Page 16 of Tempt

He used to be a frequenter of the Archives, a masterful patron. She has also learned from past events that Malice has been desperate to return to the Peaks since his expulsion, pent up enough to manipulate and endanger anyone in order to succeed.

To what end?

And what precisely is she thinking? In the Peaks, they’ll be outnumbered and outarmed. They cannot, simply cannot…can they?

A grin worms across Malice’s face. He reclines in the rocking chair, his leather sweater fitted to whipcord muscles and split open at the throat, bearing ivory skin and the shadows of his collarbones.

“No,” Wonder forces out.

“Yesssss,” Malice coos, reading her mind. “Aren’t you the least bit homesick?”

“We won’t last three seconds.”

“Come, now. At least, five. Long enough for me to spit on the ground.”

“We’ll be surrounded before I can punch you.”

“It’s Stellar Worship,” he points out.

Wonder goes silent. How has she forgotten?

Every ten years, deities in the Peaks retire for a month of tranquil worship, paying introspective homage to the stars. This cessation includes keepers, librarians, and scribes guarding the Archives, who bar the structure and retreat to their homes by the sea.

Malice’s blond locks spill across his forehead. He digs his nails into the chair arm, as he’d done while entombed in nightmares. “You haven’t asked me about the pomegranate.”

“And spoil your fun?” she retorts. “I wouldn’t dare.”

“I would. Dares are so daring. I’ll give you the abridged version. Even before I was banished, I had a palate for pomegranate seeds.” His eyes drift toward the fire pit, an accordion of confusion surfacing between his brows. “For some reason, they tasted nostalgic.”

Wonder struggles against the comment, which reminds her of that prairie boy. Is this detail a confirmation or coincidence?

Malice shakes off the recollection. “Let’s just say exiles burn a lot of calories. Pre-banishment, I was famished, so I plucked a token of my heydays and brought it with me. Isn’t it lovely how long it takes immortal fruit to decay? Mine has an impressive expiration date. To this day, it’s only slightly overripe, with plenty of kernels to spare. If you’re nice to me, I’ll let you try some.” His voice darkens. “Won’t that be pleasant, tasting my seed?”

If she doesn’t step back, she’s going to smack that filthy mouth so hard that she’ll tear a new hole in his face. She deliberates whether to voice this threat, but juggling the wordhole—or any such adaptation—for Malice to catch is a terrible idea. He’ll chew it up and regurgitate something obscene.

But the worst part is that she’d known all along something like this would happen. She’d known from the beginning that they would need Malice. He has the means to get her to the Peaks, the means to access the Archives. And a book diva she might be, but this demon knows as much as she does, his skill in curating knowledge on par with hers.

She’d get far without him. But with him, she’d get even farther.

Whatever his intention, whatever he’s searching for in the Archives, he needs her, too. And oh, she cannot deny it. To smell all those pages again, to walk those endless, magical halls, hunting for a way to empower her class…

Wonder rounds her shoulders. “When do we—”

“Now works for me,” he says. “My schedule is wide open. How’s yours, Wildflower?”

“Let’s get one thing straight.”

“Only one? Boo.”

“My name is Wonder, not Wildflower.”

“Are we finished being tedious? Call me crazy, but your warrior mates are going to arrive any second, high on an adrenaline kick and spoiling for an intervention. Either way, it’s this or nothing; we go together, or we don’t go at all. See how quickly your lot flounders in their campaign for free will, humanity, etcetera.” The veneer of amusement drops. “Now hurry the fuck up.”

She can refuse, but she will not. For the battle ahead, she cannot.

Delaying further will cause a Malice conniption, so she straps her bow across her back and squats. A lock secures the starlit manacles. She goes through the motions while questioning her sanity, rummaging for alternate options that she might have bypassed prematurely.

There aren’t any.

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