“There were two reasons.” He spoke quietly, gently picking up her hand. “One—the Brotherhood believed that iron chains were enough to bind an incubus. I didn’t want to dispel that myth. If they believe iron alone can hold us, it works to our advantage. That meant I had to wait until it looked like you were the one to break us out—until you very ingeniously found a way out of that chair. And the other was simply that Josiah’s interrogation gave me valuable information. I now know what’s important to him and to the Brotherhood. I know what he knows about us, and what he doesn’t.”
“Sounds very practical.” She pulled her hand from his grasp and drew her knees up to her chest, hugging them. “Is there anything he could have done that would have spurred you to action, or would you have sat there and watched him murder me as long as you got the information you wanted?” She wasn’t sure why she felt so betrayed. He’d never promised her anything more than an uneasy alliance. Like he’d said. They weren’t friends.
“Don’t be absurd. I wouldn’t have let it go that far.” He looked down at his hands. “I didn’t realize the damage he was doing. I forget sometimes how fragile human bodies are. But you need to get over it. You’re alive. And if it makes you feel better, I plan to kill him in the most excruciating way possible.”
“I’m not sure that makes me feel better. And that’s another thing—how are we any better than the Brotherhood if we kill everyone just like they do?”
He shrugged. “We aren’t any better.”
She’d been expected some kind of argument, and had no idea what to do with that response. “But I hate them and what they do. I don’t want to be the same as them, or I’d have to hate myself. I used to think it was okay to kill people as long as they weren’t human, but I’ve changed my mind. It’s immoral to kill people unless it’s pure self-defense. Like, if you’re about to die.”
“We’re at war, Rosalind.”
“Only because everyone keeps saying we’re at war.” Loring was right about that much—words had power.
“Mmm.” He apparently couldn’t stop his eyes from roaming over her bare skin now that it had been healed. “Well, let me know when your semantic argument convinces the Brotherhood to stop hunting demons, and I’ll let things lie.” Blood still poured from the bullet hole in his neck, and he winced.
“Can you heal yourself?” she asked. Even if he was a demon, a bullet to the neck had to hurt.
“No. It doesn’t work that way.”
“You can only be healed by human women.”
“And Orcus. He’s not quite as enjoyable, but I don’t imagine you’re going to volunteer.”
“Orcus it is.” She heaved a sigh of relief. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to kiss him again. She wanted it a little too much. His touch could distract her from what they needed to do. Maybe some moral quandaries were murky, but spending the night in the arms of an incubus while your best friend and sister were being tortured went into full blown sociopath territory.
The door creaked open, and Orcus poked his head in.
At the sight of his shining skull, Rosalind pulled her shirt closed. It was one thing for Caine to see her half-naked, but the grim reaper was another matter.
Orcus cleared his throat. “The bath is drawn for the lady. I left you both a change of clothes in the washing room. But could you please tell me what I’m supposed to do about Bileth? He has been here three times looking for you, and I’m fairly certain he intends to send you into the shadow hell in a most unpleasant fashion.”
Caine rubbed the center of his forehead. “Arrange for ten courtesans to visit him. And find ones that look like Rosalind. Tell him they’re a gift from me, and that I’ve already punished her severely.”
“Of course, Master.”
Caine glanced at her. “You should go soak your muscles. The bath he’s drawn will heal the ache in your bones.”
She clenched her fists. “We need to talk about breaking into the Brotherhood. I want to get in there now.”
“I’ll join you in a moment, and we’ll talk.” He eyed her thoughtfully. “I’ll keep my gaze on the floor, if you want.”
“Good.”
Orcus’s heels clacked over the flagstones. “Master, I must heal your neck.”
Rosalind rose, holding her ripped shirt closed, and strode across the cold flagstones in her bare feet. She pushed open the door into a stone washroom. A silver, clawfoot bath stood in the center, filled with bubbles and herbs, and candles guttered in spidery sconces. A silver-framed mirror hung over a sink.
She draped the blanket over a chair before slipping out of her underwear and padding over to the tub. She climbed in, lowering herself into the warm water scented with rose petals and foxglove. She leaned back, resting her neck on the tub’s edge. If she weren’t battered by worry, this would be heaven.
As the water melted the ache from her body, she mentally ran through her plan. Magic was useless in the Brotherhood’s chambers, and technology controlled the whole building: retina scanners, key cards to get in and out, auto-locking doors, sensors that detected magical auras, the sprinklers of iron dust… If she controlled the technology, she controlled the Chambers.