Chapter 35 #2
“You—so much emotion—terror, then dread, then wrath, vacillating so quickly from one to the other and then all at once, erupting from you like lava—How can you handle feeling so much?”
Could he really feel all that, coming from her? She couldn’t comprehend it … “Can you truly feel emotions?”
“Emotions are a demon’s favorite source of sustenance.”
“I … I thought your kind ate—” She couldn’t say it. Revulsion rolled through her, imagining this being eating someone alive.
“Oh, yes, some enjoy devouring flesh, of course. Pain, agony, fear as their prey is consumed alive? They find it delicious.”
“What the fuck.” That was horrifying. Gods of old, did he look at her and see a meal?
“Don’t worry; though that spike of your fear is luscious, you’ve nothing to worry about from me on that front—wouldn’t be proper for an Aithne demon to give in to such base urges. We cultivate a much more … refined taste.”
Doubtful. She gnawed on the skin of her cheek.
She had to admit, she didn’t think he was going to pounce on her right now and start eating her.
Plus, he claimed he needed her for his own ends, right?
He couldn’t kill her. Or maybe that’s just what he wanted her to think—so she’d let her guard down around him.
Either way, her curiosity was piqued against her will. “Refined how?”
“I prefer other emotions to fear or misery. Like …” A step toward her as he brought the object up to his nose and pulled in a slow, lingering breath.
Finally, she could clearly see the object in his hand.
A single flower, the edges of the five petals a deep, vibrant …
well, it was a color she’d only ever seen on the darkest abalone shells, or glinting off raven feathers, and once in the shining beads dripping from the neck of a wealthy guest who had no business staying at Fernwell—dark opal, she’d called the gemstone when Emyre had asked, his eyes wide.
With even the slightest movement, the black petals shifted rainbow, iridescent, every shade of color, depending on how the light kissed them.
It might be the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.
He twirled the flower slowly. “Adoration, trust.” His heavy-lidded gaze lifted from the opalescent flower and settled on her. “Desire.”
Audra wrinkled her nose. “I guess you must starve, then.”
He offered the flower to her, his hand perfectly still, unnaturally so, so the colors seemed to freeze, each black petal a myriad of hues, every color all at once. A human could never hold so still. Even now, Audra’s hands trembled where they clutched the bench on either side of her thighs.
“I brought this for you from my homeland—a gift. We call this flower ‘prima.’ The Veiled Realm is not what the Zenaidans claim. And neither am I.”
She studied the bloom. It was beautiful. And it smelled divine—if the flower wasn’t from him, she might take it, ask Cersha to distill a perfume from its scent. Or should she press it between the pages of a book? So, she might have it to gaze upon forever.
Besides, for all she knew, it was poisonous to the touch.
And what if she accepted it and her power lashed out again? Drained what life remained in the plucked bloom.
Then again … Did she need to hide her magic from him?
Her eyes lifted from the flower to meet his gaze.
His neck veins contracted, a muscle feathered in his jaw.
Her pulse jumped to her throat. Heat crept along her cheeks, skittered down her chest, pooled in her stomach.
She felt a tug, for a moment, a force—old magic, pushing, pulling them together.
For the span of a breath, she wanted to step toward him, accept the offered flower, trust him—
Fuck no.
He was a demon.
She blinked. The feeling dissolved.
This is what they did for entertainment.
They show up, covered in mud, smelling of sweat and blood, looking like he’d just stepped off a battlefield and …
and offer flowers to unsuspecting mortals.
“I’ll pass. Flowers and I don’t mix.” Being the reason that flower lost its luster …
it would be too great a tragedy. Audra glanced at her timepiece.
“I must leave anyway, I’ll be late for class. ”
Disappointment warring with frustration flitted across his features as he pulled the flower back, gingerly tucked it into the V of his training leathers. He was a walking juxtaposition.
“Scurry off then.” His voice was tight, strained. “Do as they bid, adhere to their rules, so you’re already accustomed to following orders by the time they command you to sacrifice your power, your life, for them.”
Audra pushed up off the bench, keeping as much distance as possible between them as she hurried—not scurried—toward the exit.
She paused just before the curve in the path would take her out of sight.
“Do me a favor? Stop showing up here. I will not be convinced to leave with you, nor do I want to see you.” She tucked a braid behind her ear. “I do wonder though … Zhaire, was it?”
He waited.
“Can you taste my revulsion?” She didn’t wait for a response, as she slipped out the door.
But his voice reached her anyway, thrown somehow across the space, so it sounded like he was right by her side, whispering in her ear.
“Oh, I can taste many emotions coming from you, and none of them are revulsion.”
Cocky bastard.