Page 30 of Ivy & Bone

Prue scowled, refusing to admit he was right. Between his white hair and paleness and her brown skin and black curls, they couldn’t have been more different. But her stubbornness took over, and she said, “Regardless, if you’d let me handle it, I could’ve ensured we hadn’t spent so much money on this ostentatious lovers’ suite!”

Cyrus raised his eyebrows with a smirk. “A lovers’ suite? Gods, you mortals . . .” He chuckled, shaking his head.

“What?” Prue demanded, uncertain if it was his condescension or his ploy with the innkeeper that infuriated her more. “Do you not have lovers in the Underworld? Because that sounds like a rather sad life to me.”

Irritation flickered in his eyes. “Of course we have lovers.”

Prue snorted. “With whom? Demons?”

Cyrus’s gaze turned cold, but he said nothing.

Prue’s mouth fell open. “I’m right, aren’t I? You sleep with demons!”

“I don’t see how it’s any of your business.” Cyrus’s tone was clipped as he turned his gaze away from her, pretending to stare out the window instead.

“And you have the gall to turn your nose up at humans?” Prue barked out a laugh. “That’s pitiful indeed, Cyrus.”

“In case it escaped your notice, witch,” Cyrus spat, “the options for bedmates in the Underworld are rather slim. Unless I wish to bed my father or one of my brothers, then it’s the demons I must settle for.”

Prue stilled at the bitterness in his voice. He still wouldn’t look at her, but she detected resentment and grief in his silver eyes. She knew by now he used anger to deflect his emotions. But what exactly was he hiding? Had he loved someone once before? Did he miss her? Or him? Prue honestly couldn’t tell what his preference was, though judging by the way he’d looked at her when she’d first summoned him, she assumed he preferred women.

“What’s it like?” Prue forced herself to ask. “Being with a demon, I mean. Do they . . . have human bodies? Like you?”

“My body is not human. Your mortal forms are mirrored after the gods, not the other way around. But . . . yes. Some demons have bodies like mine. Many of them have horns. Some have tails and claws and snouts.” He cut her a dark look. “Taking a lover is not nearly as romantic as you humans wish it to be.”

“Well, obviously, when you have so few options,” Prue said with a scoff. “I mean, it can’t be pleasant to kiss a woman with a snout.”

“Who said anything about kissing?” Cyrus seemed genuinely confused.

Prue’s stomach turned as she pictured Cyrus taking a tumble with a woman with tusks and a snout like a boar. A bedmate and nothing more. Someone to offer momentarily release. To satisfy a carnal need. That was all it was.

Prue’s throat felt tight. She’d only had one lover, but their time together had been . . . passionate. Liberating. Intoxicating. With each dalliance, she’d only wanted more of him.

She couldn’t imagine Cyrus’s life—to seek out a bedmate out of necessity only, not pleasure or desire. Nothing more than a task to accomplish.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Cyrus growled.

“Like what?”

“Like you pity me.”

“Maybe I do.” Prue shrugged, turning away from him.

“You know nothing about me or my life,” Cyrus spat. “I have—”

“Yes, yes, I know, you have heaps of power, an abundance of unholy magic and authority,” Prue said in a bored voice. “You’ve mentioned it a few times. But I don’t care how much power you possess, Cyrus. That still seems like a sad life to me.”

“You speak to me of a sad life? What about you, the supposed Maiden of a powerful coven, blessed by the Triple Goddess? But you can’t even cast a summoning spell without botching it. You can’t perform a banishment without assistance. So, where is all this great power you supposedly possess? Why are you so useless? So incompetent? Oh, yes, I know—because you’re plagued by guilt because you’re the reason your sister is dead.”

Prue went utterly still, her insides chilling in horror and anguish. Silence screamed inside her mind as time seemed to freeze for a full second. Nothing moved. She couldn’t even breathe.

When her heart finally started beating once more, she turned to look at him. His eyes were dark with fury and venom. She supposed she’d brought this upon herself in provoking him. She already knew he was ruthless and unfeeling.

Even so . . . his words rang true. She was useless and incompetent. Mostly because she had no desire to explore the extent of her magic. Once, she had yearned to expand her powers, to learn new gifts, to strengthen her grace. But when Mona had died, her magic had been absorbed by Prue, fueling her power as the Maiden.

And ever since then, every time Prue cast a spell, she felt sick to her stomach, knowing her dead sister’s aura was fueling each enchantment, each incantation, each simple conjuring. How, in good conscience, could she continue to perform magic as if it were her own? As if it didn’t belong to someone else?

At long last, Prue found her voice, and it sounded hollow to her ears. “You don’t know anything about me, Cyrus.” It was all she could manage before she disappeared into the bathing chamber, blocking him out entirely.

---