Page 167 of Just One Little Bargain

“It is if it means you get to stay.”

“No, Evie. It’s not.”

“Of course you think that. You’ve already decided your life is the expendable part of this.”

His expression tightens. “That isn’t what I said.”

“You’re miserable there.” Frustration flares hot in my chest. “You hate what they expect of you.”

“I’m still a demon.”

“And?” I snap.

“That doesn’t change because I prefer your world. Even if a bargain could somehow bind me here, I’d still be what I am.”

“You spend almost all your time in your mortal form now,” I argue, my voice rising slightly. “Even around me. You dress like a human, you live like one, and you prefer it.”

“I do,” he admits quietly.

“Then stay.”

He closes his eyes, and for a moment I almost believe wanting him could be enough. When he opens them again, I already know the answer.

“I can’t let you offer yourself as payment.” His hands return to my waist and hold on. “Risking your soul, risking you, for something that might not even work—” He shakes his head. “I won’t do that. Even though I want it more than I’ve ever wanted anything.”

“I’m not asking you to decide for me.”

“You may hate me for it, but I will not purchase my freedom with any part of you.”

The sentence leaves no room for argument.

“That’s such bullshit.” I shove the blanket away, unable to bear its warmth. “None of this is fair.”

“That’s the hand we’ve been dealt. And—”

“Don’t tell me it’s just the way it is.”

“I wasn’t going to.” He pulls me back against him. “What I wanted to say is that fair stopped mattering the second I realized what you were to me. I’d take four days with you over an eternity without you. Even knowing how it ends.”

I have no answer to that. Fighting him would be easier if he sounded resigned, but he doesn’t. He sounds certain.

“How did you know?” I ask instead. “About us being soulmates. When did you figure it out?”

“It’s . . . complicated.”

“Milo—”

A thud interrupts us. We both turn toward the sound. Marmalade has appeared in the living room doorway, looking pleased with himself. At his feet lies a very dead and mangled field mouse.

I squeal and scramble off Milo’s lap so fast I nearly fall off the sofa. “Oh my god. Marmalade, no.”

He sits down beside his prize, looking directly at us.

Milo stares at the cat for a long, strange moment before laughing. “Good job, buddy.”

“It’s disgusting.”

“I’ll get rid of it. You stay there.”