Page 86 of The Girl Who Should Be Dead

He raises an eyebrow, tucking his phone into his pocket.

“What, you ask demon questions all the time,” she says.

“I didn’t say a thing,” he informs her, and there’s a looseness about him right now as well, as he gestures for her to go on. “Go ahead, ask.”

“How do humans form bonds?”

He listens to her question, absorbs it, then holds up a finger.

“One, not nearly on the same level as demons, we’re just not like that,” he says, and a rush of gratefulness hits her, that he’s listening to her question seriously and treating it like any other scholastic approach. “Most humans don’t have intrinsic mental connections to other beings, that’s just not the truth of biology like demons do.”

That’s not new information, having observed and read about humans for ages, but it’s still nice to hear.

“Two, emotionally…” he trails off, pinching his lips together. “Emotionally, it varies human to human. Some will form affections and loyalties to people incredibly fast, some it takes ages. Some form friendships with dozens of people and care about them all deeply and truthfully, while some only care about maybe two other people.”

“Misia was like that,” Ambra murmurs, taking another sip of the wine to drown out the immediate tightening of her throat.

It’s so strange to say her name.

“Some are friendly with many but close to few, some are friendly to only a few people but care deeply about them, it varies so drastically it never stops being confusing.” Gurlien watches her, like he’s expecting to read something across her face. “Some people fall in love many times, deeply and quickly. Some it takes years to develop to just one person and they never get over the loss.”

“That sounds more like demons,” Ambra says. “If yourNecromancer ever left the Half Demon, he’d never get over it.”

“So demons are hopeless romantics, got it,” Gurlien says, and the sarcastic tone makes her smile. “Never would have thought, what with all the murder.”

“The murder ones are the more emotional ones,” she informs him, and gets a smile in return, a relaxing around his eyes. “Still can’t believe Maison slept with a necromancer.”

“To be completely fair, he didn’t know she was one until about a month and a half ago.” For a few seconds, he stares into his glass, as if he could read something from it. “Chloe gets crushes fast, decides she likes a person but takes forever to trust them fully. She’s fast to be friendly, fast to be kind and nice, but I think she trusts maybe two people.”

“You’re one of them,” Ambra points out.

“And the other is someone she won’t even tell me about,” Gurlien says, then fixates his gaze on her, under the twinkling lights of the patio. “I tend to like people long before they like me and most people never do.”

Ambra resists the urge to roll her eyes at him, instead presses her knee to his, like he did to her when Axel was grilling her at the restaurant. “Then most people have a limited view,” she declares.

And a revelation like that deserves one in return, a balancing of the books. He answered her question, he deserves to ask one back.

“Go ahead,” Ambra says, when the silence tilts towards long. “Ask me something.”

“Dangerous thing to say,” he teases back, then narrows his eyes, as if his brain is stuck.

“What?”

“No, there’s just ages of demonology studies and I haveno idea which question I should ask first,” he says, taking another sip, and the waiter sets down another glass for him. “How old are you?”

She blinks at him. “I don’t know.”

“Off to a good start. Do you know any demons who’ve had more than one bond?” His eyes are sharp, despite the glass of wine he’s already drunk.

“That can’t be the most pressing question of demonologists for centuries,” Ambra says, before settling back in the chair again.

There’s the immediate wish to deflect, to get the attention off of the question and all it implies. He would know what it implies, spending the time with her and hearing who knows what from Maison and his ‘experts.’

“Do I know any, no,” Ambra hedges, and she can see it dawn on him, immediate. “I don’t know…exactly what will happen to me.”

Impulsive, she reaches up, sliding a finger underneath the leash, at the still sore skin, and Gurlien’s hand settles on his wrist in return.

“I’ve never seen a bond last beyond the death of one of the members, and this one still exists,” Ambra says softly, and the words settle between them. “I don’t know if it’s because of the experiments or if because they used it to control me.”

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