Page 78 of Fallacies

Her.

The word cracks through my skull like a whip.

I haven’t spoken in days, a week maybe, so it takes monumental effort to clear my throat and force out the words, “Can’t find her yourself?”

Black magic bursts from his fingers, lashing the sliver of bare skin between the plate of metal strapped to my chest and layers of chains hanging off my hips. It takes little to no effort to stay expressionless. The burst of pain is so distant from my body, but I know he broke skin because I can hear my blood trickling onto the floor. Hurt is an old friend—it doesn’t bother me anymore. Never really bothered me in the first place.

“Do not. Mock me,” Alaric snarls, his expression darkening, “or I’ll find another hunter, drag you back to your old cell, and you will rot for another fifty years. More if I can help it.”

Even with all the metal on my shoulders, I manage to roll them back. “Another hunter?”

The violence in his stare multiplies. I’m hardly in a position to brag, but it is my field of expertise. So much so that merely referring to it as ‘hunting’ is almost an insult.

Alaric needs me, and unfortunately for everyone involved, I need him too.

More of my blood drips on the tile.

The King shifts, running a pale hand over his chin before propping his elbow on the gilded armrest. Yellow eyes find my cerulean ones. “I’m not sure where they are keeping her. It’s somewhere hidden and heavily warded. I need you to find her and bring her to me.” Alaric’s eyes sharpen in warning. “Do not kill her.”

I snort, chains clinking as I move to stand. I sure as fuck will not kneel before the man asking a favor of me—captor or not. The guards along the wall lunge forward, and to my surprise, Alaric waves them back.

He waits until they’ve settled back in their positions before returning his attention to me.

“Well?” he asks, his tone slightly less degrading now that I’m standing at my full height. “Can you do it?”

Ouch.

“I could find a drop of your sweat in the ocean.”

Alaric doesn’t react on the outside to my statement, but I can smell the rise in his temper. It brings me great pleasure knowing what I can accomplish with one sentence. Though I ache to pile it on, I’m smart enough to know that there’s a line between cocky and just plain stupid. I live my life on that line.

Wetting my cracked lips, I weigh his offer. “I’d need her scent.”

Alaric flicks his chin to the guard on his right, and the Rogue steps forward, a tattered piece of cloth dangling between his fingers. He practically throws it at my feet, not wanting to get a single inch closer than he has to.

Just. One. Pinky.

Chains clinking, I bend to pick it up. It’s seen better days, whatever the tattered fabric once was, but I lift it to my nose and inhale until my lungs are full.

Like most scents, it explodes through my olfactory system—spreading through my nose and dripping down my throat—so potent I can taste it. Vanilla. Rosemary. And something powerful but delicate. Innocent even.

“How old is this?” I ask, taking another pull of the scent.

“Does it matter?”

No, I’m just curious.

Pulling the tattered cloth away, I wrap it around my fist and meet Alaric’s stare. “What’s in it for me?”

“If you agree, you’ll be bound to a Vow. Break it, and⁠—”

“Yeah, I know what happens when you break it,” I assure him. “What’s in it for me?”

Alaric knows what I want. It’s the only form of currency that matters to me. He just has to decide if it’s worth it.

Is finding this…girl worth granting my freedom? Is whatever threat she poses worth releasing me? An imprisoned God with a fifty-year score to settle. If it is…that only makes this hunt more interesting.

Alaric’s jaw grinds, and he runs a hand over the tightened bones, watching me as if he’s weighing his options. Weighing the risks, the odds, and the consequences.