I didn’t respond.
“Never mind. I’ll help myself.” He rummaged through the cupboards, locating the liquor stash and pouring himself a generous glass of bourbon. Gesturing to the table at the other side of the kitchen, he said, “Sit.”
It wasn’t a request.
I did as he asked, and he took the chair across from me, eyeing me up as he sipped the bourbon. I couldn’t read his thoughts, and didn’t dare try to influence them, lest he sense my interference. But one thing was clear—Sebastian had a lot on his mind.
“Let’s get one thing clear before we proceed.” He set the glass on the table, locking me in his frightening glare. “The fact that you are at present a soulless monster does not negate our deal. Soul or not, youwillfind a way to do as I demand, per the rules of your contract.”
I waited a beat. Two. Three. Then, “The contract is for my soul, Sebastian. Which, as you can see, is long gone. I’m not sure we have anything left to—”
He snapped his fingers again, and my throat constricted. It was as if I were being choked by an invisible hand. No, I didn’t need oxygen, but I needed my windpipe intact.
“I think we’re well past semantics, Miss Desario.” He lifted the glass to his lips, watching with pure amusement as I clawed at my own throat, my eyes bulging. Saliva pooled in the corners of my mouth, my neck about five seconds from snapping in two, and still he drawled on. “Iownyou, just as I own Ronan. Body, mind, soul, blood, bones. I own those sharp and shiny new fangs of yours. I own those curls that probably drive the boys wild. I own your heart, your smile, your eyeballs. I own the soles of your feet. I own your fingerprints. I even own your thoughts.”
He took another long sip, then set the glass down, finally releasing his choke-hold.
I coughed, rubbing my throat, glaring daggers at him.
He was full of shit. Sebastian was nothing if not a stickler for details—his entire organization was predicated on it. My contract was specific—my soul was promised to him. Nothing else.
“So you can see why attempting to avoid your fate is not only futile,” he said, full of the kind of confidence that could only be achieved by the truly mediocre, “but extremely dangerous.”
I nodded, deciding to play along for now.
“At any rate,” he blathered on, “the task I’ve set for you doesn’t require the presence of your soul, per se. Only your magic.”
The lodge had fallen silent, save for the wheezing of his breath. I couldn’t even hear the ocean outside. He’d truly sealed us in a bubble.
And he still hadn’t told me what he wanted, or why he’d shown up at all. He liked keeping me off balance, that was for sure.
Maybe it was time to throw him off balance instead.
“I know it’s not my ancestors you’re really after,” I said.
“You know nothing.”
“You sure about that?”
He waved away my words with a swat of his fat hand, but I saw the flicker of surprise in his eyes. He was playing games, as usual.
“Tell me what you want with Trinity O’Leary,” I said, point blank.
The name itself was like a spell, unleashing all his pent-up rage. He slammed his glass onto the table, shattering it and slicing his hand open in the process. My eyes widened at the sight of his crimson blood, but the scent that followed was rotten, a stench so foul it made my stomach turn.
“I’ve told you once before, and this is thelasttime I’ll say it,” he warned. “Ronan and the other strays you’ve picked up along the way may be lining up to lick your boots, but you donotdictate orders to me. I’ll reveal information to you if and when it’s pertinent. Is that clear, witch?”
I glared at him, saying nothing.
“Is thatclear?” he shouted, this time flipping the table between us. His eyes had gone back to red, his voice shaking.
Whatever my birthmother had done, her betrayal had cut deep. That much was clear.
But Sebastian’s outbursts wouldn’t scare me off—not this time. Despite his show of force and the choke-hold he’d sprung on me earlier, Sebastian’s power over me wasn’t physical. Deep down I knew he wouldn’t break me. Scare me, yes. Hurt me, sure. But break me? Not a chance.
He needed me in one piece. He needed me willing. My magic wouldn’t work without my intent, and my intent could not be faked.
I’d gotten him riled up, off-kilter, and unfocused. I had to press my advantage with him, however small it might be.
