“I was bored.”
“Bored.”
“Exceedingly.” He leans his head back against the invisible barrier. The movement is lazy. Casual. Like he has all the time in the world. “I have been considering my situation. The bindings you have placed are competent. Irritatingly so. Brute force will not break them. Not quickly.”
My heart does a complicated thing. Relief and terror mixing together in a way that makes my chest tight.
“Good,” I manage.
“But here is what you have failed to consider, Little Witch.” His eyes fix on me with an intensity that makes me want to step backwards. I hold my ground. “I am immortal. I have existed for longer than your language has words to describe. I have patience that spans centuries.”
He pauses. Lets that sink in.
“You,” he continues, very quietly, very calmly, “are human. A creature formed from carbon, the dust of long-dead stars. Despite this interesting origin, your species has only a flicker of time. You, Little Witch, are a candle that will gutter and die while I am still sitting here, waiting.”
The words hit like a physical blow. Because he’s right. I’m twenty-six. I’ll be lucky to see eighty. That’s barely fifty years. Fifty years is nothing to someone who has existed for millennia.
I could die of old age and Dis would still be sitting in this circle. And it will be far easier for him to escape my magic once I’m dead. Or too old and weak to maintain it.
The thought makes something cold settle in my stomach. But I don’t let it show on my face. I’ve had a lifetime of practice in hiding fear.
“You ordered my flicker of time to be made even shorter,” I say. My voice comes out steady. Hard. “You ordered my flat to be burnt down. You used me as bait. You were willing to kill me without a second thought. You need to pay for that.”
Silence falls between us. Heavy. Weighted with things I don’t have words for.
Dis is very still. The shadows around him have stopped moving.
“I aggrieved you,” he says finally.
It’s not a question. Just a statement. An acknowledgment of fact.
I nod. “Yes.”
More silence. He studies me with those impossible blue eyes. I study him back. Try not to think about the way the shadows curl around his wrists like jewellery. Try not to notice the way his hair falls across his face.
Try very hard not to acknowledge how attractive he is. Because it’s irrelevant. He’s still the asshole who ordered my death. I may have a history of ignoring all the flaws and red flags of any man who is easy on the eye. But not this time. These flaws and this red flag are not dismissible.
Even though the eye candy is really, really damn sweet.
“Release me from this circle,” Dis says. “And we shall duel. It is the honourable thing to do.”
I stare at him. “What?” My brain is still stuck on drinking down the sweet candy.
“A duel. You and I. Magic against magic. If you believe I have wronged you, then face me properly. Not like this. Not with me trapped and helpless.”
Reality comes crashing in. I shake my head to clear it. This asshole wants me to fight him. He’s claiming he’s helpless. “You’re not helpless.”
“I am significantly less powerful than I would prefer to be.”
“That’s kind of the point.”
“It is cowardly.”
The word stings. Which is probably intentional. Dis doesn’t seem like the kind of being who says things accidentally.
“I’m not fighting you,” I say.
“Why not? You are clearly angry. Clearly seeking retribution. Face me properly.”
