Page 395 of Flirting with Darkness

He nods, as if truly contemplating my request. “That you did, little bird. But you still must answer for your crimes.”

3

Crimes? The only crime I’ve committed is allowing this creature’s silver tongue to sway me.

“What are you talking about, demon?”

“For the last time! I. Am. Not. A. Demon.” He shakes his fist with every syllable. “Your family trapped and held a fae king hostage for centuries, and you will pay for the affront of your line.”

He breaks eye contact and stares off into the woods, but I keep glaring at his profile. The set of his jaw, the furrow in his brow. Searching for any sign of deception.

Praying for it.

I find none.

“Impossible.” He’s lying. He must be. Yet the whispered word barely makes it past my thickening throat and the fear that he wasn’t.

“You would think so.” He grabs me by the elbow and sets off at a quick pace through the woods. “A human capturing any fae is unheard of. But a king? Your ancestors likely didn’t realize the iron lock and chains bolstered their flailing attempts at ‘magic.’”

I’m keeping up with him. His hand on my arm allows no less. But I’m not certain I’m actually moving my legs. I listen to his words, but I don’t think I hear them. They echo in my head like a voice on the wind. There and not.

“One of your ancestors saw me doing a bit of magic. I was young and foolhardy and enjoying myself in your realm. In half a day, he’d assembled a party to track me through the backcountry of your filthy realm and trap me in what he called a Devil’s Snare. Nonsensical incantations and squiggles drawn in the dirt, really, but the iron shavings used to make the circle...”

My temples pound. Blood rushes behind my ears as his words strike a bell of truth within me. He seems earnest, his story—

Plausible.

I sink in his grip, overwhelmed by the sudden desire to sit down. Ground myself in the strange flora of this place. But the demon’s—the fae’s—stride and fist around my arm eliminate that option.

Determined not to look weak in front of this man, I push onward and swipe the hair out of my face. If he’s not a demon…

The man shrugs, continuing. “The fact is, I’ve never seen a demon. And if they do exist, I doubt they’d waste much time in your realm.” His words are without emotion, entirely matter-of-fact.

As if it’s of no consequence. As if it doesn’t matter to the very center of who I am.

I stumble on nothing, the ground slipping out from under me.

He keeps me upright, releasing my arm and catching me around the waist.

And it’s a bridge too far. The touch. The closeness. The dismissive tone…

I twist out of his arms to glower at him, but he doesn’t sneer back. There’s no twist to his lips, not a hint of cruelty in his gaze. Only heat, heat I want nothing to do with. A burning I remember all too well.

“I don’t believe you. The gods saw fit to make demons of lies and tricks. You only know how to deceive.” I throw out the first name I think of. “Beelzebub!”

An accusation.

The man shakes his head, grabs my arm again, and jerks me onward.

“Ba’al. Azazel. Mammon!”

“I don’t know what game you’re playing at, human, but I’m not enjoying it. Keep quiet. If you don’t, I have no qualms about gagging you with scraps of your own pretty dress. There are things in these woods you do not wish to meet.”

But it’s fine for him to speak? “You were just waxing lyrically on your whole life story.”

I stare hard at the side of his face and I’m rewarded with a smile without ire. “Quite so, little bird.”

“And why do you call me that awful name?”

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