Page 27 of When Bones Whisper
“We can be very persuasive.”
“Then he, or you, can return and get Duke and my grimoires.”
“I’ll retrieve the grimoires, but the cat is not welcome here. They do not like me.”
“Neither do I,” she snapped, inhaling sharply. “Yet I am forced to live here. If you won’t get him for me, then I will not help you.”
“You will.”
He turned back to face the piano, and she clenched her fists at her sides.
Her glare stabbed into the back of his head. “I will not.”
“I have ways of making you.”
She wasn’t sure what had changed, but he seemed different before he bit her. He wasn’t exactly a ray of sunshine then, but he seemed less grumpy, more forthcoming at least.
“Let me guess,” she asked. “By torturing me? I won’t give in.”
He turned back to look at her, challenge threading his stare. “No?”
“I have lost everyone I love and have nothing left to lose, except for Duke. Keep him away from me and believe me when I tell you I will not perform the ritual no matter how much you hurt me. All magic must be done willingly, else it won’t work.”
He leaned forward, his smoky eyes narrowing as he pursed his lips. After a brief pause, he said, “You are stubborn.”
She scoffed. “As are you. So, will you find my cat?”
“Fine,” he said gruffly. “I will look for your pet tomorrow.”
“Thank you.” The words felt like poison on her tongue. She wanted to take them back, but she was used to placating monsters and swallowing her real thoughts.
“Your cat will be good leverage to ensure you uphold your end of our deal,” he added.
She blinked twice, leaning back. “Deal?”
“Yes. I will bring you your grimoires and pet. In exchange, you will practice your magic every day with a witch I trust and prepare yourself to perform the ritual once I have vanquished our enemies.”
“A witch you trust?” she asked, surprised he trusted anyone.
“She is highly motivated to help me,” he explained.
“I don’t need any witch helping me.”
Her stomach dipped, flipping in circles as he closed the distance between us. “Do you think me foolish enough to allow you to be alone with your grimoires?”
Slowly, she rolled back her shoulders and jutted her chin. He was afraid of what she might learn, which meant there was magic that could help her escape and fight them. “Why? Are you afraid of my power?”
A bitter chuckle escaped his lips as he towered over her, so much so that she had to tip her head back to look at him. The fibers of his shirt strained against the muscles in his arms and chest. “I am not afraid of your using magic. The witch I am bringing here is for your benefit. You are unpracticed,” he said, raking his eyes over her body, and lingering on her throat. “Who knows what kind of damage you might do trying to perform spells alone.”
She didn’t say anything but repressed the urge to swallow.
“You are precious cargo,” he added, “and I will not have you accidentally killing yourself before you can help me.”
Everyone treated her like that—cargo, chattel, anything but a person. She hated it and him for making her feel the same way William had.
“You are repulsive,” she spat, forgetting herself in his presence. Rage boiled through her core, forcing power into every punctuated word. “You’re no better than the witches you hunt.”
His laugh was as dark and suffocating as smoke. “Then you are a fool. The Avery witches are far worse than any other creature you will ever encounter, including me.”
