Page 87 of The Prince of Demons

How should I ask him what his biggest hopes were? I could ask, ‘What are your hopes and dreams in life?’ but that sounded ridiculous.

What do you want out of life? That might work. Except I didn’t know if he was alive or something in between.

“If you had one wish, what would it be?” I asked.

Surprise flickered in his eyes. “Do you have wishes to grant?”

“Yes, in my magic lamp,” I answered sarcastically. “Answer the question.”

“So demanding,” he murmured. He stared off into the distance. “That I could tell the future.”

“Why?” I asked.

“So I could know when I’m free of this… date.” He said it in jest, with his eyes crinkled.

“I’m not answering seriously if you don’t.” I took another sip. I knew he was teasing, but I wanted him to be honest. “From now on, can we promise not to lie to each other?”

He regarded me thoughtfully before nodding. “If I knew how this would play out, I could save us a lot of trouble.” His twinkling eyes met mine. “I could look down on the rest of humanity, much like how I imagine your oracle does. I’d know that everything I do is meaningful and isn’t just being swept away. I’d know that my work has meaning, and I’m not just throwing all my efforts into nothing.”

He sounded so… defeated. Was he permanently tired, being an immortal? Forced to work forever with no end in sight?

I reached out my hand, tapping his. He startled, but let me hold it. I ran my thumb in small circles on his palm. “You’re too hard on yourself.” That was what a good date would say, right? Never mind that my hand felt so small and warm in his.

His thumb brushed the back of my hand in return. He slanted forward, bringing his knees to brush mine. “Is this a strategy of yours?” he said. “Touch and distract me so that it’s easier for you to win?”

I drew our conjoined hands together, pressing a chaste kiss to his hand. The alcohol was making me extra adventurous tonight. Beneath the table, he couldn’t see my ankles cross and uncross with my nervousness. “Yes.”

He laughed. Rubbing comforting circles into my hand, he retreated into his seat, pulling away. “Next round, then.”

He dealt. I pushed until I felt ready, then told him to flip.

I won again. He cursed.

A shadow crossed over his face. One that I had begun to recognize. Eyes bright, smile wide. Trouble. Lust. Disaster.

Reaper released my hand, then stood and strode over. Soft thuds of his feet echoed in the glass bottles of the brewery. Chimes sounded with every step.

When he was beside me, he tilted my chin up with two fingers. “Look at me.”

I did.

“You wore my gift.” He slid his hand down the arch of my neck, hooking beneath my necklace. My pulse thrummed like a drumbeat beneath his fingers. He moved them aside and replaced the elegant necklace with his lips, lingering longest in the center and moving to his mark.

He sucked lightly on my skin. I fought the urge to swallow. Or faint. Or pass out.

“If you get to play dirty, I do too.”

His teeth grazed my neck as he withdrew. Shadows emerged into a newer, grander seat beneath him, right beside me instead of across the table. “Ask your question.”

Time to push one last time, before I lost all my nerve. I took a deep breath to steady myself. “What do you dream of?”

His arm dropped behind my back, tracing my spine. “I dream of a great many things.”

“Answer the question,” I said, blood rushing.

“Are your own dreams not variable?” he asked, fingers dancing around my collarbone.

“Yes, but I didn’t lose.” I stuck my tongue out at him. He fixated on it for too long before I pulled it back in.

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