I know Ramanu called her a witch and that magic exists, but it’s still hard to wrap my head around humans using it. Ramanu, on the other hand, looks visibly relieved. “Thanks, love.” They press a quick kiss to her lips and nudge us backward into an open doorway. “Stay here.”
A hush falls over the crowd as Brosh steps out of an alley and into the cleared space. He’s still grinning as if he’s not worried in the least. I would be less worried if he didn’t seem so confident as he rolls his massive shoulders and bounces on his toes like a boxer ready to go. I’m pretty sure his claws are longer than they were in the castle too. The easier to disembowel the man I love with.
Azazel walks out of the castle a few moments later. He’s changed into a pair of pants and little else. It seems like a terrible idea. Where is his armor? Shouldn’t he have a damned helmet or something? At least a neck guard to keep from having his throat ripped out!
Brosh yanks his shirt over his head and tosses it to the ground. “The mighty Azazel. Ready to die, cousin?”
Azazel doesn’t speak a word. He simply holds out a hand and crooks his fingers in a gesture that conveys “let’s get this over with.” I don’t know if his lack of theater is comforting or concerning, just a mask for a deeper worry.
There’s no time to decide. Brosh charges him, more bull than bargainer. He’s so incredibly fast—too fast. Azazel jumps back but too late; a swipe of Brosh’s claws opens up four deep gashes on Azazel’s chest.
I slap my hands over my mouth to keep my cry of concern internal. I won’t be the one to distract him, not when he needs every bit of his wits about him.
“Very good,” Lenora murmurs in my ear. “You’re doing well, Eve.”
Why be concerned about me when he may very well die right before my eyes?
There’s no space to ask. Brosh is on the attack again, swinging wildly. Azazel barely dodges the swipes, barely keeps a step ahead of his cousin. They circle the cleared space, sweat already gleaming on their bare skin. Sweat and blood on Azazel’s.
And Azazel hasn’t landed a single hit.
I don’t realize I’ve started shaking until Lenora wraps an arm around my shoulders. “Shh, shh, it’s fine. He’s playing a good game of strategy. I know it’s hard to see when you care about the person involved—trust me, I know—but he’s got things under control.”
Her words buzz over me but don’t penetrate. Not when my heart is being stalked by his enemy, his cousin, who clearly wants him dead. And he’s slowing down. Brosh lands a kick to Azazel’s chest and two swipes to his chest and shoulder. More blood paints the cobblestones. Only one person’s blood.
Brosh laughs and spreads his arms. “Is this your leader? He’s as weak as he’s made our territory. Pathetic.” He turns . . . and runs right into Azazel’s claws.
I gasp. The sound is lost in the midst of the crowd doing the same thing. Someone screams. A handful of people cheer.
Azazel appears tormented as he holds his cousin’s shoulder and shoves his claws deeper into Brosh’s stomach. Deeper and up . . . to rip out his heart. The man falls to the ground, dark eyes glassy with death. Azazel stares at the bloody heart in his claws and drops it on top of Brosh’s body.
As if sensing my gaze, he lifts his eyes to mine. There’s nothing of the man I’ve come to know so well, of the bargainer I love, there. Only emptiness.
Ramanu steps forward and raises their voice enough to be heard over those gathered. “The challenge has been issued, accepted, and completed. Brosh is dead. Azazel is victorious!”
This time, the cheers are loud enough to shake the very city.
Lenora squeezes my shoulder. “That’s about enough of that. Let’s get out of here.”
“Yeah,” I say numbly. It’s not even the death that’s rocked me this time. It’s the implication. Brosh is dead. Azazel managed to do it honorably, which removes the threat against me, once and for all. That means I can go back to my life. I can go home.
Too bad home has started to feel a whole lot like a magical castle and a giant bargainer who holds my heart.
CHAPTER 20
EVE
Azazel finds me in my room barely an hour later. He’s taken the time to shower, which I both appreciate and resent. My emotions make no sense, not even to me, so I do my best to hold them in and wait for him to speak first.
He doesn’t make me wait long. “I need you to sign this.” He pulls a short stack of papers from his jacket and sets them on the table. A pen appears shortly after.
It’s happening. The thing I wanted so desperately for so long. I didn’t expect it to feel so hollow. “Just like that.”
“I gave you my word, Eve.” He keeps his tone carefully distant. As if I truly am just another contract to him. I know it’s a lie, that it’s just to protect himself, but it hurts more than I expect.
I don’t even read the papers before I scrawl my name in the appropriate spot and toss the pen aside. “Are you happy?”
“Are you?”
I refuse to cry, no matter how my throat clenches or my eyes burn. But I can’t meet his gaze either. “I don’t know how to feel, Azazel.” I swallow as best I can. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
“Brosh never had a chance of beating me,” he says softly. “He doesn’t have the experience or the patience. He was a fool to threaten you, and even more of a fool to come here to challenge me.” He reaches out and brushes my hair back from my face. “But you’re safe, so it was worth the cost.”
I can’t speak. I can’t even think. “What now?”
“Now, I take you home.”
I don’t expect him to mean right this second, but the room swirls around me in a sickening way that I recognize from the night he brought me here. I open my mouth to tell him to wait, to just give me a moment, but everything goes dark before I can utter a single word.
I wake up in darkness . . . except not true darkness. For the first time in months, I hear horns honking and the normal night sounds of the city. My city. I sit up so fast, my head spins. “Azazel!”
There’s no answer. Why would there be? I’m back in my apartment with its cool-blue walls, thick carpet underfoot, and silly little treasures that I can’t help but collect. Alone. I shiver. This space—my space—has never felt so barren before.
A vibrating sound makes me jump halfway out of my skin before I recognize my phone, lit up on my nightstand. Right. We have phones here. I fumble for it, the pressure in my chest loosening a fraction when I see Pope’s name on the screen. “Pope?”
“Where the fuck have you been?” There’s nothing of Pope’s customary smooth tone in the question. In fact, they sound downright haggard. “It’s been days, Eve. I get an SOS call from you, but when my guy gets into the hotel room, there’s no one there. I’ve had my people searching high and low for you. I thought you were dead.” Their voice breaks on the last word.
“I’m sorry.” I press my free hand to my forehead. “It’s, uh, a long story involving some light kidnapping.”
“Light kidnapping.” Their tone goes low and dangerous. “Is he there with you right now?”
“No,” I whisper. “I don’t think I’ll ever see Azazel again.” Somehow, during all the frustration and fury, it never felt real that Azazel would be removed from my life entirely.