Page 69 of A Sin So Pure

“I told you what I wanted. And now you fully understand the stakes. So, the question is, are you going to give it to me?”

“What about what I want?”

“Whatdoyou want, Silas?” I lean farther back in the chair, crossing my legs. “It’s not clear to me. Don’t you want a little taste of revenge?”

His white brows knit. “Why would you think that?”

“Because Patience killed your parents too.”

Silas’s head tilts, a strand of white hair falling to the side. “And how do you know that?”

He didn’t deny it.

“I didn’t, actually, until now. Just had a hunch based on how you reacted to his name the other day.”

Silas laughs; it’s full-bodied and fills the barren room. He rounds the desk, squeezing between me and the wood. I pushthe chair back as far as it can go, but there’s little room with the bookcase at my back.

He hops onto the desk, long legs dangling in front of me. We’re far too close for my liking, but I don’t back down. He’s trying to intimidate me, and it’s a challenge I’ll meet head on.

“You’re quite perceptive,” he says.

“It was a skill learned out of necessity.”

He tilts his head, studying me like I’m some kind of anomaly. “Tell me, have you ever experimented with your magic?”

I shake my head. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“It’s unique. Rare. Unstudied.” The words sound savory on his tongue. “Little is known about soul-stealers. The other day, you tortured that man without killing him. How?”

The question takes me off guard. “I ask.”

“You ask?”

“My magic. It enjoys killing, but I don’t always want it to, or need it to. So, sometimes I ask it to go slow. It works so long as the wounds aren’t too deep when I pull back.”

It’s second nature by now, though, with how much Pride made me practice treading the line between life and death.

“How curious.” Silas’s black eyes sparkle. “And you’ve never tried to delay death? To killafteryou’ve touched someone?”

This time, it’s my turn for my brows to knit. “It doesn’t work like that.”

“But have you ever tried?”

When I don’t respond, he takes my silence for a no. Silas smiles; it’s that of a fox who’s cornered his next meal.

“I don’twanta war, Nora.” The use of my name and not my title has gooseflesh rising on my arms—and not the good kind. “But you are right in that I’ve developed a hunger for vengeance. You’d think fifty years would have quelled the bloodlust. They saytime heals all wounds.” He bites his thumb on a sardoniclaugh. “The elders are either lying or I’m just not that good of a man.”

“It’s probably a bit of both,” I say. “Coming from experience.”

“You don’t think of yourself as a good person?”

“Never have.”

“And why is that?”

I purse my lips. “Because it’s not true.”

Silas hums, considering my answer. Then he says, “Stand up.”

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