blanket and a few mismatched pillows.
“If. He’s a demon, Delaney. They aren’t to be trusted. Ever.” She pressed me down toward the bed, then knelt and started untying my shoes.
Like I couldn’t be trusted to untie my own shoes.
“Dad trusted him.”
“You think he did.”
“I was there. I know he did.”
“You were caught in some kind of a spell and under duress. You weren’t reading the situation clearly. Otherwise you would not have been so stupid as to trade your soul away. Not even for Ben. Not even for Jame. Not even for Dad. You know better.”
She was wrong. I knew she was wrong. Spell or not, I would have traded my soul in a flat second if it meant Dad and the people I cared for were okay.
But there would be no convincing her of that right now, and probably no point to even try. She was angry and hurt and scared and I was really, really tired.
Exhausted.
I leaned down onto the bed, the blanket having been pulled back for me, the cool press of the sheets against my skin a kind of bliss worth sighing over.
So I sighed over it.
And slept.
Chapter 9
The bed dipped and someone bigger and heavier than me settled on the mattress behind me.
I knew, even without opening my eyes, who it was.
“You are killing me, Laney,” Ryder whispered as he wrapped an arm around me and molded the front of his body to my back. “Couldn’t you have called for backup before you put your soul on the chopping block?”
“Myra talk to you?”
He hummed and brushed his hand, warm and heavy, down my arm. I shifted around and he did too until we were both lying on our sides facing each other. It was pretty dark in the room. Hopefully not morning yet. Hopefully still before midnight.
“Are you angry at me?” I asked.
He spread his fingers over the rise of my hip and pulled me a little closer to him. “In the last few days you’ve been attacked and bitten by a vampire, and goaded into selling your soul to a demon. Neither were your idea. Not sure there’s anything to be angry at you about.”
“I wasn’t goaded.”
He moved his feet, catching my ankles between his. He wasn’t wearing his boots, but still had on jeans, T-shirt, and kind of adorably, his socks.
“I can see contracts. It’s my new superpower, remember? You were goaded, given a choice that left you no room to negotiate for an equitable outcome. You were railroaded, baby.”
Warmth spread through me at his words, at his calm faith that some of this, at least the circumstances if not the choices, were not in my control. I tried to hold onto that, the warmth, the faith, the fondness that filled me, but it was sucked away by a cold wind that scrubbed me clean.
“So far I don’t recommend the experience,” I said.
“Selling your soul?”
“Walking around without one.”
He waited, his feet tangled with mine anchoring me not to this room, not to this life, but to him. To us. To what we’d agreed we were to each other before there had been demons or vampires or gods involved.
“Does it hurt?”
“No. But that’s the problem. Nothing hurts. I know it should. I know I should feel pain and anger and fear. I get waves, sort of glimpses of those things, but then they’re gone and I just don’t really care that I don’t have them.”
“Not such a bad thing to be insulated from pain and fear.” His thumb stroked up my arm, painting a warm trail from the delicate skin of my inner wrist to my elbow, then skipping up, over my T-shirt, my shoulder.
“It’s not just the bad emotions. It’s everything. Even love.”
His thumb paused, just a second, then continued the path to my jaw, his fingers dragging warm and gentle behind as he cupped my face. He rubbed his thumb at the edge of my chin.
“Can you feel me?”
“Yes.”
“Can you feel this?” He pressed his thumb at the corner of my mouth, gentle, firm.
“Yes.”
“How about this?”
He leaned in, filling the air between us, the space, the cold, the doubt. His mouth slanted, his palm and heel of hand guiding me to where he wanted me, my lips to his, open, willing, wanting.
I closed my eyes and melted into him, the only thought in my mind: yes. I wanted to feel him, to hold this building heat, the electric velvet sensation of his body sharing this space, this soft darkness with mine.
For a moment, I was alive. I was real. I was me.
And then the cold wind lifted, reaching out as if I had a hole in my center. The memory of Rossi’s words returned, hard and bright: That hole isn’t going to heal. It is going to grow. Until it cannot be stitched over, cannot be closed, cannot be filled. And then you will hunger. Hunger for anything to put in its place.
I had an emptiness where my soul had once been. Where my soul belonged.
That emptiness hurt.
I realized there, in my lover’s embrace, that it wasn’t that I couldn’t feel pain. It was that being separated from my soul meant I was in so much pain I could not process it, could not comprehend the enormity of it.
And so I ha
d twisted away from that agony. Somehow, I’d disengaged from it so that the pain was masked behind layers and layers of numbness.
If I thought about that hole inside of me a second too long, I’d be screaming, frantic, lashing out to find anything to ease that pain. To replace what I’d lost.
Including using something as beautiful and good and strong as the man I loved.
Hunger flared in me. Hunger and one very clear thought: take Ryder’s soul, rip it out of him and use it to pack the wound inside of me that I could not endure.
No!
I pulled away, scrambled back, frantic in my need to get away from him, to save him from me–from me.
“Whoa, hold on, hey, easy.” Ryder made a grab for me, but I was still moving. I flung myself away from him, my legs tangled in the blanket bunched at the foot of the bed.
“Don’t,” I begged, breathless, and as close to afraid as I’d been able to feel for what felt like hours, days, years. “Don’t. I can’t let you. Let me. Can’t hurt….” And then I over-corrected and fell off the bed.
Ouch.
Everything went still. I sprawled on my back, staring up at the ceiling. They had nice crown molding. Also, I’d hit my funny bone. My arm was prickling.
Footsteps on the hardwood came near me.
Ryder stopped next to me, stared down.
“Reflexes like a cat.”
“Thanks.”
“Want to tell me what that was all about?”
“I’m…it’s the soul thing. Rossi told me the longer I go without it, the more I’ll miss it. And eventually I’ll want something to replace it so bad, I’ll do bad things to get them.”
“Uh-huh.”
From that lackluster response, he so wasn’t understanding the problem. Of course the whole demon-and-soul thing was even newer to him than it was to me.
“You made me feel good,” I said.
“Funny. That’s what I was going for.”
“But then I thought maybe your soul would fit nicely in the hole where mine used to be.”
He bent and then folded all the way down so he was sitting crossed-legged at my shoulder. “You know that sounds kind of dirty.”
I shut my eyes and shook my head.
“I think my soul would fit very nicely in your soul hole.” I could hear the laughter in his voice. I didn’t need him to poke me in the shoulder, but he did anyway. “Get it?” he asked. “You know, because we’ve already figured out that we fit pretty great in a lot of other ways.”
