The Demon's Bargain (A Deal With a Demon #4)(11)

I’ll never forget the look on his face, the way he blanched and then gently removed the knife from my hand and urged me to my feet. I didn’t try the spell that afternoon. Instead, we buried the bird.

If I were a good daughter, one to be proud of, that would have been enough to steer me onto a different path. Unfortunately, I’m a bit too much like my great-grandmother.

“Lenora?” The concern in Ramanu’s voice nearly undoes me.

I can’t take their pity. But, with my emotions coating me like a blanket of spikes, there is something I will take from them. If they’re willing.

I push slowly to my feet. I already know I’m not going to be able to sleep. Not right now, not with this tangled mess making ugly work in my brain. The smart thing would be to dig through my bag for a sleeping tea and brew myself a cup. To resign myself to the nightmares that will inevitably follow. A small price to pay, I suppose.

I’m not feeling very smart right now.

“Ramanu.”

They go still, and I shiver as all their attention narrows on me. “Yes?”

It takes more effort than I’ll ever admit not to fidget. I lift my chin. This is a mistake, but I’m a train hurtling out of control toward a ruined bridge. It’s too late to stop. “You really think seven years of pleasure is enough to turn my head?”

They seem to stop breathing. “You seem to have a suggestion. Let’s hear it.”

My long-ignored common sense tries to speak up, but I ignore it. Already, my sadness is sharpening to lust. It’s such a relief, I could weep. Ever since I woke up in Kristoff’s empty bed without the familiar weight of my amulet, fear and loathing have dogged my every step. I can’t escape the feelings, not until I recover what was taken from me.

But…I could allow myself a reprieve, couldn’t I? A small break before I go back to feeling like the failure I am. “You can’t really expect to sell that sort of promise without a trial run, can you?”

“A trail run.” Ramanu grins, quick and wicked. “Shall we bargain, little witch?”

“Not for seven years.”

“No.” They shake their head. “Not for seven years. Not for this. You want a trial run, which is well within your right to request.”

I really should laugh it off and let this go. I don’t. Instead, I nod. “Yes. Really, it’s a selling point as far as you’re concerned. Unless you were bullshitting me…”

“I wasn’t.” They take another step toward me. “Bargain with me, Lenora.” The way they say it almost sounds like an invitation to foreplay.

I shiver. “I’m spelled with birth control, if that’s necessary.”

Ramanu circles me slowly. Never closing the distance. More like they’re trying to get my measure. “I have no desire to trap you there. Children are for others. I want none of my own.”

I twist to face them. “I like kids. I even trained with a midwife for a while.” My fathers’ insistence. They wanted to ensure I had a good balanced foundation before I chose what kind of magic I wanted to specialize in. A last-ditch effort to guide me to life and light instead of the fixation I have with darker magics. “I just don’t want them myself.”

Ramanu reaches out and catches a lock of my hair before running it through their clawed fingers. “A month.”

It shocks me how much I want to say yes. I’ve known this demon a few hours and I’m willing to give them a month? I shake my head, dislodging their touch. “You get an hour.”

Far from being dissuaded, Ramanu seems to relish the bartering. “Two weeks.”

I find myself smiling. “This afternoon, ending when I need to go track down Kristoff.”

“Please. An afternoon is hardly enough, and we both know it. You can feel this connection, too.”

They’re right. I’ve never felt anything quite like this before. If so much of my energy weren’t wrapped up in getting the amulet back, I’d probably be terrified. My laugh is a little too edged. “I feel a lot of things. That doesn’t mean I’m going to give you two weeks.”

“Fair enough.” They hold up three fingers. “Three days. The duration of Samhain. At the end of the Shadow Market, you’ll make your decision about the greater bargain.”

“I already made my decision.”

They shrug, but the movement is as practiced as my laugh. Tension builds between us. We both know we’ll reach an agreement, which means we both know what comes next. They grin. “Then it won’t change in the next three days.”

They have a point, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it. “Fine. Three days.” I frown. “I don’t want marks of any kind on my body.”

They stop behind me and catch my hips, their claws pressing lightly against me. “Not even little bruises?” They lean down and murmur in my ear, “Not even a tiny memory of where I held you down and fucked you?”

Damn them, but it’s like they’re speaking directly to the lust coursing through me with increasing strength. I shiver. “Little bruises are fine. No claw marks. No blood. And nothing that can’t be covered by clothing.” The last thing I want to do is confront Kristoff with hickeys or something from Ramanu.

Though the thought isn’t entirely unappealing.