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Malachi’s mind went blank for several seconds. He swallowed repeatedly, but saliva kept flooding his mouth. Owning Joy’s soul—
Need and possessiveness like he’d never felt before seized his limbs, and he had to clench his hands into fists again to keep from reaching out, to keep from touching her. If she hadn’t been resting against his wings, they’d have flared wide to show his intention.
“If you sold your soul to me, then your soul would belong to me,” he said simply, his voice rough.
“And it doesn’t … it doesn’tdoanything to me?”
“It does not.”
“You can’t—I won’t, like, become your slave? Or die on the spot?”
His lips twitched. “No.”
“Huh.” She sounded thoughtful. “But I’ll definitely go to hell, right?”
“Oh, yes. That is a given.”
He’d thought that would make her finally come to her senses, but no, she still smelled … interested.
Malachi dug his claws into his palms.
“So, the more contracts you make—or rather, the more humans sell their souls to you, the more power you have.”
“That is correct.”
Joy went silent again. The lights abruptly went out.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Fucking NEPA.”
Neither of them moved. Malachi had learned, after the first few times and after he’d read up on it, that the power constantly—and unpredictably—going in and out was a normality in Nigeria, which was kind of bleak. And annoying.
He stilled when he scented—
“Are you okay?” he asked sharply.
Joy was breathing hard. “I’m—I’m fine.”
Malachi gave her a moment to herself. He wanted desperately to move closer, to offer her comfort, but the thought of asking to do so made him feel too vulnerable.
“Ever since—” Joy began, like she was responding to a silent question. She swallowed loudly.
“Joy. You don’t have to—”
“It happened in the dark,” she said in a rush, like the words were being ripped out of her. “It doesn’t—I don’t get the—the darkness doesn’t trigger me every time, but sometimes—it’s like I’m back there—and I can’t—Ican’t…”
Malachi twisted around slightly so he was facing her. He knew his red eyes could be startling in the darkness—he’d sent Desmond nearly flying out of his skin with fright, many a time—but Joy immediately met his glowing gaze like a drowning woman grasping at straws. She had to be struggling to see him in the darkness, but he could see her perfectly; her eyes were wide and scared, boring into his like his gaze was the blinking light of a lighthouse and she was a captain lost at sea, finally found home.
Malachi’s hand inched forward in the space between them, shifting closer to her. The moment felt fragile, like he wasn’t only reaching for her. When the tips of his fingers brushed hers, her hand moved abruptly, tangling their fingers together. Malachi suddenly couldn’t breathe. She hadn’t stopped staring into his eyes.
His heart thumped. “You’re okay.”
“I know.” She didn’t look away. Her hand squeezed his.
He squeezed back. Fuck, fuck, he couldn’t breathe. “I am here.”
“I know.”
“I won’t let anything hurt you.” It was a promise, heavy with the threat of violence.
