“When I come, life is already gone. On rare occasions, the person is taking their last breath. Typically, no one sees me. I stay cloaked the entire time. This is theestheticsI keep when I navigate this world.” It was unsettling how death walked so casually among us.
He leaned on the table, steepling his hands, his forearm corded with muscles, drawing my eyes to them. His attention followed where my gaze had drifted. “I think you’re beautiful as well, Kara.”
“Never said you were beautiful. I said you had esthetics. And I didn’t specify whether said esthetics were good or not.” When does being a Petty Princess devolve into sheer bitchiness? I despised that he brought out this side of me.
“You’re right, no specifications were made. I made that assumption by the look in your eyes. Do you know howveryexpressive they are? I adore the wonderful peek I get into your thoughts. They speak to me.” He examined them for a moment before standing. “Are we finished eating?”
I nodded, the new information leaving me lost for words.
His plate remained relatively untouched. I was about to suggest that he could take his food with him when the mark on my arm reappeared and illuminated. The hard pulsing took my breath away. I winced.
“Does it hurt?” he asked.
“Will you remove it if it does?” I asked through slow, controlled breaths. It wasn’t painful but was akin to a prolonged muscle spasm and left the same lingering discomfort once it ended.
“No, but I wanted to test the nuances of our bond and the control I have over it and the person I’m bound to.”
“Over me,” I whispered.
His head tilted slightly, giving me a considering look. My gaze drifted to his fingers as they traced lazy patterns over his bottom lip. His masculine mystique was undeniable, and it was blatantly obvious he was aware of it. It gave me the determination to pull my gaze from his fingers and lock on his eyes. Refusing to let my guard down for some handsome man—No,god. Cirrian was the god of death. Our grim reaper. The embodiment of our death.
I had no idea what he read from my expression but his was devoid of all emotion. “You can’t kill me. The pain from your blade, I find pleasurable. You agreed to the oath, and failure to complete the task will result in me collecting your soul and your magic. If you succeed, I get my companions. Why would I resort to something as trite as flaunting my control when it’s already clear I hold the advantage? It was nothing more than a test of our bond. I don’t wish to hurt you, Kara.”
“No, it didn’t hurt. It was just uncomfortable.”
“For me as well,” he murmured with a tight, emotionless smile.
I started to leave the kitchen to check on any leads to translating the grimoire when curiosity got the better of me.
“Why my magic?” I asked. I wanted to ask more about ashinwas, but pretending that I had knowledge appeared to give me leverage. I needed more information about the alleged magic, Jamillah’s belief that the kinborn witches should have found me, and Vina’s words of regret, as well, but I’d settle for discovering more about the magic.
“Kara, don’t play with me.” His tone carried a caustic accusation. His preternatural movements landed him directly in front of me. Sharp eyes pinned me.
“Why would I do that? Playing with you about what?” I asked.
His churlish delight with me had switched to anger. Cirrian’s eyes blazed with an indictment of sins I was unaware I’d committed. The air between us thickened with his frustration. A palpable heat made my skin prickle. He took several slow, measured breaths, then tossed a final glare in my direction before storming out of the kitchen, leaving me feeling hollow and my mind a tangle of thoughts and confusion.
Clearing away and storing the leftovers at a snail’s pace, I hoped Cirrian would be gone by the time I finished. The incident replayed in my head, offering no clarity or sense.
In my library, I found him on the sofa in the space that would have been his prison, as if he’d adopted it as his homing hub. The grimoire in his lap, he was slowly flipping through it.
His eyes flicked in my direction and quickly returned to the pages. “Your kind choice not to draw attention to yourself is understandable. The tradeoff for flaunting your immense magical abilities would be retaliation for your past offences and constant threats on your life. I see why you live in the shadows as you do. There is no benefit to me revealing who you are. It would put me in the position of protecting you instead of just reaping the benefits of your magic. But you don’t pretend when you’rearound me. I find it neither amusing nor entertaining. And so far, you’ve exceeded in being entertaining to me.”
It was clear he had no intention of providing more.
“Well, I’m glad I have more value to you than just my magic.” Either he missed the thread of sarcasm or ignored it in favor of the grimoire.
“Your vampire sentinel was correct about your resourcefulness.”
“Do you understand it?”
“It’s in a forgotten language.”
“I know that. But you’re probably old as dirt. So, I’ll ask again. Are you able to read it?”
Cirrian’s jaw clenched, but he remained silent. There was a touch of curiosity in his expression. It must have gotten the better of him because he asked, “Why would you befriend the vampires?”
I shrugged then disclosed what led to them offering me the job and me accepting it. “We’re not friends. I work for them. The money is good, and I really don’t want the supernatural world to devolve into anarchy. It wouldn’t go well for humans.”
