Chapter 1
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Someone’s a little stab happy, huh?
Willow is everything. For starters, she lives in a secluded cottage in the woods with an overflowing garden and a chicken penitentiary that is, in a word, impressive.
Her devil-may-care attitude is all I aspire to have.
I want to be her when I grow up. I want to deeply sigh at the prospect of guests, roll my eyes from my sprawl across the couch, and mutter, What do you want? while I read in a white gothic dress.
I want to make people like Castor pout as they sweep past a notably severe man with two different colored eyes.
The sheer security in this woman is beautiful to behold. She is so confident in herself.
Meanwhile, I’m frightened and careful and holding a man’s hand because when he smiled and laced our fingers, I wasn’t brave enough to object.
He’s not smiling now.
And that makes my stomach knot.
But Willow’s lounge persists as she turns the page in her book.
The tall man with heterochromia settles himself like a sentry behind her and hisses, like a cat.
“Zy, behave,” Willow drawls. Then her eyes cut toward Castor and me, lethal. “It’s too early for this.”
“My good madam,” Castor begins, “it is two in the afternoon.”
“I said what I said.” She sniffs. “Have you brought me another friend?” She slouches, grimacing, increasingly put out by the notion.
“My living room can’t handle these conditions.
Movie nights are getting crowded. I’ll have to order a projector and set up a pillow fort in the yard.
Have you no courtesy for my limited square-footage? ”
“I can’t say that I do.”
She sighs and presents her hand.
Castor angles his head. “What is that for?”
“Knife.”
I tense. He has concealed weapons on him? Who is this woman if she can tell without so much as looking up off the pages of her book?
The face Castor makes would inspire me to apologize profusely. Willow does not care. At all.
He grumbles, “What about my knife?”
Willow’s eyes slant toward him, to me, back to him, and roll. “You’re here for a favor, aren’t you? After the party you crashed, I’m not interested in doing anything for free. Do you know what happened after you showed up? On a Thursday?”
“Panic and chaos,” Castor snips.
Willow lets free a low hum. “Yes. Panic and chaos. And meetings about how to protect her.” A finger flicks out toward me. “And no movie.”
Zy’s eyes narrow, and his head shakes nearly imperceptibly.
Returning all attention to her book, Willow mutters, “How dare you. Do you think Whimsy would approve of this behavior?” She tuts. “No. No, she would not.”
Castor’s hand crushes mine, and my heart reacts. Anger saturates his voice, sending pure shots of adrenaline into my blood. “How dare I? How. Dare. I?”
This is all my fault. I should have just said I didn’t want to go anywhere today. Then Castor could have stayed happily singing his disturbing songs. The bathroom has toilet paper. I could have figured something out. I should have figured something out. Why didn’t I figure something out?
“How dare you bring my Whimsy into this!” Castor’s nostrils flare, and my concern falters. He’s upset that she…mentioned his self-care bird? “Frankly, my dear, this is not very Villain Protection Program founder of you.”
“You’re not allowed to say my dear. That’s Pollux’s endearment. Stay in your endearment lane. You’ll confuse people.”
“It was a reference!”
“To a movie. Which I did not get to watch last movie night. Zy had to stop me from lighting my own skin on fire. So.” Her fingers wiggle. “Give me your knife. As penance.”
I feel Castor release my hand before I see the glint of a short, crooked blade plunging toward Willow.
Zy, suddenly between Castor and the woman, grips his wrist, stopping the attack. “Don’t you—” Zy swears. “—dare.”
“So much daring going around today, isn’t there, Zylus?” Castor gains a centimeter, the knife an inch from Zylus’s throat. “It would have been a funny joke.”
“Jokes that hurt people aren’t funny, Castor,” Zylus’s smooth, hypnotic voice growls.
“She heals at an accelerated rate. Physical pain, especially for people like us, is fleeting. So it can be fun.”
Willow heaves a sigh as though two men aren’t struggling with a knife a foot from her. “I don’t consider pain to be fun. And neither does Zy. So knock it off.”
Castor scoffs, jerking back from Zylus. “You lie.”
“I don’t.”
Castor plunges his blade into his own hand. “Your soulmate is a vampire. To feed him is pain.”
Willow snaps her book shut, kicks her legs off the couch, and makes Castor visibly tense when she stands.
She hisses, “First of all, if you get blood on my carpet, that knife is going somewhere other than your hand. Second of all—” Her hand sinks into the long dark locks of Zylus’s hair.
“—to feed my soulmate is warm and gentle. It has never once been painful. And you should take lessons if you’re going to treat your soulmate right. ”
Castor swallows, catching his blood in his free hand when it drips from his wound.
Willow’s dark murmur continues, “It is your job to take the pain out of painful things for the sake of your soulmate. Can’t you taste her fear right now? Have you even thought about how this might be affecting her?”
Grimacing, Castor wets his lips and resigns. His voice softens, addressing me. “My feather, why are you scared?”
My throat is closed. Even when my mouth opens, I can’t figure out what I need to say. There’s a knife in his hand. He casually put a knife through his own hand, and he was going to put it through Willow’s hand, too. What does he mean “why am I scared”?
Something in him stills when I don’t answer.
When he plucks the knife free, I watch as his blood gathers, wicking from the silver edge.
In moments, his skin reforms. Then, with a quick motion, he has the dagger by the blade and offers it to Zylus, who does not take it.
Defeat in his tone, he states, “I need Ollie’s credit card. ”
Willow’s eyes narrow. “Why?”
“So I can take my soulmate shopping.” Detached, he mutters, “Xios says stealing is wrong and inconveniences the humans overmuch. And he implies that such information is something I should care about.”
Willow’s lip curls. “I mean. Maybe. I guess.”
“Is he wrong? You are far more educated on humanity than he is, are you not? Given that you even still retain your ranks among the beings.”
Looking much put out by the concept, Willow mumbles, “He’s not wrong. Stealing is bad. Caring is moot. But since you’re so keen on listening to Xios, why hasn’t he, I dunno, told you not to stab people?”
“Maybe because you’re just a prude?”
White skirts spilling around her Willow steps forward and snatches Castor’s knife out of his hand, examining the screaming designs plastered over the hilt. “You’re very bad at asking for help.”
“Help?” Castor sneers. “This isn’t asking for help anymore. This became negotiation the moment you asked something in return; therefore, I no longer feel any obligation to maintain a semblance of manners with you.”
Willow frees a short, confirming sound, then she points the knife at me. “Zy, amuse Castor out of earshot for three minutes, would you? I want to talk to her alone.”
Castor steps squarely in front of me, blocking Willow from view. “What do you intend to say to my soulmate?”
“If I wanted you to know, I wouldn’t have said what I just did, now would I?”
Castor curses, “—this.” He swears, “—you.” He twists on his heel, corralling me toward the front door. “Keep my favorite knife and all its memories. You cannot turn her against me.”
“Who said anything about turning her against you, Castor?” Willow says, stopping him in place.
“You came here for a favor. You came here, trusting that I’d be the one willing to oblige.
Even though all of us have access to human money, and I know you keep tabs on where each of us is, you picked me.
Let’s exercise a little more trust, recognize that your soulmate is scared of you, and see if I can’t help. ”
“She…” His hand lands on my shoulder, and it takes all my energy to keep from pulling away. All I can see is his knife standing in his palm, all I can picture is his blood leaving the wound.
All I can wonder…is what it felt like.
And that terrifies me more than anything else.
“She is human,” Willow says. “And you are insane. Humans are taught to be wary of the mentally impaired. Three minutes. Give us three minutes. And, understand this—” She runs her finger along the edge of his blade. “—it’s not negotiation…if it’s a test.”
Castor lets his hand fall off me, and the fight leaves him cold. “Fine. You have three minutes.” With that, both he and Zylus vanish.