Page 57 of A Match Made in Hell
A cup of tea. A cup oftea. The man who had his hand dangerously close to my underwear wants to pretend nothing happened over acup of tea.
How dare he. Every confused thought I’m having is all his fault, and he has the audacity to offer me hot beverages.
‘No, I don’t want tea,’ I retort. ‘I told you, I’m meeting Harper. My friend. Myhumanfriend. You can drink tea and play Scrabble with your fellow demons for a change.’
If my words hit the way I intend, he doesn’t show it. Which is fine. I don’t care. I don’t know why I’m trying to get a rise out of him. Really, I want some indicator last night affected him as much as it affected me. But it didn’t, of course it didn’t. Why would it? It was a game in an endless string of games. He probably did the same thing with the last person he put throughhis tasks. The whole situation must be amusing to him, watching all these humans falling at his feet because we’re planets orbiting his sun, and he gets to choose when he shines his light.
Maybe the Sorterwastrying to tell me something in the morgue that day. Maybe Sath doesn’t have a heart, and doesn’t care one jot for how I’m feeling. Or, worse, what if everything about last night repulsed him –Irepulsed him? It would explain why he’s not bothering to ask me what’s wrong.
Not that I want him to ask. I’d probably cry uncontrollably. But him not asking is also very annoying and frankly in-considerate. I would like some acknowledgement and then to be left alone, is that so much to ask?
‘If that’s what you want,’ he says, eyes narrowing. He regards me for a moment before adding, ‘I’m glad you made some friends here.’
‘Why? Because you think I’ll fail the tasks and end up staying here forever?’
‘Did I say that?’
‘It was implied.’
We’ve ended up standing toe to toe in the middle of the room, like opposite ends of a magnet drawn together. I have no idea when it happened.
Sath frowns. ‘Are you going to tell me why we’re arguing, or do I have to guess?’
Oh, good. He’s noticed. Took him long enough. For a however-many-years-old Devil he’s as stupid as all the boys I’ve ever known. I open my mouth in the hope a witty comeback will fall from my lips, but before I can dazzle him with my repartee, everything shakes.
The floor rumbles, like there’s something – somethingbig– rolling underneath it, while dust and rock fall from the ceiling, coating Sath’s dark hair with grey flecks that look like ash shaken from an urn.
I probably should’ve mentioned that noise.
Sath braces his legs wide, and I clutch his arm for support, waiting out the tremors, my pulse skyrocketing as the trembling gets worse, building to a crescendo, glasses smashing behind us as they’re thrown from cabinets to the floor. Sath’s arm is tense beneath my hand, his skin as burning hot as the fire building in his eyes.
When the vibrations have come to a complete stop, I stare at him, wide-eyed, before letting go of his arm. The less interaction I have with any part of him the better. ‘Was that Asphodel falling apart again?’
There was no deluge of lava like that day in the hot springs, but it sure felt similar.
A muscle in his jaw ticks. ‘Did you see my guards on your way here?’
‘No . . .’ I swallow. ‘And there was this sound. Like a whining, in the distance. Why?’
Flames erupt down his arms and I jump back.
‘Someone tried to open the gates.’
20
I go cold.
‘Tried to, or did?’ I ask. ‘How do you know the difference?’ I really hope he knows the difference.
Sath doesn’t answer, which isn’t encouraging. Even less encouraging is the sword that bursts from his hand.
‘Sath?’ My voice sounds small. ‘Did something get out?’
He strides outside without bothering to look at me, instead calling over his shoulder, ‘Go to your room.’
‘No.’
Sath stops, shoulders tense. ‘Willow. This isn’t a discussion. Go to your room. Lock yourself in.’
