Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 51407 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 257(@200wpm)___ 206(@250wpm)___ 171(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51407 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 257(@200wpm)___ 206(@250wpm)___ 171(@300wpm)
I take a breath and knock. The door opens so suddenly, she must have been standing in front of it. Gods help me, but I drink in the sight of her. Belladonna is deliciously rumpled, her dark hair tangled and wavy from sleep, her loose dress slightly askew, one strap slipping off her shoulder. I lick my lips before I can stop myself. “Good morning.”
“Rusalka.” Her voice squeaks in the middle of my name. “I, uh, hi. Hello. Good morning.”
All the tension bleeds out of me after a few seconds in her presence. She’s so nervous, it’s impossible for me to be nervous too. I smile. “I thought you might want something to eat. Then we’ll take a tour of the house. If you’re not dead on your feet at that point, we can walk the town square. My people are curious about you.”
Her eyes—a gorgeous deep brown—go wide. “I know the purpose I’ll serve here. Surely everyone doesn’t need to meet me. They’ll just—” She stops herself, straightens, and clears her throat. “A tour would be lovely.”
I wait for her to change and pull on shoes before I offer her my arm. I chew on her words—and what she didn’t say. Part of me threatens to bristle at the idea that she might find my people lesser. Though it’s nothing more than I’m used to. Every territory in this realm is certain that they’re miles better than the others, and they’re all sure they’re superior to the incubi and succubi. It stands to reason that humans think they’re better than us all.
Except . . . superiority isn’t the feeling I get when Belladonna lightly presses her fingertips to my arm as if ready to jump away at any moment.
I reach out to brush my magic against her and nearly flinch. Shame coats my tongue and throat, souring the breakfast I ate earlier. I shake my head sharply, trying to clear it. She doesn’t think my people are beneath her. She’s worried that they won’t approve of her.
That should reassure me. Her thinking she has something to prove will make her easier to manipulate, or at least more likely to keep her word and have a child—or several—that will benefit my entire territory. I’ve lied, cheated, and played games that still turn my stomach in order to protect my people. Allowing one human to go through with something she agreed to when she signed the contract shouldn’t count as harm. Not even Azazel could argue that.
Even though we’d both know better.
I turn abruptly down the next hallway. “Change of plans.”
“Change of—” She trips over her feet, and I have to catch her elbow to keep her from falling. Belladonna shoves her hair out of her face. “Rusalka, slow down please.”
I check my stride, but only barely. I don’t understand the anger bubbling up inside me. I don’t know this woman. I have no right to feel so protective of someone I just met. “You are a gift.” How can she be anything else? By her own admission, she willingly gave seven years—and potentially a child—to save her sister. That kind of selflessness is rarer than lightning strikes. Even thinking about it puts a bad taste in my mouth. It’s abhorrent.
“What?”
We push through the main doors and out into the cool morning air. This isn’t how I planned to do things. I wanted to ease her into a very carefully curated experience of my home. To ensure she wasn’t afraid and had time to adjust. To show her that my people are worth fighting for.
Instead, we stand in the main square, garnering attention from passersby, their eyes wide and curious as they take us in. The house takes up one side of the square, and the other three sides are filled with small shops. We slept late, so most of them are open, filled with people going about their business. It’s nearly lunchtime and children run about in small packs, enjoying the afternoon break. Several of them wave as they sprint past, intent on their games.
“Rusalka.” Belladonna digs in her heels, nearly towing me to a stop. “Rusalka, I’m not ready.”
This might be a mistake, to rush things instead of playing them strategically, but I need her to understand. If she could just see what I’ve worked so hard to protect, then maybe she would understand that there’s no shame in this, no matter what her sadist of a god says. People moving about freely, without fear, interacting with love. We are not immune to the petty fights and bullshit that everyone experiences if they live long enough, but community is at the center of everything.
I don’t have a chance to come up with the words to explain myself or change my mind about bringing her out here. People flock to us. Some of them are only vaguely familiar, having traveled in from the outskirts for market day, but others I’ve known most of my life. Incubi and succubi, young and old and every age in between. They don’t rush, but they approach all the same, murmuring to one another in amazement as they take in the woman at my side.