Her brows knit together in indecision. She’s so easy to read, even as she tries to lock herself down and bury all her soft places behind a facade of fire and thorns and defiance.

“Here’s my negotiation,” I continue, almost gently. “You can crawl back to Vartena and spend your numbered days trying not to get eaten alive. Or you can stay here and be my temporary entertainment. The more interesting you are, the longer you live. So take what I’m offering, extend this short mortal life with me a little more, and walk out my door ready to claim your retribution.” My hands stroke down her sides, fingertips dragging over each ridge of her ribs. “But remember this. Your death is mine. It’s always been mine. And when I get bored and you stop being fun?” I wrap my fingers around her throat. “I’ll hunt you across both realms and through the Shroud itself. And when I find you, I’ll rip you open and eat your heart while it’s still beating.”

Some dark and ravenous emotion flickers in the Devaliant’s face. “Maybe I’ll get good enough to carve out yours first.”

Laughter rumbles out of me. Oh, she’s going to be so much fun to conquer. I can’t wait to see what she looks like by the time I’m through with her. “I’m counting on you trying.”

She inhales a shuddering breath. I watch her piece herself together, shore up her crumbling walls, attempting to hide all that human vulnerability. It’s cute.

“When I’m ready—when I say I’m ready—you’ll take me to Vartena and give me a three-day head start to settle my business. And you won’t ever Claim me. Promise.”

I study her face. Something about her makes me want to push until she pushes back. “Worried I might keep you?”

“Swear it.”

My mouth curves into a slow smile. “You have my word. No Claims. Just an agreement between a god and his new toy.”

Her eyes flare. She holds my gaze like she’s planning the ways she might try to kill me. She’d fail, but I’d admire the attempt. “I’ll stay if you never call me that again.”

I squeeze her throat slightly as a reminder that I’m being merciful enough to let her negotiate when I can rip her apart. “You’ll stay because you need my mercy more than I need your entertainment.” I lean in close, whispering, “So I’ll call you whatever the fuck I want. Toy. Pet. Mine. Still interested?”

Her lip curls in a little snarl at that. “Fine. Deal.”

And just like that, I’ve got myself a Devaliant to play with.

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16

EVANDER

FUCK, I LOVE SUNSETS.

There’s something savage about that final blaze of color spilling across the horizon—the way the gold burns into red before the dark swallows it up. Night always wins in the end. It’s nature’s daily execution.

I breathe deep, filling my lungs with salt and brine and the hint of a coming storm. Below, the waves of the Rionese Sea crash against the rocks. The village of Keksa sprawls along the coast, its quaint cottages and winding cobbled streets still peaceful. Indigo and pink flowers spill from window boxes. Linens flap in the wind on laundry lines strung between buildings. Gulls wheel above me, their cries piercing the air.

Pretty little place. Shame I have to tear it apart.

Wolf. Alexios’ voice lashes through my mind, impatient. Stop fucking around and finish the job.

My wings rustle with irritation. I’m enjoying the view first. Taking in the ambiance.

I want the village destroyed by moonrise, Alexios says, his displeasure crackling along my nerves.

The mind-link severs with a vicious twist that leaves copper flooding my mouth. My tongue probes the split flesh of my cheek. Alexios has always been a dramatic bastard who likes to punctuate his orders with gratuitous violence. Three hundred years of this shit, and he still thinks pain is an effective motivator.

I sweep my gaze over Keksa again. All that charm, and tomorrow it’ll be wiped off the map because of that age-old human weakness: hubris. In this case, a mass quantity of it—this entire village chose to abandon their local temple and stop tithing. They’d voted on it, the arrogant pricks.

That’s the problem with these remote communities. They hardly ever see gods, if at all. We might as well be a bedtime story, a myth to scare children into giving a drop of blood into the collection channels. The elders who witnessed the war that tore Vartena apart are long gone, and their descendants are soft. Lazy. They never see any bloodshed except for a bimonthly fingerprick, and they start thinking, “What’s this for?” Because peace has been there since the day they were shoved out of the womb, and none of them realizes that the price for it was paid in blood. Their ancestors’, my mother’s, my brother’s, mine.

Like too many Vartenans, they’ve forgotten what it’s like to stare death in the face.

When the oathbreaker marks appeared on their wrists, they finally got it through their thick skulls that they weren’t beneath Alexios’ notice. No one is. Some tried to make a run for it, but I tracked them down days ago. It’s almost a mercy that I’m here to reap the rest. Dread is its own kind of dying.

Feathers rustle above me, and Amara drops from the sky with a flap of charcoal wings. The sunset bleeds through her hair, dying the light purple strands in streaks of scarlet.

“What do you want this time?” she asks, voice sharp with annoyance. “I thought I told you not to bother me again unless the realms were ending.”

I don’t look at her. “Yet here you are. Always showing up. Do you miss me? Is that it?”

She scoffs. “Arrogance is even less appealing on you than bloodstains and grave dirt. I don’t know how you stand yourself.”

Amusement kindles despite myself. “Even villains get tired of their own reflections,” I say wryly. “I’ll make this quick before Alexios joins us. I’d hate for him to catch you. It’s about the girl.”

Amara laces her fingers together, interest sparking. “Did she fight back when you killed her, or did she just lie there like a good little sacrifice? Do I get a thank you for bringing you a Devaliant to slaughter after three centuries of being forbidden to touch them?”

“The Devaliant is staying at the tower.”

Her mouth hangs open. “What? For how long?”

I shrug. “The foreseeable.”

“The foresee—” Amara stares at me like she’s trying to pinpoint the exact moment I lost my sanity. Then she grabs the front of my shirt. “I did not,” she hisses, “almost get caught dragging the princess’ half-dead ass across the Shroud so you could adopt her like a stray cat and make her your personal cock warmer.”

I catch her wrist in a bruising grip. “You’ve got three seconds to get your hand off me before I remove it permanently.”

She wrenches free. “Tell me you’re not Claiming the Devaliant. Tell me you’re not that stupid.”

“I’m not Claiming anyone.”

Yet all I’ve been able to think about for hours is the weight of her in my lap, all that bare skin like a blank canvas begging to be marked. But I am not a thing that wants, and she is not a thing to be possessed.

“You despise mortals,” Amara says. “Especially Devaliants. You told me you were going to stitch her up and make her wish you’d killed her quickly. And now you’re letting her live? Are you that desperate for company in your creepy murder tower?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” I roll my eyes. “The Devaliant lacks even the most basic combat skills. She’s never held a blade she didn’t shove in her own heart. They raised her soft and breakable for the altar. “