39. Nat

39

Nat

in his place

“Spit,” Emil requests, pushing a cup against my bottom lip.

I have no idea what’s going on, but I open my mouth and let the ichor drip from my split inner cheek into the cup.

Emil nods a quiet thank you and hurries the glimmering cup to his bar. “For next time,” he calmly explains, a new ease in his demeanor.

He returns to me, not on quick shuffling feet, but at a stride, and offers me the end of the thermometer. “If it’s not too much trouble?” he asks politely.

I part my lips and the glass slides under my tongue.

I can’t look away from him, too aware of the warrior playing dead at my feet.

He’s not dead.

Can’t be.

He’s a Demigod. He’d need a syringe of ichor straight to the heart to die.

Right?

Zeus, I want to check.

Instead, I keep my eyes trained on Emil as he washes glasses and shuts my ichor in the freezer. Like alcohol, it won’t freeze.

“A Fury.” Emil’s happy. “I’ve longed to meet one. Always imagined how you would change our future.”

He takes the thermometer from my mouth. “107,” he reads, shaking the mercury, dragging blue eyes over me. “So high. Is that typical? May I feel?” His hand hovers over my forehead.

“You may not.”

To my surprise, he listens. “I do apologize. I don’t care for the violence. I offered her the coffers with the intention of securing you. But she wanted you for herself. I couldn’t allow that to happen to such an incredible, rare creature.”

The words are meant to placate, but they send a cold shiver down my spine.

Emil’s gaze, once nervous and jittery, now holds a calculating gleam that unsettles me to my core.

“And him?” I ask, not looking at Sin. “Is he just collateral?” The rage simmering beneath my skin threatens to boil over, but I force it down. I must play this carefully.

Emil clasps his hands together, smile stretching. “Smart Fury. We’ll assess your intelligence.” He tilts a head at me. “We know very little about you. I was under the impression you’d be rabid. But look at you. Two dead and we’re chatting. You can relax your arms dear, I know you’re free.”

He leans into the wall next to me, and cracks a water bottle open. Takes a swig. “They couldn’t possibly bring you here if you didn’t want to come,” he says, studying me intently. “It will be easier if we collaborate. Tell me why you came.”

“I need one of your creatures freed,” I say, too quickly.

He nods. “My collection is the best in the Americas. Kept under excellent care with the luxury of protection. I meet their every demand met. Agree to let me study you and they walk. I won’t chase.”

“I see her walk.”

“I cuff and sedate. She walks and calls you after you express eager participation.”

For Theia? “Deal.”

“Excellent.” He grabs a paring knife, and approaches me. “Consider this next step your first test.” He looks at Lesenia. At least her body. “I apologize in advance for jumping to stereotypes, but no one does business with a killer.”

I jut my chin out, ready for the slice.

He drags the blade across his chest, deep, long, pink spilling out. “Help!” he shouts, giving me the knife, winking, holding his wound as he slams a red button on the wall. “Please! Help! The Fury’s crazed! She’s killed them!”