Sins of the Flesh

His gaze dipped to her mouth, the shape deceptively sweet. He knew only too well that those perfectly curved, pink lips concealed a vicious bite.

It struck him then that through their blood connection, he knew more about her than if they’d spent months going on casual dates, more than she likely would have revealed after a year—hell, a decade—of dates. He knew the story of her childhood and her loss. He knew the hate that burned in her heart.

Something primitive stirred inside him. Something possessive. He had no name for it, and he supposed it didn’t need one.

“You have no business talking to me about love. Your kind—”

“Loves and cries and bleeds and feels pain.” He huffed a sharp exhalation. “I am not a monster, Calli, however much you want to paint me as one. And whether you want to admit it or not, there’s something here between us that needs to be addressed—” he glanced around, and his mouth shaped a rueful smile “—just maybe not right now.”

For a second, he thought there might be a part of her that wanted to smile back. To let him in. To let a little of her secret self out.

“Since the second I laid eyes on you, everything in my ordered, neat world has been shot to hell,” she said flatly.

“Likewise. Fun, isn’t it?”

“No.”

He watched her gather her emotions and lock them away. And he gave her the space to do it. He’d been in her dreams, seen the dark events that had shaped her. She needed her defenses. He’d leave them to her for now; he had all the time in the world to break them down.

“I could have sipped your life force without the blood,” she said coldly. “You only needed to let me.”

He grunted, unimpressed. “Right. Lower my defenses and trust you to take only a little.” He laughed. “Besides, I needed to kiss you. And you like taking my blood. Admit it. There’s a bit of forbidden pleasure in it.”

For a long second, he held her gaze, waiting for even a hint of agreement.

She offered nothing.

Good thing patience was one of his very few virtues.

“Where’s Kuznetsov?” he asked, giving her the out.

“I don’t know.”

“Where is the most likely place they’d keep him?”

“Anywhere. Could be down here in a neighboring cell. Aboveground in one of the mansion’s bedrooms.” Her tone was flat and cool, but something made him think that she was edgy, focused. That something was nagging at her. He wanted to know what that something might be.

“Maybe he isn’t even here anymore. They could have taken him to another location.”

“Which location?” he clipped.

Again, she shook her head. “I don’t even know of all the compounds the Guard has scattered over the world. At this point, your guess is as good as mine.”

“I’d still like to hear your guess, darlin’.”

She brought her hands up and let them drop. “I think he might be dead. No, actually, I’m fairly certain he’s dead. My superior referred to him only in the past tense.”

“As far as proof goes, Calli—”

“Don’t call me that.”

He ignored the interruption. “That’s pretty slim.”

“Yes, it is.”

He blew out a breath, and then he said softly, “My brothers think they can bring Lokan back. They think that if they find all the parts, Ren, Ba, Ka, Sheut, Ib, they can unite them all and reanimate him.”

“With the help of a few sacrificed innocent souls and a dollop of vile magic.” A touch of venom crept into her tone.

“And the help of some demons.” He gave a tight, close-lipped smile. “Your point?”

“You said that your brothers think they can bring him back. You don’t include yourself in that select group?”

“No. I just want to make the bastards who killed him bleed. We’re not on opposite sides, Calli. The Guard doesn’t want Lokan coming back. I don’t believe he can come back.”

“Not the same.”

“Almost the same.”

“Almost isn’t good enough.” She shook her head. “An Underworld war cannot be allowed to spill Topworld. The casualties and destruction would be beyond measure.”

“There were other ways to find out who killed my brother. Interrogating Kuznetsov among them. The end result would be the same. Sutekh’s vengeance. Yet, the Guard’s willing to risk it. Seems a bit contradictory, doesn’t it?”

Her expression was cool and serene, her body relaxed. He couldn’t see even a hint of tension in her frame, but he knew it was there. He unnerved her, unsettled her. And a part of him liked that.

“We’d do better working together,” he said.

“Are you asking for my help? What possible use can I be to you? I am outcast by my own kind—” she spread her hands and gestured at the cell walls “—and have no access to any sensitive information.”

“I’m not looking for your help,” he said. “Truth is, I’m here to play Prince Valiant and rescue you from the tower—” he glanced around “—or the dungeon, as circumstances would have it.”