Page 32 of Bloody Bargain
“Yes.”
The fallen god snorted, shaking their head. Mine Tessa’s eyes judged me from their face, as black and distrusting in the night as beads of malachite.
“And betray my beloved children in their time of darkness? You could not ask that of me if we were truly friends.”
My tail swept up the mist of saltwater on the dock with relish, slipping off the edge into frigid, choppy waters. Gamil’s tone was a scolding coo, hardly a no.
“If we ponder theaufpantheon, they are not actually your children,” I mused with a performative tilt of my head. Gamil narrowed their eyes at me, and my heart jolted with excitement at the familiar look of angry disdain Tessa wore often. She thought it was armor, but it merely made my ters slick and needy. I licked the membrane in the slitted hinge of my jaw, thirsty formyn chalisasleep in the yellow suite. “Surely you should spend those motherly instincts on someone that appreciates them.”
“Our mother cares nothing at all for any of her creations,” Gamil spat. “And has not since our realm collided with this one. She–Why do we havebreasts?”
They spread their hands across their chest with a thump of shock as if the new growth might fall off and swim away. I hissed with laughter, tail slapping the water when Gamil looked down their sweater front, then back to me with surprise.
“Does your brother have breasts now?”
I approached them with sinful relish, sliding my claws into Tessa’s short hair as my brother’s silver bled to her brown. Finally, my brother was vanquished, entirely replaced by the face I wished to see. I cradled Gamil’s head, now much lower than mine, and basked in their awed stare. Even a b’adruokh was not immune to the allure of Gamil’s innate power.
“I would givemyn chalisthe dagger. I am still a slave to your children and harming them is costly to me.”
“Hasn’t seemed to slow you down,” Gamil pushed.
“It is difficult to slow down a meteor once it gains momentum. Are you sure you want to stand in my path now that I’m free?”
Gamil’s stare lowered to the iron needles in my throat. When they closed their mouth in a pursed line, I knew that my logic had won out, and I preened.
For just a moment, I allowed myself the fantasy that I had won an argument with mine Tessa and vowed I would see the real thing someday.
Fitting that it would be easier to convince a god.
12
When I awoke in the morning, I stretched every muscle in my body, savoring the lessening aches. I rolled my ankles, one after the other. Like bending dry tree roots, my swollen joints popped and cracked. The feather-top mattress was so lush beneath me that I lay splayed on my back staring at the ceiling, unable to even dream of sitting up.
The couple in the blue suite next door used the shower, so I used that as an excuse to doze in the buttery warmth of sunlight through the yellow curtains. By the time they finished, I was still staring at the raw wooden beams above my head while the pipes knocked about inside the old walls.
I sighed, caught in the euphoria of finally sleepingwell.
And alone.
D’abel hadn’t returned yet. My heart skipped as I contemplated the possibility that he might not return at all. That would be nice, wouldn’t it? He’d given me enough information the day before to bolster my confidence significantly.
Or maybe he was so ancient that he’d think two or three years was a quick hunting jaunt. Maybe he’d find me later in life and I’d push him for more information then.
Or maybe I’d be dead.
Maybehewas dead? A beautiful pile of opalescent scales still writhing like a snake after decapitation, stained in dark red and spewing guts on the grass…
Either way, I was enjoying the morning just as I liked it. Alone. Quiet. Secure.
I heaved myself upright with more difficulty than I cared to admit and strained a glance down at my shoulders with a stiff neck as I whipped away the sunny quilt. The bruising from my heavy duffel had subsided considerably, though red splotches still marred my collar bones. It was a good thing I had another day before leaving town.
In case D’abel wasn’t dead, I padded across the room and locked the door to the hall. I wanted to luxuriate in another shower, then wrap myself in a towel and massage honest-to-god lotion into my legs and ankles. He could wait in the hall for half an hour if he came back before I was done.
Served him right for the drop of blood he’d taken yesterday.
I caught my reflection in the vanity as I ripped a comb through my choppy hair and straddled the plush stool. I pushed the bangs off my forehead and turned, leaning in to get a good look at the scars on either side of my head. They always gave me conviction, the razor marks that proved a fiend had picked me up by the head like the claw inside one of those prize machines. The scars raced through my hairline and flirted with the arches of my eyebrows. They weren’t ugly, per se, but very recognizable.
I’d once promised myself that I’d never have short hair again, and here I was, cursed with bangs forever so that fewer people would remember me in passing.
