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“My life’s work,” said Damien, lips curling at the corners and thin, black brows narrowing. “It is finally complete.” He was twenty-seven.
Gril made a small noise in response, a clicking in the back of his throat unique to draekins. Though he couldn’t reproduce it himself, Damien had learned many years ago that that particular sound translated to either “excellent” or “potatoes.” The tail wagging suggested the former, though Gril was quite enthusiastic about root vegetables as well.
“Did you hear that?” Amma’s sharp whisper cut into Damien’s mind as it began to drift into sleep. He groaned. “You mean that terrifying cry that sounded like a woman being gutted?” “Yes!” “No, I didn’t. Go to sleep.”
But then it occurred to him that, no matter how willing she appeared, with the enthrallment talisman inside her and a countless number of his violent threats in her memory, Amma having an authentic choice in the matter was an illusion. In fact, Damien knew what it was to be enthralled himself, and even enthusiasm in the moment didn’t make up for being at the total mercy of someone who didn’t really need their victim’s “yes.” Damien knew he was evil, he had cut throats and set fires and reveled in the pain of others, but he wasn’t a monster.
