Page 20 of Cry for Help

I couldn’t let that happen.

Bean Sídhe claiming was permanent. It would tie me to Stolas, to the Red City.

It was one thing to be forced to live out a life sentence and another to choose to belong to one place.

Forever.

Stolas pushed his fingers through his hair. His lips were swollen, and he looked thoroughly disheveled. I didn’t have it in me to be ashamed.

“Yes.” He brushed his hand over his mouth. “Let’s not complicate things,” Stolas muttered to himself. “We should go before it gets too late.”

It didn’t take long for Stolas and I to walk down the alley behind the house to the ancient SUV tucked behind the dumpster.

I was used to the silence. Being mute meant that people forgot that I could hear as well. Not many people wanted to have one-sided conversations.

I was just happy to have a change of clothes. I didn’t even care if Stolas was in charge of the outfits. He could dress me as a French maid for all I cared, as long as he got more than one outfit so I could wash my clothes.

Just because I was used to wearing the same outfit over and over and smelling like musty old sweat didn’t mean I liked it.

“Pride has the best stores,” Stolas told me. “Vanity is their specialty. The First Circle is Pride. You’d think the Purple District would be in the city center, but humans had some say in the construction of the Red City, and they put all of the administrative buildings at the heart of the city.”

I nodded to show I was listening.

“I have business in the city. In Lust. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have offered to take you.” Stolas kept his eyes on the road.

I lifted a brow. Why did he act like he was doingmea favor? He’d bought me, now he was pissed he had to actually take care of me.

Fine. If he wanted to pretend the kiss had never happened, I would.

I hadn’t meant it as a rejection when I'd put distance between us. I’d needed a moment to calm down, or I would have leashed him like a pet poodle. But I couldn’t exactly explain that.

Because 1) I was mute, and he didn’t speak ASL.

And 2) I was a Bean Sídhe and in hiding.

I was starting to doubt the whole ‘needing someone to clean’ stic. Maybe Stolas was repressed. Perhaps he just needed a few days to don his big boy pants before he showed me the BDSM dungeon.

The thought made me snicker.

I faced the window as we drove over the tracks and into the demon-controlled part of the city. Though it was mid-morning, the streets were less crowded than I would have expected, and there were barely any cars at all.

“Most demons can Lace,” Stolas told me, seemingly reading my confusion about the lack of traffic. “They can Lace the fabric of two places together and step between them. Humans could call it ‘teleporting’ though there is nothingtechnological about the process.”

I pointed to Stolas, my brows arched in question.

He shook his head. “Only the more powerful demons can Lace. Those most connected to the Blanket of Power.” His lips turned down, and he rubbed his hand over the bottom part of his face. “I am not connected... Not anymore.”

I wanted to ask why and what he meant but remained silent.

“You will notice, as we delve into demonic territory, that I am not well-liked.” Stolas sniffed, looking down his austere nose to show that whatever other demons thought of him meant little. “But, you should not leave my side. A lot can happen to a human in the Red City. Especially one that cannot scream.”

It didn’t take long to reach the Purple District. Our SUV reflected back from every surface as we drove into Pride.

I’d never been to Rodeo Drive, Oxford Street, or the Upper East Side, but Pride was a mixture of how I’d imagined all of them. A place filled with designer labels, skinny mannequins, and clothes so expensive that I didn’t even want to think about the price tags.

My stomach curdled as I stared at the glittery world I didn’t belong to.

I tried not to show my disappointment when we kept driving. Telling myself I was an idiot to think Stolas would spend a whack on some mute human servant.

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