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“That would be the one,” I reply dryly.
“She’s in a cell. Shall I get her?”
“No,” I say, turning from him.
I can get her myself.
I make my way down to the prison, which doesn’t get much use. It’s not often I allow a soul to stay here the way I did with the hellion who I put in chains not long ago. I really have no use for her, but she intrigued me way too much.
A mere break in the monotony.
In all my time of rendering judgments, I’ve never seen anyone so brave in the face of eternal torment. The fact she had no regrets should have gotten her tossed over the side, but she earned a reprieve so I could study her a bit more.
My life isn’t boring, but it’s also not that exciting either. I can have any pleasure I want—food, sex, wealth, luxuries—but nothing has made me feel even remotely alive since… well, since Zora was here.
And now this woman who slit a man’s throat and seemed to enjoy doing it fascinates me. She’s probably nothing more than a plaything, but I intend to see what she’s made of.
As I walk the corridor between the cells, the few humans down here shrink away in fear when they see me, and some moan piteously, as if I’m here to drag them to the river.
I ignore them. They were here by Kymaris’s judgment, not mine.
When I reach the woman’s cell, she doesn’t shrink away or make a single sound. Instead, she wraps her hands around the bars and peers at me without a single bit of worry in her green-gold eyes.
Fascinating, her lack of fear.
She’s young by human standards… can’t be more than mid-twenties. Thin in an underfed kind of way with a hatchet-job haircut on her bleached locks. Still, you look past all that, she’s quite pretty, despite her murderous talents.
“Your name,” I demand.
“I’m sure it’s on that scroll your lackey has tucked away somewhere.”
Insolent too.
She could be a lot of fun.
My hand shoots out, grabs the manacles around her wrists, and calling on my powers, I bring us both to the Bridge of Judgment where not but an hour ago, she escaped only by her moxie.
We stand at the edge, her shackles and collar gone. My hand grips the back of her neck, holding her in place but with a slight pressure that lets her know I’m the only thing between safety and damnation.
“Let’s try again,” I say as she stares down at the river churning below. “Your name?”
“Nyssa McKnight,” she grits out.
“See, that wasn’t so hard now, was it?” I pull her back slightly from the edge and turn her toward me. She doesn’t avert her eyes but raises them boldly to mine, fuming over her lack of control. I take in the lift of her chin, the clench of her fists, and the hate in her mossy eyes. “Most beings with any lick of common sense would be quaking in their shoes right now.”
She snarls, “Am I supposed to be afraid of a big man-bat?”
I jerk her closer to me, using my strength and my hand at the back of her neck to force her to her tiptoes. I bend down to put my face closer to hers. “Careful, little girl,” I warn with a squeeze. “There are worse things than being thrown into that river.”
“Like having your balls cut off?” she taunts, and I go still as I look down to see she’s palmed my dagger and has it pressed against my jewels.
Calmly, I bring my gaze back to hers. She seems so triumphant, having scored that little victory. “You’re not even sorry for murdering that man, are you?”
“Remorse is overrated.” She presses the edge of the dagger against my groin and admittedly, I flinch. I’m immortal and can grow my balls back if she follows through, but it’s going to hurt like a bitch.
I call forth my power, freezing her arm in place. Her eyes go round, and I reach down to wrap my fingers around her wrist. Slowly, I bring it up, twisting so the dagger is now poised right under her chin.
Fascinating.
