Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 56189 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56189 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
“The magic of a binding contract.” Azazel rises and waves his hand at the desk. Shadows surge from the edges of the room, and the paper disappears. He adjusts his jacket. “Under normal circumstances, the payment comes first before I fulfill the terms of the contract. However, I’m inclined to make an exception this time.”
“What?” Surely he’s not saying what I think he’s saying?
His gaze narrows on my face. “Don’t get any noble ideas. You’re merchandise now, Briar, and that means your husband has damaged what’s mine. Beyond that, you don’t seem the type to be unfaithful, and I’d rather not leave any loose ends to damage my end goal.”
Before I can ask him what the hell that means, he vanishes in another surge of shadows. My skin prickles with sheer terror, but my body is too tired to do anything about it but shake. Maybe I’m in shock. It wouldn’t be surprising, considering everything that’s happened today.
I slump back in the chair, and a hysterical giggle slips free. “The demon didn’t even want my soul. How disappointing.”
Seven years of service.
Such a long time, and yet no time at all. I spend fifteen seconds considering what I might do when my sentence is served and I’m free of both Azazel and Ethan. My mind shies away from thinking about it too hard, almost as if allowing myself to dream will jinx it.
I stumble to my feet and cross to the bag filled with all my worldly goods. I don’t know how long Azazel is going to take, and I’m practically weaving on my feet at this point, but I don’t dare shower or sleep. He hasn’t done anything to harm me, but that doesn’t mean I trust him.
In the end, I only have enough time to take some ibuprofen before the shadows gather at the corner of the room and peel away to reveal the demon. He looks…different. I blink, wondering if my head injury is the reason it seems like he has horns for a moment. I blink again, and the feeling passes.
“Time to go.” He wipes at his hands with a handkerchief, but it’s not quite doing a good job of cleaning away the red stains there. He catches me looking and shrugs. “Sometimes I feel like getting my hands dirty. I’m sure you understand.”
The sickeningly swimming feeling comes back, even more pronounced this time. “Is that…” I have to stop to catch my breath. “Is that Ethan’s blood?”
“Of course it is. I hardly go around committing murder for the fun of it.” He tucks the handkerchief into the inner pocket of his jacket. “Though all you humans are rather breakable, so sometimes accidents happen.”
I don’t know how to process that any more than the fact I can still see the bloodstains on his hands. Hands that seem to…flicker…the longer I watch them. Pale skin and then deep red and then pale again. I press my hand to my temple, but this conversation has been one shock too many. “I think I’m going to pass out,” I say faintly.
The room gives a sickening spin, and then I’m falling.
Azazel was all the way across the room from me, but he still catches me before I hit the floor, scooping me up into arms that feel far larger than they appear. “Can’t have you killing yourself with another blow to the head.”
I try to speak, I think. Maybe to protest. Maybe to thank him for doing what I’d never be able to do on my own. In the end, it doesn’t matter. A deep blackness surges up and swallows me whole.
Chapter 2
Briar
I wake up in a strange bed. Instinct takes over, and I lie perfectly still, eyes closed and breathing even. It’s a nice bed, the mattress below me strange and soft in a way that seems to invite lying down and never getting back up again. The blanket over me is lightweight but more than keeps the faint chill of the room away. It slides against my skin decadently as I shift.
My bare skin.
Where the hell are my clothes?
“You can stop pretending to be asleep, Briar.”
I recognize the voice even though it’s only been a few days since I met him. Azazel. I sit up—and have to bite back a scream. The voice is the only thing about him that’s the same. I look around the room for some other explanation. Surely the broody-looking demon who made the deal with me isn’t this giant, horned, crimson-skinned beast sprawled in a chair on the other side of the room?
My brain skips, shudders, and goes numb.
This is fine. It’s better than the alternative. I take a breath and then another. On the third one, I no longer sound like I’m about to hyperventilate. Good. This is good. “Azazel.”
He studies me out of dark eyes that might look different than the ones I was familiar with, but the sardonic amusement at my expense is the same. “You’re taking this rather well.”