“Something like that,” he said.
“So a hellhound is protecting me, and you’re…”
Holy. Shit.
My eyes widened, and I stumbled backward, dropping onto the couch. Every one of my memories of Ronan rearranged itself to make room for this new realization.
“You're acrossroadsdemon?"
The nervousness in his eyes changed to anger. “Are we really comparing freak flags now? Because last time I checked,youbring people back from the dead.”
The comment should’ve stung, especially coming from him, but I was too shocked to feel it.
“You're a crossroads demon,” I said again, more to myself than to him. I closed my eyes and dropped my head into my hands. I’d always known that Ronan was powerful, but I had no idea that he held the fate of souls in his hands.
When someone made a deal at the crossroads, it was an act of pure desperation. Crossroads deals were for the cursed and damned, for those who’d lost everything, for those who feared things so much worse than death.
No matter what the bargain, the payment was always the same—a soul, sold into demonic slavery, for eternity.
Crossroads demons kept watch over the damned, and at the end of the promised term—ten years, twenty, two—they brought in their hounds and collected, delivering the poor suckers straight to Hell.
No one fucked with them, because even without a deal, Crossroads demons still had the power to imprison your soul in Hell, even if your greatest offense was stepping on their toe and scuffing their shoe.
And for the last seven years, he’d been spending almost all of his time with me. Keeping watch over me.
It could only mean one thing.
I was part of someone’s deal. Some bargaining chip he’d been tasked with guarding until the time came to cash me in.
Fisting my damp hair, I opened my eyes and looked up at the man I considered my friend. The man I loved.
It was all a lie.
“This changes nothing, Gray." He stalked over to the couch, and I stood up to face him, jabbing my finger into his chest.
“It changes everything,” I said. “You lied to me. You—”
“I never lied to you. I never would. Gray, please.” He said my name on a sigh, reaching for my face, but suddenly I didn’t want his hands on me.
Channeling all of my rage, all of my anger, all of my sadness and desperation, I shoved him as hard as I could into the wall. I screamed until I had no voice, pounded on his chest with my fists so hard my hands ached, and still Ronan took it, immovable as a statue.
When I was all out of fire, I sagged against his chest, my knees buckling. Saying nothing, Ronan slid his hands into my hair and forced me to meet his eyes.
I saw his age then—his real age, not the human mask—hundreds of years of regret behind bottomless autumn-colored eyes that had seen so much pain. So much loss.
“You should have told me," I whispered, tears sliding down my cheeks.
He slid the pad of his thumb across my lips, making me ache. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to lose you."
“You can’t lose me. It’s your job not to lose me.”
“It was never that simple for me.”
“At least tell me why you're here. Tell me why you've been sent to me. Tell me…” I trailed off. I knew enough about crossroads demons to know that asking for further details about a deal would be pointless; even if Ronan wanted me to know, he physicallycouldn’tshare the terms of the deal. It would obliterate him, banish him to non-existence.
“None of that matters, Gray.”
“Then what does? What matters? What are we—”
