Chapter 6 #2
“Listen, I’m sorry,” I started, not really knowing where I was going with it, “I didn’t know any of this would work.
I thought this would be like Santa Claus or the Tooth Fairy.
You know, like folklore? A cool book to have and mess around with, but utterly futile in execution.
” My explanation seemed to fall on deaf ears.
“Do you ever stop talking?”
“It’s a nervous habit. Not sure when it started, sometime in the last twenty-two years.”
He simply rolled his eyes.
“How old are you?”
“473.”
Okay, so this guy was old—really old. He made my grandpa’s grandfather look young.
Do not ask him what his skin care routine is, Quincey, I warned myself before I could embarrass myself with another unnecessary comment, simultaneously swallowing down the nervous laugh that was bubbling up from the base of my throat.
“Well, you don’t look a day over twenty-eight,” I mused with a tentative smile.
In the short space of time that we had been in each other’s company, I’d learn two things about Thallor.
One: he didn’t like me very much; it was quite clear that first impressions were important to him and the one I’d made was abysmally bad.
Two: He wasn’t a fan of jokes or flattery.
“The Malphas Treaty grants the incantation user three wishes,” he began, choosing to ignore my previous comment. “You will tell me your wishes now. I will grant said wishes and we will be done.”
Okay, slow down. I had questions. I had a lot of questions.
As a child, I’d watched Aladdin on a perpetual cycle, and I knew that genies came with rules.
I didn’t know that demons came with wishes, but I would hazard a guess as to say that Thallor’s wishes probably came with the odd stipulation, too.
Stipulations that I needed to understand to the best of my ability before making any requests.
This wasn’t a kid’s film; this was my fucking life.
And the lives of the people around me. I couldn’t risk their safety over a string of misused words.
A problem I often had when speaking to other people.
There was also the question of my soul. I had considered this in depth and was more than happy to offer up my immortal happiness, but a little heads up on what I could expect in the dark, fiery depths of hell would be nice.
“Do your wishes have rules?”
“No.”
I gave him a quizzical look. “So I can wish for anything I want? Say, could I bring someone back from the dead?”
“You could. Their soul would not belong here, though, and would likely be unwilling to return to this plane of existence, but yes, in theory, you could bring somebody back from the dead.” Thallor said it as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, and I was the moronic human he was growing tired of conversing with.
I wanted to amend my previous conclusion. I’d learnt three things about Thallor. The third being that just like every other devastatingly handsome man, for what he had in looks, he lacked in personality. And I mean it, this man had none.
“That kind of sounds like a loophole to the wish thought, doesn’t it?” I smirked at him. “Can I wish for more wishes?”
“You can, but I will not grant them.”
“Why not?”
“I have no interest in spending more time with you than is necessary.” This man held no fucking punches.
“Fucking hell, you’ve got a terrible bedside manner,” I choked out, trying not to let his last comment get to me. “Do you treat everyone like this, or is it just me?” He watched me, a pained expression etched across his face. “What about love? Can you make someone fall in love with me?”
“Is there someone you want to make fall in love with you?” he said slowly, his voice for the first time coming out less aggressively than it had before.
I wasn’t sure if I was imagining things or simply just enthralled by his good looks, but I felt like he was watching me more closely for the answer.
One that I didn’t have. All I knew at that time was that Disney was right. There are always fucking rules.
“No,” I shrugged, “but it’s good to have the information in case my situation changes.”
“Are you planning for your situation to change?”
“Why, you interested?” I volleyed back before I could stop myself.
“I cannot make two people fall in love.” Not interested then.
Before I could get another word out, he turned his back toward me, picking up the serrated bread knife from my kitchen counter.
I made to scramble off the stool, mentally calculating how easy it would be for me to grab Mortimer, who was still mewling at my bedroom door, before making my grand escape.
But just like everything else in life, there wasn’t any immediate need to panic…
I don’t think. Because instead of brandishing the weapon at me, he carved a straight line into the palm of his hand before passing the bread cutter to me.
Holy shit balls, he doesn’t expect me to do that, does he?
With the serrated knife I use to cut bagels? !
I tried to swallow down my rising nausea, turning my gaze away from the knife in a way to still my beating heart.
My attempt to calm down fell short as I watched the black, oozing liquid pool in the palm of his hand.
It steamed slightly as it hit the very cold air of my apartment (window still wide open for Mort’s coming and goings) before dripping onto my kitchen tiles.
If I hadn’t believed he was a demon before, that was probably the best indication I was going to get.
He handed me the knife, before motioning toward my hand at the same time I looked down, balking at it.
“Oh, you want me to—” I looked to my opposing hand and swallowed down the vomit that had returned with a vengeance, rearing its ugly head and hurling threats my way.
I couldn’t do this, could I? It was uncivilised.
Barbaric. And quite frankly, downright insane.
In fact, all of this was insane. Was I really going to make a deal with a demon?
“Wait,” I stalled, trying to ignore his clenched jaw and the obvious frustration displayed on his face. “What about my soul? What happens to me after—” I made a small circular motion with the knife in my hand, “this.”
He rolled his eyes at me. He actually rolled his fucking eyes at me as if that were a stupid question. Did he forget the part where the incantation literally stated the cost of this bargain?
In pact, we’ll be tethered, all wishes made whole. In return, I offer everything, everything, and my soul.
God, if I was offering everything and my fucking soul, the least he could do was not be such a fucking asshole about it.
Thallor assessed me once, letting his eyes rake over my bare legs (I hope he didn’t notice the way they goose-bumped under his gaze), moon-printed pyjamas, and partially damp hair.
His jaw clenched again, and his eyes darkened slightly when he met my eye before he shook his head and scoffed.
I’m not sure what I did to make him hate me this much.
I wasn’t the most confident of people but the way he looked at me really spurred on my own intrusive thoughts. “I don’t want your soul.”
Well, that doesn’t fucking hurt. Not even a little bit.
No, no, the opinion of a drop-dead gorgeous demon and his lack of interest in my soul (probably a first for him) definitely wasn’t sending me into an internal spiral that I would think about for years to come.
But I supposed that from a bargain perspective, I seemed to be getting a lot more out of the situation than he was.
So, pushing my doubts and disappointment to the side, I held the knife to my other hand and let out a shaky, incredulous laugh. Yeah, I can’t do this at all.
“Um, can you please do it?” I whispered. This was embarrassing. So utterly and tragically embarrassing. And his gaze upon me, the one that didn’t seem in the least bit shocked about my inability to cut my own hand, did nothing to quell the humiliation I felt bubbling up inside me.
Thallor didn’t move. He didn’t take a step closer to me. He just held out his hand. I motioned to hand him the knife, handle first for safety, before he took it and placed it on the kitchen counter behind him. Once again, he settled me with an unimpressed look as he held out his hand again.
“I—what?”
“Come here.”
For a beat, I didn’t move. I just sat staring at him and his outstretched hand, trying to push the fact that I liked him telling me what to do down into that deep part of me where all my other stupid notions went to die.
Slipping off the stool, I approached tentatively, taking a few painfully slow steps before the lingering, familiar smell of campfire smoke wafted around me.
“Your hand.”
I was hesitant at first, keeping my shaking hand suspended in the gap between his and my body, before placing it on his outstretched palm.
I sucked in a breath, once again feeling the searing heat of his skin.
He was hot. So unbelievably hot. But the heat morphed.
I could feel it beneath my fingers. Any lingering pain dissipated until the warmth was inviting, tempting almost. I had to do everything in my power not to melt into the touch.
He raised his other hand toward mine, the one that was still trembling slightly. Unlike the hand below mine, his other hand had taken on a form I couldn’t pull my eyes away from. It was large, blackened, and had deep-set claws that almost had my knees crumpling beneath me. What the fuck am I doin—