“Is that a demon thing?”
“It might be an us thing.”
An us thing.
I realize, with something like amazement, that there is an “us” now. Whatever this is—whatever we’re becoming—it’s real.
“The Dance of Accord,” I say slowly. “Is it part of the contract? Is that why you want to perform it at the Showcase?”
“It’s one of the conditions, yes. An ancient ritual dance performed before witnesses. The magic responds to genuine feelings—it can’t be faked.”
The lights flickering. The music playing from nowhere. The way I could feel his emotions bleeding into mine.
“That’s why it was so...”
“Intense, yes. The dance was testing us. Testing whether our connection is real.”
“And is it?”
The question comes out softer than I intended. Vulnerable. The kind of question I’d never normally ask, because the answer might devastate me.
His eyes meet mine steadily.
“For me, yes. Every moment of it. Every touch, every stolen glance, every argument about timing and footwork and whether you should let me improvise more.” He laughs quietly. “Especially the arguments. You’re magnificent when you’re annoyed.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only answer I have.” He leans forward. “I can’t prove my feelings to you, Isadora. I can only tell you that they’re real. That I think about you constantly. That dancing with you is the first thing in three centuries that’s made me feel alive. That I’m more terrified of losing you than I am of what happens if the contract fails.”
“What does happen? If the contract fails?”
His jaw tightens. “Nothing you need to worry about.”
“Mal.”
“I mean it. My problems are my own. I won’t burden you with?—”
“That’s not how this works.” I stand up, frustration bubbling through me. “You can’t tell me you have feelings for me and then refuse to share what’s actually at stake. Either we’re in this together or we’re not.”
“We’re in this together. But some things?—”
“Are too dangerous? Too scary? Too what?”
He’s quiet for a long moment. When he speaks again, his voice is careful.
“If I don’t fulfill the contract’s conditions before the three-hundred-year mark, it becomes permanent. I remain bound to Azrael, the demon who holds my contract, forever. He can use me however he sees fit. Send me on whatever errands amuse him. Make me do things I’d rather not do.” A pause. “I have six months left.”
Six months.
“That’s why you came to Bellamy Cove.”
“I came to Bellamy Cove because I was running out of options. Two hundred and ninety-nine years of trying to fulfill impossible conditions, and I’d never gotten further than two stones. Most demons consider the escape clause a joke—something designed to look achievable while being functionally impossible.”
“But you’ve gotten four already. In just a few weeks.”
“I have you to thank for that.” He looks at me with an expression I can’t quite read. “You’re unlike anyone I’ve ever met, Isadora. Human or otherwise.”
I don’t know what to do with that. I don’t know what to do with the terrifying timeline hanging over his head.
