The Gargoyle's Captive (A Deal With a Demon, #3)

by Katee Robert

Ramanu was a chatty one but cryptic enough to make me want to pull out my hair. I was sorry to see them go, though. No matter how aggravating I found them, being with them was still better than being alone.

Just because my mother died doesn’t mean Azazel’s bargains are bullshit. My life would be simpler if they were. There would be fewer questions keeping me up at night.

Like the others, she’s beautiful—but hers is the kind of beauty one finds in the hellcats that haunt the succubi and incubi’s territory. Gorgeous and deadly and all too willing to eat your face off.

She’s gotten under my skin in a matter of seconds, which doesn’t bode well for the next seven years. I may not have wanted this, but I vowed to myself that I would be charming and kind.

I don’t scream. One of the first lessons a Jaeger learns is to be silent in response to fear. A scream or even a whimper can get you killed when you’re on the hunt.

I’m pathetically grateful for the warmth of Bram’s body. I resent that gratitude, too.

The knowledge that I ran when I should have fought, that I hid when I should have helped. I should have died that day with the rest of my family. Every moment I’ve lived since then feels stolen. That’s the true curse I live under.

I inhale the cold air and do my best to smother my curiosity. It doesn’t matter that this place is nothing like I expected. It doesn’t matter that Bram seems to wear his sorrow the way some people wear clothes. All that matters is that there’s no one around to stop me from leaving later tonight.

I wonder if her low opinion extends to all people she considers monstrous or simply everyone who isn’t her.

There’s a clock ticking down in my head. I don’t believe the curse is real. That’s nonsense. But enough bad things have happened that it’s hard not to feel that I’m next. I won’t breathe well until the line of succession is secured. Maybe not even then.

Guilt colors her emotions, and she shoots a quick look out the window. Looking for an escape route?

She’s prey and doesn’t even know it.

“Hard to call it honesty when all you do is lie.”

I barely have a second to attempt to brace myself before he catches me in his arms and launches us into the air. It’s not cowardice that makes me cling to him, it’s self-preservation. He might actually drop me.

Even though the tub is deep, there aren’t any stairs. It’s downright awkward to step into it, and Bram doesn’t offer to help. It’s just as well. I would throw his help right back in his face.

I don’t ask her again. Really, it doesn’t matter. I didn’t bargain for her history. I bargained for her in my bed. That will have to be enough.

When you’re a hunter, letting your guard down means welcoming death. It means that even sex is another kind of battle.

It’s a low blow. Azazel knows exactly how desperately I want that information, so of course he’s willing to hold it over my head to ensure good behavior. Unfortunately for him, I wouldn’t know good behavior if it bit me in the ass.

I can’t argue that I’m not a danger to myself, because I am. I can’t even pretend I’m not a danger to others, because while I might never intend to hurt those around me, my cowardice ensures I’ll never help them either.

Though I get a perverse amount of enjoyment out of verbally sparring with this woman, I take a slow step back and lower my wings. Whether I’m enjoying it or not, we can’t exist in a state of constant battle. The longer we bicker, the greater the chance of her storming off. I’m not ready to be alone again.

She is . . . angry? No, that’s not quite right. She doesn’t seem to know how to feel any more than I do. Her emotions flicker and swirl in a confusing maelstrom of colors. I look away to avoid getting dizzy.

I follow her as if she wrapped a string around my heart and tugged.

I am a Jaeger. We don’t die of old age, and we are all too aware of the possibility of monsters wearing human skin.

This moment with Grace is ugly and awful, but at least it’s real. If I make her angry enough to kill me? That’s something she’ll have to live with. Not me.

I’m pretty sure he’s following me, shadowing my path through the winding halls and spiraling staircases, but he’s a much subtler hunter than his people are. The only indication I have that he’s there at all is a hot feeling at the back of my neck.

He was right before. In some ways, looking at him is like looking into a fractured mirror. I don’t know what it says about me that I want to touch him so much, I’m willing to cut myself on the mirrored pieces.

But the history of my people and their sorrow is written in stone here. This place was only built because of the war. It never would’ve existed if not for the death and destruction that came to the keep. Gargoyles will not willingly be cut off from the sky unless there’s no other option.

That’s what’s so scary. My map for life has gone up in flames, and every step I take, I’m worried the ground will give out beneath me.

“I’m sorry.” I smile even though my eyes are burning. “We keep saying that to each other, over and over, for our pains that words won’t fix.” “Sometimes there’s nothing else to say.” He’s right. Words might not change anything about our past, but words are all we have right now.

I don’t shove Grace away from me, even though every instinct I have is demanding I put space between us. Instead, I gently nudge her aside and climb out of the bed. It’s still not enough distance between us.