Kingdom of the Wicked (Kingdom of the Wicked, #1)(29)

“I—”

“Did you hear that?” I dragged a hand through my hair and tugged at the roots. Nothing was there. No menacing shadow or dire warnings from beyond. Maybe I needed the church after all. I could certainly use all the prayers I could get. “It’s nothing. I thought you said something else.”

Claudia seemed unconvinced, but after a strained moment hugged me good-bye with a promise to learn everything she could about the mysterious spell.

I heard Nonna’s voice in my head as I hurried out of the city, constantly tossing looks over my shoulder to see if anything followed. She’d been right—nothing was fine.

And I was starting to think it might never be again.





Fourteen

“Put this on. No one should be subjected to that all night, demon.”

Wrath snatched the shirt a second before it hit his face and actually cringed. Honestly, I couldn’t blame him. Wrinkled tawny suede, elbows worn thin, and crisscrossing drawstrings at the chest. He stared like I’d dragged in a decaying carcass and told him to skin it and sew it into a jacket.

He set his jaw. “No.”

“No?” I tilted my head like I hadn’t heard him correctly.

“It looks like you balled it up and left it in the bottom of a drawer for months, and it smells like you wiped out pig innards with it.” He tossed it back at me. “Fetch me something more suitable, or deal with me as is.”

“Excuse me?” I marched up to the line of bones and crossed them without hesitation. I stood toe-to-toe with him, fuming. A wild gleam in my eyes dared him to tell me no again. “Put. The. Shirt. On. Now.”

“Does the sight of my bare skin get under yours? Did you have sinful thoughts about me last night?” He gave me a lazy grin. “That’s usually my brother’s specialty, but fear not, we’ve all got bedroom talents.”

“Pig.”

“Care to roll around the dirt with me?”

Anger poured off me. “You wish.”

“I don’t.” I swore the temperature dropped to match the iciness of his tone. “You call us wicked, but you witches are vengeful creatures without soul or conscience.” He nodded to his dagger I’d strapped to my hip. It looked ridiculously out of place against my dark flowing skirt and matching blouse with fluttering sleeves. But I didn’t care. He wasn’t getting it back. “Stab me if you must, but I’m not putting that monstrosity on.”

“You can’t possibly be serious. It’s a shirt.” I stared up at him and I couldn’t begin to understand the new look in his eyes. “Need I remind you that you aren’t in any position to make demands or deny me?”

His annoyance joined mine in unholy matrimony.

“Here’s a little lesson since you seem to be woefully uneducated, witch. Summoning does not equal owning. Containment isn’t forever.”

He moved near enough that I either had to remain and feel the heat of his body, or shift away to hold his gaze. It took a moment for me to yield a step, but I finally did.

I couldn’t believe he wanted to argue over clothing while I was reeling over my personal ghost from Hell. If it was even real and not some sinister creation my mind conjured to haunt me.

“I can and will deny you whenever I choose,” he said, his voice now dangerously low. “Do not ever make the mistake of thinking you wield any power over me other than the spell that contains me here. And even that won’t last.”

He took a deep breath, like he was enjoying the anger emanating from me. I thought about punching him again, but refrained. “You can’t break the spell without me, demon.”

“Maybe not. But containment spells—like summoning spells—last three days. After that, I’m free to leave this circle and do as I please.” He finally stepped back and leaned against the cavern wall, watching me digest the information. “Have you come to verbally spar all night, or have you changed your mind about the blood bond?”

“Neither. I’ve come to interrogate you about witch hunters.” His sudden laughter startled me. I recovered quickly and crossed my arms. “Why is that funny?”

“Information is currency where I’m from. No one expects to get something for free. If you walked into any of the royal houses and demanded information, they’d skin you alive.”

I hoped he couldn’t hear the pounding of my heart as I let that visual take shape.

“Agreeing to a blood trade doesn’t count as payment?” I asked. He straightened up and immediately lost the grin. That got his princely attention. “I believe in making informed decisions. Therefore, I request an exchange of some basic information. Surely that won’t be too much for you to agree to.”

He inspected me the way someone might look at a cat if it suddenly started ordering the servants around. “Very well. I will indulge you by answering some questions. Choose wisely.”

“Have you heard of any humans who have banded together to hunt witches?”

He shook his head. “Not at this time. Though history has shown them to be active, so I’m sure they exist.”

“Which of your brothers bargained with my sister?”

“Pride.”

I closed my mouth. In human religion the devil was often associated with that particular sin. Last night Wrath only told me my sister had made a deal with his brother; he hadn’t mentioned the actual devil. Which meant . . .