by Jenna Black
I lay there for a long time, listening to the thrum of my pulse and the harsh rasp of my breath, my body so tight my muscles ached. Even when I was sure the execution was over and done with, I couldn’t relax a single muscle. I figured I might take the whole rest of the night to pull myself together. I was sure I’d have as much time as I needed, because no one would think to look for me here. But I was wrong.
There was a soft knock on the door. I ignored it, not remotely ready to face anyone just now. The door opened despite my lack of invitation, and I did a double take when I saw Jamaal step into the room.
I sat up abruptly, shoving the pillow aside. I didn’t know how much time had passed, but I was sure it wasn’t enough for Jamaal to have healed from being burned to death.
He closed the door behind him and leaned against it. “He didn’t go through with it,” he told me. “They tied me to the stake and he had Logan bring a torch over, but he never lit the fire.”
My shoulders sagged in relief, although I wanted to punch Anderson’s lights out for putting us all through that. The build-up had been bad enough that even failing to light the pyre didn’t lessen the horror.
Jamaal pushed away from the door and sat beside me on the cot. Not so close as to be intimate, but not giving off his usual keep your distance vibes, either.
“The point of the whole exercise was for me to prove myself willing to submit,” Jamaal said softly, staring at the floor. “There is nothing I wouldn’t face to avoid going back to the way I lived before Anderson found me and brought me here. I was so upset about Emmitt that I lost sight of all the good things I still had. I’d forgotten how important being part of Anderson’s crew was to me. The punishment sucked, but it also woke me up. So don’t, uh, feel bad about all this shit, okay? I’m in a better place than I was before.”
I looked over at him, and it was all I could do not to smile at the patent discomfort on his face. I didn’t know if it was because he was unused to speaking words of comfort, or because he didn’t like speaking to me so civilly, but whatever it was, it made him adorably awkward. I suppressed an urge to reach out and touch him, having learned last night that such overtures would not be welcomed despite our truce.
“Thanks for coming to talk to me,” I said, giving him a tentative smile. “I’m glad to know he didn’t go through with it. And I’m sorry—”
He cut me off with an abrupt hand gesture. “No. No apologies. Even if you’re Konstantin’s spy and you killed Emmitt on purpose, you aren’t responsible for what happened to me. I made my own decisions, and I’m enough of an adult to own up to that.”
I sighed. “I wish I could convince you I don’t work for Konstantin.”
He cracked a smile that reminded me for the zillionth time just how mouthwateringly gorgeous he was. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m less convinced now than I was a couple days ago. You did find Emma, after all.” The smile faded into a thoughtful expression. “And Anderson is no fool. He trusts you for a reason. That’s good enough for me for the time being.”
I rolled my eyes at him. “Wow, what a ringing endorsement.”
He smiled again—I think that made three times in two days, which might be a record for him. “Ask anyone—coming from me, that is a ringing endorsement.”
He stood up, and I felt obliged to stand, too, if only because I didn’t want to have to crane my neck to look at him.
“Now if you’re finished sulking in the basement,” he said, “Anderson’s called a meeting for about thirty minutes from now to discuss our future relations with the Olympians now that we have Emma back. You don’t want to miss it.”
He turned his back and skedaddled out of the room before I could tell him what I thought of his “sulking” comment.
When I’d come down to the basement, I’d been halfway thinking I needed to make myself disappear. How could I consider working for a terrifying god of death and vengeance who could kill immortals with a touch and had no qualms about burning one of his own people to death in punishment for disobedience?
Jamaal’s words, however, gave me serious pause. Not only had Anderson not followed through on his most dire threat, but Jamaal was clearly feeling better. Before, he’d been like a wounded animal, snarling and biting without any rational thought. “Borderline crazy,” I’d labeled him, and I suspected it was the truth. Now, he seemed human. Still in pain, and still a dangerous man, but not plunging off the deep end anymore. It made me wonder: how much of Anderson’s “punishment” had truly been punishment? And how much had been a demonstration of a particularly harsh version of “tough love”?
I wasn’t yet convinced that staying with Anderson and his merry band was the best way for me to deal with my uncertain future. They were likely soon to be at open war with the Olympians, and that spelled more ordeals and more trauma for me if I stayed with them.
But maybe, just maybe, if Anderson could take an alienated loner like Jamaal and make him into something like a member of the “family,” he could do the same for me.
And that was something I’d gladly brave the terrifying future to achieve.
