Page 111 of Wrongfully Magicked
Okay, plan B then.
“You’re fighting over nothing.” My voice emerges as a croak, my wrecked throat a mess after the heat sucked every drop of moisture from my body. I lick my cracked lips, trying to work up enough spit to continue. “The contract is null and void.”
Everyone looks at me in surprise, but my tough girl act is ruined when a wave of dizziness sweeps over me, and I swayalarmingly. If I pass out, the guys will kill themselves trying to save me, so I grit my teeth and widen my stance.
“Really?” Though amusement twinkles in the demon’s eyes, annoyance hardens his features. He ignores the rest of the men like they don’t matter, and to him, they probably don’t. “I’m disappointed you would try to deny the obvious. I thought you were smarter than that.”
I lift my brows at the demon whom I refuse to acknowledge might very well be my father.
Right now, he’s the demon who is trying to kill my mates.
“I’m very good at disappointing my family members,” I snark back at him. “You might say that it’s a hobby of mine.” I lift the contract in my hand, holding it out between us. “But I didn’t lie. Though I haven’t had the pleasure of reading the contract that signed me away like a slave, I know my family well enough to guess what it says.
“Grant the Kerringtons wealth, power, and protection—blah, blah, blah—and they will turn me over to you on my twenty-fifth birthday.” I arch a brow at him, my smile more of a baring of teeth. “But here is where you fucked up. I’m technically a Kerrington, at least that’s what it says on my birth certificate. Where is my wealth, power, and protection?”
I crush the contract in my fist, never once looking away from my father. “You left me at the mercy of those sadistic assholes. Not a day passed where they didn’t shower me with their hatred, and never once did you protect me as promised in the contract.”
Before he can protest his innocence, the scroll crumbles to ash, and I blink down at my empty hand in disbelief.
It worked!
When I rub my fingers together, the ash flakes away, removing any evidence that the contract ever existed, and I look up with a triumphant grin—only to gulp when faced with a very furious demon.
A muscle ticks along his jaw, and flames actually flicker in his eyes. All my bravado fails, and I wonder if I might have jumped from the pan, skipped the fire, and landed in the pits of Hell.
Instead of leaving, he crosses his arms over his chest, and I hate that I’m so short that I have to tip my head back to look up at him.
It just ruins a good glare.
“Why don’t you tell me what you want or, better yet, just leave?” I take a step forward, only to ruin it when I stagger.
Ugh…stupid fever.
Thankfully, Soren slips an arm around my waist and tugs me against his chest, keeping me from landing on my face and embarrassing myself further. Hardly able to keep my eyes open, I glare at the blurry shape of the demon standing just a couple of feet away, then squint as I try to bring him into focus. “If you wannata punnishhh anyone, take it ou’ on the resht of mmmy fammillyy.”
I blink in surprise when my words come out slurred. I clumsily clear my throat and open my mouth to tell him again, but my mouth is too numb to form the words properly.
He cocks his head to the side, the massive scowl on his face not disguising his concern. “You’re dying. If I leave, you won’t survive the night.”
The guys curse, and Porter steps between me and the demon. He lifts my chin with two fingers, then tips my head back and searches my face. His scent of old books and rum has me swaying toward him with an appreciative hum, and I barely resist the temptation to bury my face in his chest. I feel drunk, the room all fuzzy around the edges, my body both light and heavy at the same time.
His shadows give him away, swirling along his arms in agitation. Fear darkens his burnt orange eyes, the yellow shardsin them flaring brighter, and my heart sinks when I realize the demon isn’t bluffing.
I’m dying.
I should be alarmed, but I’m actually surprised it hasn’t happened sooner.
Porter turns, facing off against the demon, oozing confidence as he crosses his arms and lifts his chin. “What do you want?”
The demon purses his lips, rocks back on his feet, then rubs his jaw contemplatively. Delight sparks in his eyes, greed giving them a red sheen. “A negotiation, hm?”
My throat tightens, remembering the guys cautioning me to never negotiate with a demon, yet they are going against their own advice.
Not good.
While Porter towers over me at six-foot-two, he almost looks small standing in front of the demon. I grab the back of his shirt in my fist, wanting to yank him backward, but I only end up dragging myself forward and face-planting into the hard muscles along his spine.
“We both want something.” The demon speaks first, his tone almost affable, but the tension in the room turns palpable. “I’m willing to offer my assistance, but it won’t be for free. There is a cost.”
