Page 23 of Monsters' Manor

Peevishly, I decide to poke that weak spot in his arrogant armor a bit more.

“What about it surprises you?” I ask, just as casual as he is. “Silas is great.”

He doesn’t answer right away, but his smirk slips another notch.

“Unless there’s another reason it bothers you?” I ask, digging in a little harder. “Something that doesn’t have to do with Silas at all?”

“I don’t have any idea what you mean.”

“Don’t you? If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were jealous.”

Renwick stops dead in his tracks, rounding on me.

“Would you?” he asks, low and dark, leaning over me and taking full advantage of his height and bulk.

“Yes,” I say, trying to hold my own even while my breath stutters in my chest.

He’s just sobig. Tall and broad and muscled. Warm. When he gets close to me like this, there’s no denying it.

The demon is sexy as hell, and I’m not immune.

“I don’t believe in jealousy, Rosie.”

I scoff at that, ready to call him on his bullshit. Who doesn’t believe in jealousy? Like it’s a thing he can just pretend doesn’t exist? Only, before I can get the words out, he leans in even closer to murmur into my ear.

“Not when sharing is so much more fun.”

With that, he turns and continues walking like nothing happened, leaving me to blink after him.

Now what thehelldoes he mean by that?

“Keep up, Rosie,” he tosses back over his shoulder, and I curse under my breath as I jog to catch back up to him.

Our conversation has lasted us through the gates and deep into the grounds. And, as it turns out, we’re not headed into the manor. We walk around to the back side, reaching a set of stairs headed down into a…

“Nope,” I say, stubbornly planting my feet and refusing to follow. “I’m not letting you take me down into some murder basement.”

“No bodies down here,” he says cheerfully, descending the stairs and throwing open the door. “Just a whole lot of stone and earth you won’t be able to set on fire no matter what kind of blaze you summon.”

When he disappears inside, I stay right where I am. No way in hell am I following him down into that darkness, into some creepy, dank—

“Or you can pack your bags and leave,” Renwick calls, his voice echoing up the stairs. “Up to you.”

“Motherfucking demon,” I mutter, and head down after him.

8

“Again!”

I hate Renwick.

I hate my stupid, uncooperative magick.

And, most of all, I hate the wordagain.

We’ve been at this for hours. Me, trying and failing to summon more than a candle-flame's worth of fire. And Renwick, bastard that he is, staying right on my ass and not letting up for a single damn second.

“Again, Rosie!”

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