Page 36 of The Deathless One
He was here for himself.
“Would you move?” she asked, clearly annoyed.
“No.”
“I can’t see past you.”
“Then allow me to be your mirror.” He looked her up and down, then tsked. “The shirt is terrible. It doesn’t even remotely fit. The pants, however, are good enough.”
“The pants are too tight, but the shirt is comfortable and practical.”
“Try on something else.” He enjoyed nothing more than watching her bare her teeth in a fake smile. “Something a little more feminine, if I might suggest such a thing.”
“A man who hasn’t changed his appearance in centuries is not one I would trust for fashion advice. Besides, shouldn’t you want me to be in clothing that’s a little easier to move in? Taking advice from a man with scarred hands and only historical knowledge about fashion seems like a bad idea.” She disappeared from sight again, though, returning in a much nicer shirt that was better fitted for her shape. This one even had the barest hint of blue color to it.
Forcing his eyes not to linger on the gentle swells of her breasts or the way her waist nipped in over her hips, he shook his head. “Magic always has a price. Didn’t you learn that the last time we saw each other?”
“What are you talking about?”
“My hands.”
She froze, her fingers still pressing down on the fabric over her belly. “Your hands? You mean your scars?”
“I pay my price all the time. I don’t even notice the scars anymore, and so I forget that my hands are rather grisly to look at.” His shoulders stiffened so tight they ached. “And I’m sure it is not a pleasant sensation to be touched by them.”
“Oh, I… No,” she stammered before finding her words. “I didn’t mind it. They aren’t that bad.”
He shouldn’t be so pleased with those words. Trying to control the situation, and his reaction to her, his eyes darted around the room beforehe focused on the situation in front of them. “Turn around, then. Let’s see what other clothes we can find.”
“Why are you helping?”
“Because I want you powerful, and to do that you must feel like yourself. We have a lot of work to do, and I won’t have you out there looking and feeling like a street rat.”
Her eyes widened. She bit her lip, clearly trying to hold the words in before she blurted out, “Someone’s always picked my clothes for me. I was dressed by someone else my entire life.”
The Deathless One conjured a chair behind him, then sat down and crossed his ankle over his knee. With an imperious wave and a long-suffering sigh, he said, “There’s a first time for everything, nightmare. Try the whole store on. We’ve got all night. Let’s see what you like and I will hold my tongue.”
The flash of her grin shouldn’t have eased something in his tormented soul, but it did.
Coming back to the manor felt a little strange. She’d had a moment in that closed shop with the Deathless One. She swore there was more of him that she could see in that reflection. There was the hint of a pant leg, the creased fabric so starched it almost didn’t look real. Maybe the hint of his hands on his knees as he held himself still, lifting a finger only to tell her to turn so he could see how she looked in the outfits.
His commanding voice made shivers dance up and down her spine. Jessamine did whatever he told her to do, as though he’d wrapped her up in a spell. And he didn’t tell her to do anything that she didn’t want to do.
Instead, he was hyper-focused on making her choose what she liked. So… she did.
Her arms were laden with the clothing that had made her feel good. Not because someone else told her she looked nice, but because she felt like herself in them. No painful dresses with so much beading it was difficult to breathe. Just comfortable shirts that she could tie at the waist, worn cotton trousers that actually fit, and a single brown dress that ended right at the knee. She still felt like a princess in the soft, buttery material, but also felt like she could move.
She’d expected to have to run on the way back. There were so many infected on her journey to the shop, she’d anticipated having to sprint for her life. But there was no one on the streets on her way home, as though a dark magic trailed in front of her, ushering her away from everything and anything that would threaten her.
This wasn’t how it was supposed to be, was it? She paused with her hand on the manor door. She’d read that witches had patrons, but they weren’t like this, were they?
Thudding her head hard against the door, she tried to jolt the thoughts out of her mind. She wasn’t a witch, first of all, and second, he was trying to manipulate her. Or maybe he had just been bored.
That shadowy kingdom she could see beyond him in the reflection certainly seemed like a boring place. There didn’t appear to be much other than him. And… well, she supposed that made her a little sad.
“Pity for a devil,” she muttered as she finally opened the door and made herself stride into the castle. “You’ve lost your mind, Jessamine.”
“Is that so?” The voice cut through the air like a knife, severing any good feelings attached to Jessamine’s person.
