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His jaw hardens, eyes flashing the darkest shade of black. “Not an option.”
And by the venom in his voice, I know he’s not lying.
“I—”
He cuts me off by holding his hand up. “Notice that I didn’t ask you a question, so I don’t expect an answer.” Looking down at me over his sharp Roman nose, he pops his knuckles and softens his voice to add, “I’m not asking you, sweetheart. I’m telling you. We are getting married.”
My feet are rooted to the floorboards, a numbness trickling through my body like syrup. For once, my mind is blank, and I’m unable to form any cohesive sentence or argument to stop whatever this monster has just put in motion.
All I can do is stare as he glances at his watch and lets out a dramatic sigh. As if he has anywhere else to be in the dark hours of the morning. “Must dash, sweetheart. Here.” He slips a small card out of his pocket. It’s gold with a green emblem in the center. “Meet me at this address on Friday, noon sharp.”
I open my mouth. Close it again.
He arches an eyebrow and shoots me a challenging glare. “Problem?”
Seems like my vocal cords don’t want to work. So I shake my head for what feels like the millionth time tonight.
“Perfect.” He drinks me in with one last lingering stare, licking his lips. Like he’s committed my cowering body to memory and likes what his brain has conjured up. Then he turns and strides toward the door. “Oh,” he says, pausing with his hand on the knob. “And don’t think about running. As much as I enjoy a delicious game of cat and mouse, I don’t really have the time at the moment.”
And with that, he’s gone.
Alone in the apartment, the wind whips louder, and the rain pelts down on the roof like bullets. The past thirty minutes feel like a fever dream, and I’m half expecting to wake up any moment, screaming, with Mak comforting me.
An icy hand grips at my throat with a hold stronger than the Devil’s.
If you commit a sin,
The Devil will knock thrice.
If you let him in,
He’ll make you his wife.
It was true. It was really true.
With trembling hands, I scramble for the card he gave me. I dropped it the second he slammed the door shut behind him, and it’s now tucked between the floorboards. I tug it out, running my sweaty fingers over the shiny gold surface and the raised diamond and crown emblem in the middle. On the reverse, there’s a name and an address in fancy cursive.
Donnacha Quinn.
So, the Devil has a name.
I stare at it until the letters blur into one. Only when the rain dies down and the first rays of sun seep through the smeared windows do I look up from the floor.
Friday is three days away.
I have a lot to do before then.
