Chapter Eight #2
The beat of my heart increases the longer he stares at me, so rapidly I wonder if it might just give up and stop. Can a person die of fright?
With a shaky breath, I take another clumsy step, trying to get further away from the demon, moving to stand behind the chair, as if some wooden rungs will keep him from wringing my neck.
I wish I were wearing a dress, sturdy boots, a full suit of armor…
anything to protect me, anything to separate me from him other than my stupid, wet chemise.
It’s plastered to my curves, nearly see-through.
It shows my soft body, the flowers on my skin.
A few escaped tendrils of hair stick to one cheek and I couldn’t feel more vulnerable if I tried.
I steady my hands anyway, clench my shaking fists tight, ready to swing if need be, to claw out those demon eyes if I must. But what will my frail hands do against the evil he’s surely capable of?
He runs a hand along the back of his chair, and I notice the ink around the one wrist—bracelets of black that work themselves up into thicker, solid bands near his forearm.
The other arm is almost fully inked, from wrist to elbow, with only a few skinnier bands on the end, near his wrist. The tattoos are clean-lined, good work, but something about them feels ominous just the same.
Under the furrowed brows, those onyx eyes stare holes in me.
They should feel empty, but they don’t: they seem to glow from within, backlit with some impossible energy.
But there is nothing good there, nothing kind.
Like hatred. Like the crow from the dress shop, I realize.
Before he opens his mouth to speak, I know every word the butler told me about him is true. Menacing anger rolls off the demon in waves. His laugh still rings in my ears. It was strung with warning.
I move back yet again, carefully maneuvering around the edge of a faded rug so I don’t trip. If I fall, I’ll look weak. This sort of predator feeds on the weak, don’t they? It’s a miracle I’m standing, still breathing. I know this.
“Are you afraid of me?” He smiles at me coldly.
I wince, hearing that deep voice again. It’s not that I didn’t believe it was him—I knew it even as he dragged me through the sea, even as he mocked me for screaming—but it’s still so alarming to hear it face to face.
The timbre of it, the contempt threaded within it, sends chills up my spine, and those eyes.
I worry he’ll swallow me whole; I can’t look any longer.
“Answer me.”
I flinch at the command. If I lie, he’ll likely know it. Obviously, I’m afraid of him. Though if I admit it, he’ll probably enjoy my death even more.
Instead of answering I lift my chin, forcing bravado as I again meet his white-less eyes. “What do you want with me?”
“Can you think of no reason?” He tosses a sack at my feet. One I recognize. “Open it.”
The sharp line of his jaw is like a blade, the strokes of him cut with precision, from his head to his toes, his shoulders tapering to the narrow V of his waist, a lean yet powerful body.
He walks like a man, moves like a man, looks like a man—a dangerous one—except for those eyes. I know he’s not a man.
Soulless. Murderer. In the business of taking lives. Master of death.
I ignore the cotton bundle, refusing to move.
My eyes skirt past the faded murals on the wall to the door, measuring the distance.
What if I ran? I wouldn’t get far. He’ll kill me before I could possibly escape.
Wisely, I follow his order and reach for the sack with trembling hands, and then I open it.
Unsurprised, I pull the slippers out, ruby ribbons falling from my hands. Even now, they wrench at me. Even now, I would put them on and dance. Even now, I’m hungry for what they give me, for what they take from me. “My shoes,” I say, without thinking.
“Not yours,” he counters. “Shoes you so thoughtlessly stole.”
“I could hardly help wanting them!” I cry. “What did you do? Enchant them?” Now, seeing him, I know he’s real. I’m sure his magic is too.
Shaking his head, his untamed hair falls against his collar as he glances at the pair of slippers. “They were not yours to want, let alone take. They are mine.”
“I wouldn’t think they’d fit you.” The saucy reply comes out before I can stop it.
He snaps his bottomless eyes to mine, and I shrink back in alarm.
“They are mine,” he repeats. “You have no idea the harm you might have done, had I not found you and those shoes, the harm you’ve already caused. For your punishment—”
“Punishment!” I croak in panic. “I only danced in them! Just a couple of times is all!”
“Punishment,” he once more repeats himself, going on as if I haven’t spoken. “You will dance for me every night as penance. You will be my companion of sorts, willing or not. If you try to escape, I will kill you as easily as a spider.”
The demon takes a step toward me, then another, then another, until his breath is against my cheek, the smell of him—wild and herbal like the night, rich like red wine, and coppery, like blood.
Standing next to him is standing in the dark, in the forest, under a wave thick with salt. I’m drowning. I can’t breathe.
“Why don’t you just kill me now?” I manage to choke out. I regret it instantly—though it’s not a taunt. It’s curiosity.
His laugh in my ear is cruel. “You’re lucky I’m bored. Otherwise, you’d already be dust.”
Fear turns to resistance, despite my predicament. I say to the demon, with my chin raised, “You can hurt me all you want. You’ll never break me.”
He sneers. “I don’t care enough to break you. You’re just the entertainment.”
I hold my tongue from arguing, Aven in the back of my mind.
Perhaps this is a blessing in disguise. After all, I’m in the mansion.
I’m in front of a master of death. If I can dance for him, play his helpless prisoner, maybe he’ll do what I need.
If I play at being good long enough, maybe he’ll eventually trust me.
I can turn this to my advantage. I clamp my smart mouth shut as he speaks again.
“Tomorrow night you will dance for me. You will dance, or you will die. Your choice.”
He laces his fingers into my hair and slowly draws me in, his powerful hand gently threaded into the wet strands. I whimper, from fear more so than pain. It doesn’t hurt. But each word is enunciated as he warns, “Do. Not. Ever. Steal. From. Me. Again.”
Then he releases his hand, turns his back to me, and walks out of the room. I breathe hard, stunned by everything that’s happened. The butler comes and yanks me forward, pulling me out of the shock.
And then, we are walking.