Chapter 4

"She is where?" Izael could not believe what he was hearing. Anger boiled in his veins. Anger and…hurt.

"Don't give me that look, snek-boy." Puck was sitting on top of one of Izael's bookcases, his legs crossed. Even more irritatingly, he was filing away at his nails with an emery board. "You did this to yourself. She's home. On Earth. And doesn't want to see you."

That wasn't possible. That wasn't possible! He began to pace, threading his hands into his hair and yanking on the strands. "But why?"

"Aw, are you having a short circuit? Four-oh-four, braincells not found?" Puck cackled, clearly also knowing that whatever he was saying would make no sense to Izael. "You threatened to torture her and steal her soul. You drove her away."

"But I love her, and she is mine!" It was so simple. The logic of it was infallible. He loved Alex. Therefore, she belonged to him. Therefore, he could do whatever he wanted with her. Especially if it meant saving her from a far worse fate at the hands of Valroy. "She's—she's in danger. If Valroy learns of her gifts…"

"Which he hasn't yet, apparently. Somehow." Puck shrugged. "Abigail knows. I know. Valroy doesn't. I think we need to keep it that way." He blew on the ends of his nails and went back to filing them. "For as long as that'll last." He clearly thought it wouldn't.

"I have to speak to her. I have to go to her." Izael felt a strange kind of panic gripping his heart. "She doesn't understand. I have to make her listen to me!"

"Eaasy there, champ." Puck laughed. "I've never seen you this coiled up."

Normally, Izael would bristle at the puns and attempt to cause the half-breed bastard some serious harm. But at this point, the strange kind of anxious urgency was superseding his usual desire for violence. "I need to?—"

"You can't. If you set foot on Earth right now, Valroy will have your hide. And I think he means it this time." Puck vaulted from the top of the bookcase and landed silently on his feet like a cat. "It's only a week. You can leave her alone for seven days."

That was very much up for debate.

"She needs time to think. She's mortal. They tend to take threats quite seriously. I couldn't imagine why she's upset." Puck smiled beatifically at him, the sarcasm pouring off his words.

Growling low in his throat, Izael clenched his fists at his sides. Puck was ostensibly doing him a favor by coming to tell him about Alex in the first place, even if Izael suspected it was because Puck wanted to watch him squirm.

Walking over to his sofa, he suddenly felt the panic leave him. In its wake was exhaustion. Exhaustion and a strange, forlorn sadness. He slumped down onto the padded surface. "Go away, Puck."

The half-breed frowned. The mirth left him, which was rare. "Hey. It's just seven days. Then you get her back for three."

Izael slung an arm over his eyes, blocking out the world. He said nothing. Yes, it was only seven days. But seven days for Alex to convince herself that he wanted to harm her. No, he only wanted to cause her agony to get what he wanted. That was entirely different! But she didn't understand.

That wasn't what was really bothering him, however. Not deep down inside.

He loved her.

He told her.

He said the words.

And she still walked away. Still let the sunlight take her. She ran from him. Wasn't love supposed to be the ultimate power in the universe? The thing that overruled all else? That was what the stories always said. That if you loved someone, then nothing else mattered.

Izael certainly didn't care if two worlds burned, if it meant he could love her.

Izael certainly didn't care how many people died, if it meant he could have her.

But it was clear it wasn't mutual. Which left Izael with the realization that felt like someone had torn his heart out of his chest, pulled it apart, spat inside of it, and then crammed it back into his chest the wrong way up.

Izael loved Alex.

But Alex did not love him.

"Do you…want me to take her a letter or something?" There was concern in Puck's voice. And if Izael had the energy to pay any real attention to the bastard, he might have been a little bit flattered.

Instead, all he really felt was that same, chewed-up-and-spat-out hollowness in his chest. "Go away, Puck." The order was half-hearted. Izael was tired. He needed to sleep.

"Yeah. 'Kay." Silence. Blessed silence.

Izael lifted his arm to see that the deranged imp had, in fact, left him alone. Good. Shifting his form back into his true shape, he slithered up the tree that sat at the center of his home and crawled into the boat he used as a bed.

It still smelled a little of her.

Whether that made everything better or worse, he didn't know. Both at the same time, it seemed. With a heavy sigh, he curled up under and over the pillows and willed himself to sleep.

Alex didn't love him.

And he didn't know if anything had hurt so badly before in his life.

"Gah!"Alex jumped back in shock as she rounded the corner into her kitchen. She put her hand over her heart. "Holy shit."

"Forgive me." Bayodan smiled and bowed at the waist. "I thought perhaps you knew we would be here."

"I knew, I just wasn't—" She let out a breath. "Shit. Sorry. An eight-foot-tall Goat Dracula standing at the fridge was not what I was expecting to see today."

Cruinn, the collection of broken glass, was sitting on her sofa, idly playing with the TV remote. "Goat Dracula?"

"It's a compliment." Alex went to pour herself a cup of coffee. It seemed Goatula liked to drink tea. "Dracula's a vampire." She paused. "I wonder if he's real."

"Would you like to know, or would you prefer it to remain a mystery?" Bayodan didn't seem the tiniest bit offended by the comparison to the bloodsucking Count. His little knowing smile made Alex really suspicious of the answer.

"Maybe someday later you can tell me. I don't need more to think about." She walked over to an armchair in the living room—her living room. It was still weird to think about it that way. Izael had stolen it from some rich guy after turning him into an oil painting and had just gifted her an enormous, five-story brownstone in the heart of Boston. The building would be worth millions of dollars. And now it was…just hers.

Pumpkin—I'm sorry, Lord Pumpkin, Destroyer of Worlds, Ender of Kings, Devourer of Vermin—the previously-stray orange tabby cat Izael had found for her, crawled into her lap a second later, not wanting to miss the opportunity to use her like a heated blanket.

She petted him, happy for the company. She was glad Puck kept his word and the animal seemed very well cared for. Pumpkin yawned widely, turned around a few times, then flopped down to begin cleaning himself.

Sitting in the chair, drinking her coffee with her cat, and being babysat by two incredibly bizarre Unseelie…things. It left her with a really important question—what now?

She'd asked for a week to figure out what to do and to take stock of her feelings. But now that she had that break, she knew her little pseudo "vacation" was going to go by way too quickly with almost nothing to show for it, if she didn't get to work.

There had to be a way to out-scheme Izael and Valroy. She didn't know if she stood a chance, really—they were thousands of years old, and she was just…a singer-turned-barista. She had to think.

But every time she dwelled on Izael, she remembered just how mesmerizing he was—especially in his true form. She remembered their bouts of passionate sex and fought hard not to blush. That was the last thing she needed.

Cruinn was smiling at her in a strange way. Okay, fine, they were made of glass—like, bits and pieces of glass, which made them extremely weird to begin with—but the smile seemed almost like…she wasn't sure. Proud? Envious? No. It was like the smile an old woman would give a young couple in love. Something like smiling at a memory of themselves back in their prime.

"What?" She had to ask.

"Nothing." Cruinn smiled a little broader.

"There's something."

"Yes, but I do not think you want to hear it." They chuckled. "You seem to be in quite the cross mood."

"She has every right, my love." Bayodan finished making himself a cup of tea with his one hand. Alex felt like a little bit of a jerk for not asking if he needed help, but she also didn't want to insult him. He seemed like he knew what he was doing. "Izael has been unkind to her."

"By her standards," Cruinn replied with a shrug. "By his standards, he has been quite the gentleman."

"He eats people whole. His bar is pretty low." She rolled her eyes and sipped her coffee. Blessed caffeine. She cringed at the memory of the teal line that bisected Izael's chest splitting open, revealing rows of teeth, as he had swallowed that fae spy alive. She paused and forced herself to change the subject. The more she thought about him, the more confused she became. "Also, sorry for lying about my name. And pretending I was Unseelie." She'd met the two weird Unseelie when she was "Alaeni," Izael's Unseelie date.

"I knew," Cruinn smiled brightly, "but I did not tell a soul."

"You told me." Bayodan chuckled as he walked over to sit on the sofa next to his mate. "But I suppose I do not count."

Alex shrugged. "Well, thanks for keeping it under wraps, either way. The last thing I wanted was to be turned into the main course."

"It was easy enough to tell there was a human amongst us. I doubt we were the only ones who saw through the ruse." Bayodan sipped his tea. "But far be it from any of us to interfere with a fellow courtesan's game. The Duke of Bones can be…unpredictable."

"And covetous." Cruinn huffed. "He'll share his toys, but not the new and shiny ones."

"I'm not a toy. At this point, I should get a t-shirt with that printed on it." Fuck, the fae were exhausting. She took another sip of her coffee. She was ready to crawl into bed and take a nap. She was the kind of person who could chug three cups and still be able to fall asleep without a problem.

"We are what we are." Bayodan sounded like he had said that a thousand times before. "May I ask a bold question, Alex?"

"I may not answer it. But sure." She had a feeling she knew what he was going to ask.

Bayodan set down his teacup with a quiet tink. "Do you love the duke?"

Yep, there it was. "He threatened to torture me making a wish that would end two worlds and start a war. And he wants to steal my soul." She glared at Bayodan. "What does it matter how I feel?"

"It matters," Cruinn interjected. "It could change everything."

She didn't want to put up with this. She wanted to get away from the fae for the seven days. She'd picked Bayodan and Cruinn out of a moment of desperation, not because she really wanted to hear their opinion. "I'm going to lie down. I'm tired."

"You just drank coffee," Bayodan observed.

"Try me." Placing her cup of coffee down, she scooped Pumpkin up in her arms. He didn't seem to mind in the slightest. Without another word, she headed to her room, leaving the two fae whatever-the-fuck-they-were unattended. Whatever. Worst thing they'd do was break the TV that belonged to a dead man or screw up the Wi-Fi.

Shutting the door behind her, she put Pumpkin on the bed. The cat yawned, stretched, and curled into a ball. She knew she could talk to him, or at least understand what he was saying—but it seemed the animal had nothing to say. She was more than fine with that.

Changing into pajamas, she closed the blinds and crawled under the covers.

What was she supposed to do?

It didn't matter how she felt about Izael. It didn't factor into the conversation in the slightest. She had to make it ten days now without deciding on a wish, or else everything was going to go to hell.

Shutting her eyes and snuggling into the pillows, she tried not to think about how she could still smell some of Izael's cologne on the sheets.

Option one—she made a wish that wasn't about breaking the treaty, and Izael wound up with her soul. Valroy discovered her weird magic powers, and then the Unseelie King would try to find a way to use her to ruin everything, anyway.

Option two—she made a wish that was about breaking the treaty, for whatever reason. Either because she gave up and just did what they wanted, or because Izael "convinced" her to. Then, the Unseelie King would likely find out about her musical gifts and use her as a human bazooka in the war. Her soul would then belong to Izael, yadda, yadda, and so on.

Option three—she made it through ten days without coming up with a wish that wasn't a lie. She'd "win" the game, wind up with more money than God, and never see Izael again.

Option three should have been the best outcome. It meant she would win. She would get to keep her soul, two worlds would be left in peace, and everything would come out hunky dory.

So…why did she really hate the idea of option three? Why did it stick a needle in her chest? The last thing she wanted was to break the treaty and watch Valroy start his two wars. And she had zero interest in giving up her soul to Izael. She liked it right where it was, thank-you-very-much.

But the idea of never seeing him again?

That hurt.

All right, fine, I care about him. She could admit that. He was handsome, charming, and the sex was amazing. He made her laugh, when he wasn't making her scream in terror because he was going full-eldritch-horror and eating somebody whole.

She had smiled more with him in the past week and change than she had in years. With him, she felt…like she had purpose. Meaning. Like somebody cared. That she was somebody and something. Not just a failed singer working at a coffee shop.

Did she love him?

Was that what this was?

Honestly, she didn't know. And she didn't know what she wanted. Did she want to love him? Did she want to not?

The worst thing was the simple fact that it didn't matter what she wanted. Not only was it impossible to change how she was going to feel about him, it was a moot point in all this nonsense. How she felt would have no effect on what was going to happen.

Either the treaty would be broken, or not.

Either the wars would start, or not.

Either Valroy used her like a machine gun, or not.

So, there was no point in answering the question of whether or not she loved Izael. It was just more angst, more pain, more suffering.

Rolling onto her other side, she hugged the pillow and bit back the tears that wanted to spill. Talk about pointless—crying was the epitome of useless, especially right now.

Letting out a sigh, she tried to force herself to sleep.

I have to win this game. I have to keep my soul.

No matter what.