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“I’m not. It would be dangerous, to say the least.”
“For who?”
“For you, which is why it’s not an option I’ll consider. I refuse to risk you. Kali, on the other hand, will certainly risk you while using you to obtain something—deities are merciless that way. I can’t stop Her. I can’t demand that She use another witch and keep Her hands off mine. And I absolutely fucking hate that.”
Her chest tightened at the torment in his voice. Really, she’d feel that same torment in his shoes. He might be asking a lot of her, but Wynter couldn’t blame him for doing so. After all, it wasn’t anything she wouldn’t have asked of him if the situation was reversed—she wouldn’t lie to herself about that.
“There’s so much I don’t know about you. And while I am positive that none of it would change how I feel about you, I would like to have a more complete picture before I do something as mega huge as grant you absolute power over me. Come on, Cain, you want me to put my soul entirely into your hands when you won’t even tell me what happens to souls you own.”
He shrugged. “People do it all the time.”
Well, yes, but they weren’t talking about other people. “Would you sell me your soul?”
He tucked her hair behind her ear, his expression softening. “You already own it.”
She groaned, plastering her hands to her face. “You can’t say stuff like that.” It plucked at her heart and made her feel like utter crap for having so many reservations . . . which, of course, he knew. “God, you’re a manipulative bastard.” She dropped her hands and shot him a scowl.
“I am,” he admitted without hesitation. “But I wasn’t lying.”
“Let’s say I agreed. You’re an Ancient, you Rest for long periods of time. I’d be supposed to, what, spend centuries alone while you snooze?”
“Of course not. We would Rest together. I would be able to put you into that state, so long as you were willing—it wouldn’t otherwise work.”
She swallowed. “I’d have to watch my coven grow old and die.”
“I understand that that thought hurts you, but I’m not a good enough person to withdraw my request to spare you that hurt. I need you with me.” He massaged her shoulders. “You don’t have to give me an answer right now. I didn’t believe that you would. For the moment, it’s enough that you’re clearly mulling over it. Just tell me that you’ll continue to give it some real thought.”
Oh, it would be hard for her not to. “All right, I’ll think hard about it.” But she honestly couldn’t imagine herself agreeing to it unless or until he’d answered the questions he kept neatly avoiding.
A knock sounded at the door.
Cain gave her shoulders a gentle squeeze before heading to the door and opening it. “Yes?”
She heard the voice of one of his aides but couldn’t make out the words.
“I see. Show them to the solar room, tell them we’ll meet them there shortly.” Cain closed the door. “Your coven is here. I suspect they need to see for themselves that you’re alive and well.”
“I figured they’d turn up.” At least they hadn’t stormed the Keep like a bunch of loons, demanding to see her. They probably would have done if they hadn’t felt positive she’d survived Saul’s blow. The fact that Cain hadn’t flipped his lid and started demolishing buildings in a rage would have been all the assurance they needed that Wynter was fine.
Since she didn’t feel like walking around the Keep barefoot—the stone floor was super cold—she slipped on some socks and footwear. Cain did the same, and then they headed to the solar room. Entering, they found that her coven wasn’t alone. Azazel and Seth had also arrived.
Seth was talking quietly with Xavier—who was probably regaling him with fictional life stories—while Delilah and Hattie weirdly studied a plant. Anabel was hugging herself while Azazel stared at her curiously.
Warmed by the sight of her coven not only alive and well but completely casual, as if they’d already shoved the short battle to the back of their minds, Wynter smiled. Nothing fazed them for long. It was really no wonder that she’d clicked with them so well.
Azazel waved his hand at Anabel. “I just don’t get how you can switch from a raving lunatic intent on wiping out anything that comes at you . . . to someone who’s nervous of her own shadow and, well, everything else.”
Delilah sighed. “You’ll have to excuse her,” she told Azazel. “It comes from her unfounded belief that death stalks her.”
Anabel’s eyes widened. “Unfounded? Did we not just get attacked?”
“Are you not yet used to it?” Delilah shot back.
Seth was the first to notice that Cain and Wynter had arrived. “So you cheated death yet again,” he said to her. “I thought you might.”
Anabel looked at Wynter, her face soft with relief. “Oh, good, you’re all right.” She whirled on Delilah, scowling. “And by the way, just because you can’t feel death’s breath on—”
Delilah slammed up her hand. “Whatever, Miss Morbid. Glad to see you’re okay, Wyn.”
