Текст книги "A shadow in the ember"

Автор книги: Jennifer L. Armentrout

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Текущая страница: 22 (всего у книги 42 страниц)

Chapter 24

My hands slipped from the tub to the cooling water as my heart thundered. “Really?” I whispered.

“Yes.”

I sucked in several breaths. “You can tell what I’m feeling?”

“Right now, it’s just disbelief.”

“That…” I was glad I was sitting down. “That seems like a really intrusive ability.”

“It is,” he agreed, placing the pitcher aside. He didn’t move. Neither did I. “That’s why I rarely intentionally use it. But, sometimes, a mortal or even a god feels something so strongly, I cannot prevent myself from feeling what they do. That is what happened when I looked at you. Your emotions reached me before I could block them. I knew that as willing as you appeared, you were not.”

What did you do, Sera?

My mother’s panicked cry echoed. I closed my eyes as harsh realization swept through me. Sir Holland was wrong. My mother had been right. That insidious voice inside me had been right. It had been my fault.

Pressure constricted my chest and throat as I shook my head. No. That wasn’t true, either. It wasn’t only my fault. I opened my eyes. “I was…scared. I was to marry the Primal of Death,” I said, my voice hoarse. “I was anxious. Of course, I felt hopeless. I felt like I had no control. But I was there. I was still there.” None of that was a lie. “I knew what was expected of me, and I was willing to fulfill it. You were not.”

He was quiet, but I felt his gaze on me—on my back. “No, I wasn’t. I had no need of a Consort forced to marry me. And whether or not you were willing to carry through doesn’t change the fact that it wasn’t your choice. It never was.”

“It is my choice to honor the deal,” I argued.

“Truly?” he challenged. “Your family would’ve allowed you to refuse to take part in the deal? To refuse a Primal? Are you saying that you were in a position to refuse? One where the expectation hadn’t been drilled into you since birth? There was never any consent in your choice.”

Gods, he was right. I knew that. I had always known that. I hadn’t expected him, of all people, to acknowledge or care about that, though, especially since it had been the deal he’d made. But that didn’t change anything. Not what the deal did for the kingdom, not what my birth signaled, or what I must do.

I opened my mouth and then closed it as a different type of emotion reared its head. Respect. For him. For the being I needed to kill to save my kingdom, and for the Primal who had unintentionally become the source of my misery. How could I not respect him for being unwilling to take part in something I truly had no real choice in?

Confusion also followed because had he not considered any of this when he first set the terms? He could have set any price. He’d chosen this.

Another thought occurred to me, and my head jerked up so fast, it tugged on the skin of my upper back. “Are you reading my emotions now?”

“No,” he answered. “And that is the truth. I know to keep my…walls up around you.”

I wasn’t sure if he was suggesting that I was highly emotional. Regardless, I was grateful he had his… “What do you mean by walls?”

“It’s like the Rise around Haides and the lands but in here.” He tapped a finger on the side of my head. “You build them mentally. They are shields of sorts.”

“That sounds…difficult.”

“It took a very long time to learn how to do it.”

“There’s something I don’t understand,” I said after a moment. “Why did you even ask for a Consort? When you made the deal, you could’ve asked for anything.”

“The answer you seek is a very complicated one.”

“Are you suggesting that I’m not clever enough to understand?”

“I’m suggesting it’s a conversation that should take place when you’re fully clothed.”

“And you don’t run the risk of me attempting to drown you?” I snapped.

Ash chuckled as he wrung the excess water from my hair. “That, too.” Using one of the pins I’d removed, he twisted the length of my hair, pinning it so the ends didn’t fall back into the tub. “I hope my services this evening lived up to whatever expectations you may have had.”

Immediately, my mind flashed to a different sort of service, and I wanted to punch myself. Hard. “They were passable.”

My response got another laugh from him. “If you’re done,” he said, rising. “I can put the balm on your wounds.”

I was still dumbfounded by his ability to read emotions—still irritated by his refusal to answer why he had asked for a Consort. But I gripped the edges of the tub. Water splashed as I rose and turned to where he stood.

His chest was so still, I wasn’t sure he breathed, but the white, luminous wisps in his molten-silver eyes churned wildly. The intensity of his stare scalded.

Attraction. Desire. He was definitely attracted to me. He wanted me. I reminded myself that was something I could definitely work with. “I’m wet.”

“Fuck,” he rasped, his gaze tracking the droplets of water as they coursed over my breasts, the curve of my stomach, and headed lower still, between my thighs.

My skin tingled everywhere his gaze followed. “Can you help me with that?”

The tips of his fangs became visible as his lips parted. “Trouble,” he murmured thickly. “You are trouble, liessa.”

Something beautiful and powerful…

I couldn’t help but feel that way as I stood there. “A towel,” I said, chasing away some lingering drops of water just below my navel with my hand. “I was hoping you could hand me that towel.”

One side of his lips tipped up as his stare followed my hand. “Yeah.” He reached out without taking his eyes off me and grabbed a towel from the shelf. “I can help you.”

Heart thrumming once more, I stepped out of the tub. I tipped my head back as he approached. Ash said nothing as I reached for the towel.

“No,” he said, his chin lowering. “You asked for my help.”

Wordless, I remained standing as he drew the towel along my left arm and then my right, fully aware that he was staring down at me. Heaviness filled my breasts as he dragged the towel over my stomach, where my hand had been, and then over my hip. My skin felt as it had when I’d sunk into the steaming tub, except this heat invaded my blood and pooled.

“I’m not sure you will appreciate what I’m about to say. I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t,” he said. “At least now, I know what you feel when I touch you.” He smoothed the towel up my stomach and between my breasts. The hair on his arm grazed the insides of my breasts, causing me to gasp. “That sound you make? It’s not forced.”

It wasn’t.

The tips of his fangs dragged over his lower lip as he moved the towel over the aching peaks. I jerked at the sharp swirl of pleasure I felt. “You don’t let me do this because it is your duty. What is expected of you.” He moved around me, swiping the towel over my back, careful to avoid the welts. “You allow me to touch you because you enjoy it.”

And that was true. It shouldn’t be. I shouldn’t enjoy any of this. I should remain removed from this part of my duty. Calculating. But there was no denying the tight tremor of anticipation coiling its way through me. There was no denying that I desperately wanted to feel. Like I had at the lake when I was just Sera, and he was simply Ash—just like he’d said earlier. “Are you reading my emotions?”

“I don’t need to.” The soft towel rasped over my lower back. “I can tell by the flush on your skin and how it…hardens in the most interesting places. The hitch of your breath, and the way your pulse quickens.”

“My pulse?” I whispered, legs strangely weak.

“Yes.” His cool breath danced over my bare shoulder. “I can feel that. It’s something that even a god can feel. It is a…predatory trait.”

I shivered in response to his words and where the towel now roamed, following the curve of my backside. My skin practically vibrated as that curl of anticipation coiled tighter, this time below my navel and then again even lower.

“You want my touch.” He guided the towel down my legs and then back up between them. His breath now touched my lower back. My eyes closed, but my mind provided the image of what I could not see—the Primal of Death kneeling behind me. “And that want?” His towel-covered hand slipped between my thighs, gliding over the throbbing flesh between them. Another ragged sound left me as his hand moved back and forth, gently rubbing. “It has nothing to do with any deal.”

It really didn’t.

“And what…what does that—?” I gasped as the cool skin of his arm brushed my heated, not even remotely dry flesh. “What does that change? You said you still have no need of a Consort.”

“I don’t.” He moved that damnable towel away from me, sliding it over my side and then between the crease of skin at the hip. He rose as the towel slipped between my thighs once more. I shuddered at the feel of the cold skin of his forearm pressing against my lower stomach. He moved the towel in soft, short circles. “But that doesn’t mean I am not interested in certain aspects of this union.” The cool tips of his fingers grazed my arm as he stepped closer to me, near enough that I felt his breeches-clad thighs against the backs of mine. “Just like that doesn’t mean you’re not interested in those very same aspects.”

The utter arrogance in his confident assumption irked me—and emboldened me. “There is very little about those aspects I find all that interesting.”

“You don’t?” The towel-covered hand continued moving slowly, tauntingly.

“No.” My hips jerked and then started to move, following his lead. His lead. Gods, it should concern me how quickly I’d lost control of this seduction. It would. But later.

“I think you lie again,” he murmured, a hint of a smile in his tone. “You’re as interested as you were when you begged me to kiss you at the lake.”

“Your memory is faulty. I gave you permission to kiss me.”

His fingers grazed the side of my breast as he moved his hand up and down my arm while moving the towel between my legs. “Or demanded that I kiss you.”

“Either way, that is not begging.”

“Semantics,” he murmured.

“It’s not.” I widened my stance, giving him better access.

“Really?”

“Really.” My eyes drifted open, and I looked down, past the puckered peaks of my breasts to where he had the towel snagged around the wrist of his hand.

“Lying so prettily, yet again.”

“I’m not lying. You’re just overconfident—” I gasped as he dropped the towel, and the cool length of his fingers replaced the soft material, pressing against my bundle of nerves. “Gods,” I breathed, immediately swamped by a riot of sensations as the tension curled so tightly, I felt breathless.

“No,” he murmured, his thumb swirling against that sensitive nub. “You are not interested at all in those certain aspects.” He sank a finger inside, parting the flesh.

I cried out, grasping his arm. I hadn’t forgotten the shocking contradiction of his coldness against my heat, but no memory did it justice. I shook.

“I remember how you showed me the way you like it. I play that over and over in my head. I could write a fucking tome on it by now.” His thumb continued moving. “When I’m fisting my cock, I remember how you held my hand against you at the lake.”

“Oh, gods,” I gasped. “Do you…do you really?”

“More times than I should admit.” His finger pumped in and out of me, bringing me closer and closer to the edge.

Suddenly, all that curling tension unfurled as fast and unexpectedly as a streak of lightning. It came on hard and fast and shockingly. If he hadn’t folded his other arm around my waist, there was a good chance the pounding waves of release would’ve taken my legs out from under me.

Ash’s fingers slowed, and only when my hips stopped twitching did he ease his hand from me. Several long moments passed as he simply held me there, our bodies only touching from the waist down. Neither of us spoke, and I had no idea what he was thinking, but as my body cooled, I realized that my attempt to seduce him had failed spectacularly. I had been the one seduced.

I sat on the bed, facing the closed balcony doors as the top of the robe I held closed pooled at my elbows.

Ash walked forward, unscrewing the lid on the jar he’d brought with him. “This will probably feel cold against your skin at first,” he said, sitting behind me. “And then it will have a numbing effect.”

I nodded, feeling off-kilter from what had transpired in the bathing chamber. He’d walked away before I even had a chance to regain control of the situation, the sign of his arousal a thick, hard ridge pressing against his breeches as he unhooked the robe and handed it to me. His restraint when it came to his pleasure was quite impressive.

The touch of his fingers brushing some of the curls that had fallen free from their twist aside steered my mind to the present. A spicy and astringent scent reached me. “What is this ointment made of?”

“Yarrow, arnica, and a few things native to Iliseeum,” he told me. I sucked in a sharp breath as the salve touched one of the wounds. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” I lowered my chin. “It doesn’t hurt. It’s just cold.”

His hand moved, spreading the balm over my skin. He didn’t have to do this. He hadn’t needed to wash my hair. Both acts were kind but didn’t match what he’d done to those gods on the Rise.

Which hadn’t stopped me from enjoying his touch. Gods. I should feel ashamed, but I didn’t. Maybe because my conscious mind recognized that I was destined to do far worse things.

For some reason, as I sat there rather obediently, I remembered what I’d wanted to ask while in the bathing chamber. “How old are you? Really?”

“I thought we already established that my actual age doesn’t matter,” he said, parroting my words back.

“It didn’t when I didn’t know who you were.”

“I’m still the same person who sat beside you at the lake.” His balm-covered fingers slid up my shoulders. “You know that, right?”

Was he? “How would I know that?”

“You should,” he answered as the coolness of the ointment started to fade, replaced by the numbness he’d promised.

“We may not be complete strangers, but do we really know each other?” I reasoned. “You talked as if killing should always affect a person, leave a mark that never fades. But you have—” I pressed my lips together. “I don’t know you at all.”

“You know more than most.”

“I doubt that.”

“I’ve never spoken about the first person I killed. Not with anyone but you,” he said, his hand leaving my back. I heard the lid turning on the jar. “No one knows it was someone close to me.” He took hold of the collar of the robe, lifting it to cover my back and shoulders. “Nothing I told you at the lake was a lie.”

“If everything you said was true, then why do you have gods impaled on your wall?” I demanded, tightening the sash around my waist as I twisted to face him. There was absolutely no pain from the movement. “How can killing leave a mark when you do things like that?”

 “You think…?” The white aura behind his pupil bled into the silver. It was a beautiful effect and a slightly terrifying one. “You think I did that to them?”

“When I asked you why, you said they served as a reminder that life is fragile, even for a god.”

Disbelief flickered across his features. “How did those words incriminate me?” His expression smoothed out quickly. “Yes, they serve as a warning, but not one I issued.”

I stared at him, stunned. Could he be telling the truth? I wasn’t sure what he’d gain from lying about it. “If it wasn’t you, then who did it?”

The swirling in his eyes abated as he reached out and picked up one of the curls that had fallen over my shoulder. “I am not the only Primal god, liessa.”

“Who did that, then? Who would be willing to anger the Primal of Death?”

“You have no problem attempting to anger or argue with me.”

“I’m not arguing with you now.”

One eyebrow rose. “I feel as if every conversation we have verges on an argument when it comes to you.”

“It was you who started arguing with me.” I watched him. Lashes lowered, he appeared absurdly focused on separating the mass of curls.

One side of his lips curved up as he drew one of the curls straight. “You’re arguing with me now.”

I threw up my arms. “That’s because you’re saying—never mind.”

Ash released the strand of hair, his faint grin fading as his gaze met mine. “What do you know about the politics of Iliseeum?”

His question threw me. “Not much,” I admitted. “I know that Primals rule the Courts, and that gods answer to them.”

“Each Court is a territory within Iliseeum with more than enough land for each Primal and their gods to carry out their time as they see fit. And each Primal has more than enough power to do whatever they would like.” He rose from the bed and went to the table. There was a decanter there that hadn’t been there before, along with two glasses. “But no matter how powerful any one being is, there are always some who want more power. Where what they have is not enough.”

A chill swept down my spine as he pulled the stopper from the decanter. He poured the amber liquid into two short glasses. “And for them, they like to push other Primals. See how far they can go. How much they can push before the other lashes out. In a way, it can be a source of entertainment for them.” He carried the glasses over. “Whiskey?”

I took the glass he handed me. “Are you saying that another Primal did that because they were bored?”

“No. That was not done out of boredom.” He turned from me, taking a long drink. “That was done to see how far they could push me. Quite a few Primals enjoy…pushing me.”

The smoky flavor of the whiskey went down surprisingly smooth. “I know I’m about to sound repetitive, but I cannot understand why anyone would do that. You’re the Primal—”

“Of Death. I’m powerful. One of the most powerful. I can kill quicker than most. I can deliver lasting punishment that goes beyond death. I’m feared by mortals, gods, and the Primals, even those who push.” Ash faced me as he took another drink. “And the reason some push has to do with that question you seem rather obsessed with. Well, one of two questions you have asked multiple times. The one with the very complicated answer best not answered while one is bathing.”

It took me a moment. “Why you didn’t fulfill the deal?”

He nodded. “It’s because I did not make the deal.”

Shock seized me as I slowly lowered the glass to the bed beside me. “What?”

“It wasn’t me. I was not the Primal of Death then.” A tightness settled into his features. “My father was. He made the deal with Roderick Mierel. It was he who demanded the first female of the bloodline as a Consort.”

Chapter 25

All I could do was stare at Ash as what he said echoed over and over in my head. Denial immediately rose because of what it meant. I wanted to latch onto that denial, but Ash had said at the lake that not all Primals had been the first.

I’d just never thought he was referring to the Primal of Death.

My thoughts whirled. “Your…your father was the Primal of Death? He made the deal?”

“He did.” Ash stared down at his nearly empty glass. “My father was many things.”

Was.

“And he died?”

“It is not often that a Primal dies. The loss of a being so powerful can create a ripple effect that can even be felt in the mortal realm. Could even set in motion an event that has the potential to unravel the fabric that binds our realms together.” He swished the remaining liquid in his glass. “The only way to prevent that from occurring is having their power—their eather—transferred to another who can withstand it.” His hand stilled. “That is what happened when my father died. All that was his transferred to me. The Shadowlands. The Court. His responsibilities.”

“And me?” I asked hoarsely.

“And the deal he made with Roderick Mierel.”

I exhaled roughly as the strangest burst of emotions blasted through me. There was definitely relief because if that deal hadn’t transferred to Ash, there would be no way to stop the Rot. But then I realized that if it hadn’t transferred, the deal would’ve been severed in favor of Lasania at the time of the Primal’s death. It hadn’t. Obviously, it had moved to Ash. And what I felt wasn’t relief. It was an emotion I didn’t want to acknowledge—and couldn’t.

He hooked one leg over the other. “Drink, liessa. You look like you need it.”

I needed an entire bottle of whiskey to get through this conversation, but I took a healthy swallow. I was surprised that I actually did it. Something occurred to me as I placed the glass on the table. “You said there were Primals younger than some of the gods. You were talking about you, weren’t you?” When he nodded, my grip tightened. “Were you…were you even alive when he made the deal?” Immediately, I wished I hadn’t asked because if he hadn’t been, and he now had to die for something his father did…it made it all the worse.

“I had just gone through the Culling—a certain point in our lives where our body begins to go into maturity, slowing our aging and intensifying our eather. I was…” His lips pursed. “Probably a year or so younger than you are now.”

Hearing that he had at least been alive didn’t make it better at all. He’d been my age. What he’d said in the Great Hall came back to me. Choice ends today, and for that, I am sorry. Gods. It wasn’t just the loss of my choice but his, too. He hadn’t chosen this. I felt like I would be sick.

His head tilted. “You’re surprised?”

I tensed. “Are you reading my emotions?”

“A bit of your shock got through my walls, but they’re up.” His gaze met mine. “I swear.”

I believed him because staying out of my emotions would be a kind and decent thing to do.

I took another drink. “Of course, I’m surprised. By a lot. You’re really not as old as I thought you were.”

A dark eyebrow rose. “Is there a difference between two hundred years and two thousand to a mortal?”

Had he not asked the same while we’d been at the lake? “Yes. As bizarre as that may sound, there is a difference. Two hundred years is a long time, but two thousand is unfathomable.”

Ash didn’t respond to that, which allowed me time to try and make sense of all of this—of why his father would do this. “Your mother…?”

That eyebrow climbed more. “You say that as if you’re not sure that I had one.”

“I figured you did.”

“Good. I was afraid for a moment that you might believe I was hatched from an egg.”

“I really don’t know how to respond to that,” I muttered. “Were your parents not together?”

“They were.”

I opened my mouth, then closed it before trying again. “And did they…like each other?”

His chin lowered. “They loved each other very much, from what I recall.”

“Then I’m sure you understand why I’m even more confused that your father would’ve asked for a Consort when he already had one.”

“He no longer had one when he made that deal,” Ash corrected quietly. “My mother…she died during the birthing.”

My lips parted as sorrow rose within me—sadness I didn’t want to feel for him. I tried to shut it down, but I couldn’t. It sat on my chest like a boulder.

“Don’t apologize.” He stretched his neck from side to side. “I don’t tell you this to make you feel sorry for me.”

“I know,” I said, clearing my throat. I resisted the urge to ask how they’d died. I wanted to know, but instinct told me the more I knew about their deaths, the harder it would be for me to do what I must. “This is why you never collected on the deal.”

“You never consented to it.”

The ball of tension inside my chest tightened even further when it should’ve loosened. As did the knowledge that he hadn’t been the one to make the deal that had made me what I was today. A killer. A deal that had taken away every choice I could make. A deal that had set my life on a path that would ultimately end with the loss of my life.

But, gods, I wished he had. Because I could hold onto that. I could convince myself that he was getting what was coming to him. I could justify my actions.

“You didn’t consent, either,” I stated flatly, looking up at him.

He watched me in that intense way of his. His gaze flicked away. “No, I did not.”

I looked down at my drink, no longer feeling as if I would be sick. Instead, I felt like I wanted to cry. And, gods, when had I cried last? “Do you know why your father asked for a Consort?”

“I have asked that question myself a thousand times.” Ash laughed, but there was no humor to the sound. “I have no idea why he did it. Why he would ask for a mortal as a Consort. He died loving my mother. It made no sense.”

It really didn’t, which made all of this so much more frustrating. “Why didn’t you come to me at any point and tell me this?” I asked. It wouldn’t have changed anything, but maybe it could have? Perhaps we could have found another way.

“I considered it—more than once—but the less contact I had with you, the better. That is why Lathan often watched over you.”

Watched over me? “The one who was killed?”

“He was a…trusted guard,” he said, and I caught that he did not refer to him as a friend then. “He knew about the deal my father made, and he knew I had no intention of fulfilling it. But that didn’t mean that others wouldn’t learn that a mortal had been promised as my Consort. Either because of your family speaking about the deal, or because you were marked at birth, born in a shroud because of the deal.”

My breath caught as a shiver danced along the nape of my neck.

“And that mark, while unseen by mortals and most, can be felt at times. That would make some curious about you.” Ash drew his booted foot off the table. “It was Lathan who noticed the gods’ activity in Lasania—the ones we saw that night.”

“The ones that killed the Kazin siblings and the child? Andreia?”

“There was some concern that they may have felt this mark and were searching for it.”

My stomach hollowed. “You think they died because of me? Because they were looking for me?”

“At first, possibly.” He tapped his fingers on his knee. “But who they killed never really made sense or fit a pattern, other than the possibility that they all might’ve had a god perched somewhere on their family trees. That’s the only thing I could figure out. They weren’t true godlings, but they could’ve been descendants of a god.”

“Godlings?” I repeated, brows pinching.

“The offspring of a mortal and a god,” he explained. “If a godling then has a child with a mortal, that child would carry some mark upon them, too, but they would not be a godling.”

 I understood then. Children could be born of a mortal and a god but it was rare—or at least that was what I’d believed. “I haven’t heard them called that before.”

“It is a term we use. Some of them will have certain godly abilities, depending on how powerful the parentage is. Most godlings live in Iliseeum,” he continued, his lips pursed. “Only the seamstress was someone you seemed to have had any contact with. And as far as we know, what was done to her wasn’t done to the others.”

There was a little relief there. I didn’t want their blood on my hands. There was already enough. “The Kazin siblings? Magus? Apparently, he was a guard, but I don’t know if I ever saw him or if he was even stationed at Wayfair.”

A thoughtful look crept into Ash’s face. “Still, if you did not know him nor the seamstress well, I don’t see how their deaths are related to you.”

I didn’t either. But it also seemed…too close to me. “Have you found out anything more related to what was done to Andreia?”

“Nothing. No one has heard of such a thing, even a mortal with the possibility of a god somewhere in their family line. And, yes, I find the lack of information to be beyond frustrating.”

It must not be often that a Primal couldn’t figure something out. Another thought rose. “Was Lathan mortal?”

The breath Ash let out was long. “He was a godling. I should’ve corrected your assumption.”

But would it have been necessary? Godling or mortal, a life was a life. “How did he die?”

“He tried to stop them.” His features were unreadable as he stared out the balcony doors. “He was overpowered and outnumbered. He knew better, but he did it anyway.” Ash finished his drink. “Either way, I didn’t come to you because I didn’t want to risk revealing you to those who would seek to use you.”

“Your enemies?” I asked. “Do those gods serve the Court of a Primal who likes to push you?”

“They do.”

“But why would any Primal or god believe that what happens to me would sway you?”

“Why wouldn’t they? They would not have known my intentions regarding you, especially if they had no knowledge of the deal my father made.” His gaze cut to me. “They would have no reason not to believe you were important to me.”

He was right.

I realized in that moment that I’d spent a lifetime believing that the Primal of Death was a cold, apathetic being because of what he represented. I’d been wrong. Ash wasn’t either of those things. He knew that each death left a mark. He understood the power of choice. I even thought of what Aios had said. That there had to be a reason she felt safe with him and trusted him. Ash cared, and I was willing to bet there was more than one decent bone in his body.

And none of that helped.

At all.

My duty was bigger than me—than what I felt. But it hadn’t been him who’d forced that duty upon me.

“Thank you,” I whispered, and the words still felt strange on my lips. They hurt a little this time.

His gaze returned to me. “For what?”

I let out a short laugh. “For having that one decent bone in your body.”

A faint smiled appeared. “Are you hungry? I know the cooks sent up some soup, but I can have more of whatever you want made.”

I wished he’d refuse me food. “I’m fine.” I dragged my finger over the beveled edges of the glass. Another question rose from the endless cyclone of them. “Are there any…consequences for you?” A surprising, unwanted and wholly hypocritical dose of concern blossomed within me. “I mean, from what I understand of the deals, they require fulfillment from all parties involved.”

“There are no consequences, Sera.”

I eyed him. He’d answered without hesitation. Maybe even too quickly, but that wasn’t a concern of mine. At all. “How long had Lathan been keeping an eye on me?”

“It wasn’t until the last three years, when you were more…active,” he told me. “Does it make you angry to know that?”

It was really weird to know that someone had been keeping an eye on me without my knowledge. Of course, I didn’t like it, but it wasn’t that simple. “I’m not sure,” I admitted. “I don’t know if I should feel angry or not.” However, it did make me think of all the weird and dumb things Lathan could have witnessed. But it made sense that there would’ve been no need to keep an eye on me before the night of my seventeenth birthday. Before then, I’d only ever left Wayfair to travel into the Dark Elms outside of a few, rare occasions. “Why did you have him do that? You didn’t know me. You didn’t make the deal. You have no obligation to me.”