Page 97 of The Blood of Gods and Monsters

“You knew about my debt to Ophelia,” I state, discreetly turning to the side and wiping the side of my face with the flat of my palm as I check the door. It’s still shut and there’s no sound of anyone coming up the stairs outside.

“I didn’t know that she … I didn’t know that the brimstone made you a blood servant.”

Though I’ve already decided to forgive Regis, I pivot to face him and cross my arms over my chest. “And you think that makes what you did okay?” I ask, arching a brow.

Regis dips his head. “No, you’re right. I’ll—I’ll make it up to you.” He heaves a great breath. “Fuck, Kay, I’ll?—”

“Two weeks,” I say, cutting him off as I hold up two fingers. He lifts up and looks at me with a frown.

“Two weeks what?” he replies.

I offer him a smug smile. “Two weeks without bathing,” I tell him. “And you have to sleep outside—in the woods with the bugs.”

Blue eyes widen. “Kiera…” I press my lips together as they begin to tremble. “Two weeks?” Regis’ expression is full of what can only be described as a blend of horror and repulsion.

I nod. “If you want me to forgive you, that’s what it will take.”

Regis begins to look a little green, his face paler than it had been when he’d been sleeping, as he contemplates my offer. “What about setting up a camp?” he asks. “Can I?—”

“Nope.” I grin. “Full elements. No cover. No pallet. Just you and the dirt and the creepy crawlers.”

His gasp is music to my ears. “You’re a fucking monster.”

I shrug, the epitome of nonchalance. “You can always turn me down.”

“Fuck.” Regis shoves a hand over the top of his head, scratching at the dry and unkempt dreads that are half smashed into the back of his skull from how long he’s been lying on it. “No,” he finally says, meeting my gaze. “I can’t. If that’s all it’ll take for you to forgive me, then I’ll do it.”

He holds his hand out as we’d seen so often when merchants made their deals. “Are you sure you can handle it?” I ask, amused by the curl of his upper lip and the sallow look he gives me.

The comment, itself, is nothing but a part of the game. The two of us had been through far worse than sleeping outside without bathing. Part of the Underworld training had been that exact challenge. We’d been unleashed upon a forest with nothing but the clothes on our backs, and for two weeks we’d had to fight and claw our way through survival.

Any shelter built had to be from our own hands and what the forest could provide. Any food we ate, we had to catch ourselves. A few of the trainees had died. One of them had been mauled by a bear and her body was deemed irretrievable. And though we’d been half starved and full of fresh cuts and injuries by the end of our days in the woods, both Regis and I had made it out alive.

I’ve never been entirely sure where his initial disgust over bugs and dirt stemmed from. I suspect he’s always been cleaner than most people, but that exercise had taken him to his limits and no matter how many people he’s killed, how many bodies he’s moved, and how many times he’s returned covered in muck and filth—he’s never gotten used to it.

Yet, even as I think that, he takes a step towards me and bumps his hand against my abdomen with meaning. “Take. My. Hand. Kiera.” Each word is full of meaning.

I laugh and do as he demands. “Your punishment can’t be imminent, unfortunately,” I say, dropping my amusement as we establish the mended bond between us. “What the fuck happened with the Underworld and who attacked you?”

Dropping my hand, Regis takes a seat on the edge of the bed, planting both hands against the mattress. “Carcel.”

Shock stabs my gut. “Carcel betrayed the Underworld?”

His responding nod doesn’t lessen my dismay. There’s only one question that comes to mind.

“Why?”

Dishwater blue eyes lift to meet mine. “I don’t know,” he admits. “But Madam Brione’s shop isn’t safe anymore. She was away when it happened—I sent the crow to deliver notes to her and you after I managed to escape … I hope she didn’t return. If she did, despite my warning, then she’s probably dead.”

“When what happened, Regis?” I lower to the chair next to the bed and lean forward. My skirts bunch against my butt and I scoot forward, annoyed that I hadn’t thought to change before falling asleep in here.

“Carcel came to the shop with some men I didn’t recognize,” Regis says. “I thought they must have been new recruits—Carcel’s Ophelia’s son, after all. He’s almost as good as you or I. It never even occurred to me that he’d try to…”

Regis pauses as if something has occurred to him. Reaching down to the hem of the tunic I dressed him in after staring at him in the dark stained clothes he’d been brought in for too long, he lifts it and looks down at the hollowed ridges of his stomach. A fresh scar marks a diagonal line across several of his abs before curving upward towards his breastbone as if someone had tried to first gut him and then changed their mind and decided to carve out his heart instead.

“How long have I been out?” he asks. “This looks months old.”

“A few days,” I admit. “I had a healer check you out and she sped up the process. You were out of the hard part after the first day, but she said you’d stay asleep awhile yet.”

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