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“We don’t carry any.”
“Hmm.” The girl tastes the water, deems it drinkable, and gulps the contents down. She shakes it, coaxing the last few drops out, then caps it again and puts it inside her shirt. Arsene twitches. Now he’ll need a new flask.
Nur leans in. “I need something from you in exchange. Have you seen a caravan? They probably arrived two days ago. They’re travelling with two wagons and some dogs.”
She picks up her slingshot, and for a moment Arsene thinks she’s going to take off. But she only straightens.
“I saw them. They came in the south end of the city. Papa met them there. They said they’re going west.”
“Where are they now?” Nur presses.
The girl’s gaze darts to Arsene. “Can’t say.”
Nur’s amusement flickers down the bond. “He’s harmless.”
“Angels are bad. You should stay away from them.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. Not that I disagree entirely.” Nur gestures Arsene forward.
If only their bond was stronger, they would feel more than simple emotions from each other—he’d love to know what in Hell Nur is thinking. The girl watches him warily.
Play along,Nur mouths.
“He’s my prisoner. I’m on an important mission to bring him to justice for all the humans he’s harmed. I need to find the caravan so they can help me.”
“How come he’s not chained?” the girl demands.
“Bloodthirsty child,” Arsene mutters, but Nur shushes him.
“I don’t need chains to keep him in line. I’m very strong.”
Arsene has to bite his tongue. He tries to look appropriately subdued as Nur grabs his elbow and maneuvers him forward.
The girl shuffles backward. “Keep him away.”
“Don’t worry.” Nur puts his lips to Arsene’s ear. “Be a good prisoner. Go on. Kneel for me.”
Arsene shudders. Smugness radiates off Nur.Damn clever asshole.But turnabout is fair play.
He gets to his knees.
The bond flares hot. Nurlovesthis—Arsene can tell. But his expression is inscrutable as he addresses the girl. “See? He’s helpless.”
The girl purses her lips. “Where’s his wings? He can use them to get away.”
“He only brings them out when I say so.” Nur takes Arsene’s chin in hand. Helpless, Arsene meets his eyes. They burn like molten silver. “Show her.”
With a grimace, Arsene strips off his dusty, ragged shirt. His wings erupt from the aether with awhooshof displaced air, and the girl’s mouth drops open.
Humans don’t care about our customs, he reminds himself. Still, his feathers itch at the exposure. A year ago he would have rather cut off a limb than bare himself to anyone.
Nur’s fingers dig into the crook of his wing, and he shudders. The touch is a shock. With more gentleness than Arsene would have thought he deserved, Nur stretches the appendage to its full length.
“He submits to me,” he says.
Arsene shuts his eyes and tries to control his flush.
All too soon, Nur’s hands are gone. Arsene pulls his wings tight and quickly yanks his shirt back on. He gets to his feet. Forget the girl—he can’t handle the heat of Nur’s gaze. His head is light as air.
