The Darkest Torment
Page 21

A blank mask quickly covered his features. “No.”
“But why? It’s a new day. He might have the coin ready for you.” He wouldn’t. He’d have an army ready instead. “Don’t you want your treasure? You’ve worked so hard for it...”
Baden combed a hand through his hair, leaving the strands sticking out in spikes. Could he be any sexier?
Shame on her for noticing!
“I want it,” he said, “but I don’t want Hades to have it. So Aleksander can wait.”
“Hades is—”
“Not a topic up for discussion.”
She motored on, anyway. A distracted Baden was better than a roaring Baden. At first glance, he could pass for calm. Upon closer inspection, she realized his pupils were blown, his eyes wild. The muscles in his arms were clenched, the bands pressing deep into his biceps.
“You work for Hades but you don’t actually like him? Why don’t you present him with your resignation and—”
He crossed his arms over his chest. A warning?
“All right. You win,” she said. “We’ll talk about something else while we have a drink, yes?”
After a moment’s hesitation, he motioned to the bedroom door. A door still blocked by the dresser.
She peered at him in question. “How did you get inside?” A secret passage?
Silent, he stalked past her and shoved the dresser out of the way with a single swipe of his arm. Such strength! Her heart pounded as she entered the hallway and followed the path he’d taken last night, snaking around a corner, stepping into the familiar sitting area.
She stopped at the wet bar, keeping her back to him as she poured two glasses of whiskey...and stealthily withdrew the vial; she emptied the contents into the bottle rather than a glass. There was a good chance Baden would decline any drink she offered him, but an even better chance he would indulge on his own later.
As she drained the contents of one glass, she faced him and held out the second. He shook his head. With a shrug, she drained it, too. The alcohol burned going down but settled like melted honey in her stomach, soon warming her.
“Where are your friends?” she asked.
He glared at her as if debating whether to answer her or strangle her.
Maintaining a neutral expression, she looked him over. He wore yesterday’s blood-splattered clothing. Had he slept in them or forced himself to stay awake, like her? Probably the latter. His features were so taut she wasn’t sure he’d ever slept, the poor man.
Wait. Poor man? She had sympathy for him?
No, oh no. Unacceptable! But it made her wonder...what had shaped him into the cold, calculating monster he was?
Finally, he said, “The others are out buying essentials.”
That sweet feeling of melted honey in her stomach? Gone in an instant. “Rope? Knives? Plastic tarp to protect the furniture from blood spray?”
“Monopoly. Candy Land. Jenga.” He settled in the chair across from the couch, the floral fabric somehow showcasing his intense masculinity to perfection.
“Board games?” She chose to remain standing, the dominant position. “For children?”
“Apparently I’m boring. And immature. As soon as I returned from—” He white-knuckled the arms of the chair. “Anyway. The others left.”
That grip of his...a sign his friends had hurt his feelings?
How sad.
No. It wasn’t. It wasn’t! A new plan formed. Make nice with Baden while creating a one-way bond with him, ensuring he kept his word not to harm her, then escape, save her dogs, and run.
Rule six of training canines: keep interactions short and sweet.
Seven: always end on a positive note.
“I’ll get to know you,” she said, feigning delight, “and I’ll decide if you’re boring or not.”
“Your opinion of me hardly matters. We’ll sit in silence.”
Don’t like him. “Poor dear. I’m a very excellent conversationalist, and you fear you’ll struggle to keep up. I understand.”
His lips pursed. “Did your conversation win Aleksander?”
“Please. I blinked, and he came running.” Which was the truth. Unfortunately. “Don’t you consider yourself stronger and smarter than Alek? Shouldn’t you be able to resist my potent allure?”
He traced his tongue over his teeth and stood, the motion jerky. As he marched to the wet bar and poured himself a drink, he avoided her gaze.
Hope unfurled. Finally! Something was going her way.
“What do you want to know about me?” He returned to the chair, his glass half-full. “Why do you want to know?”
A sense of anticipation and triumph flared, one she tried her best to hide. “Why? I’m a curious creature. What? More than once you and your friends have mentioned the people around you are human, implying you yourselves are not. The white-haired man—”
“Torin.”
“Torin even said you are something better. The boogeyman is not better.”
He continued to hold the glass without drinking. Don’t stare. Shouldn’t appear too eager.
“I know you’re not a literal monster,” she said. Had she put a tad too much emphasis on the word?
“So you think we’re...what?” he asked. “Delusional?”
No reason to lie. “Yes. But what do you think you are?”
“Immortal.”
She barked out a laugh. “Like vampires? Werewolves?” The current movie fad.
“If I were a bloodsucker, you would already be drained. If I were a wolf, you would be chained to my bed and used as a pack whore. A kurva jebat’, you’d call it.”
There wasn’t an ounce of amusement in his tone, and she sobered, realizing he truly believed what he was saying—believed creatures of the night existed.
“I’ll tell no one,” she said, raising her right hand. In fiction, otherworldly predators liked to keep their origins a secret, often killing the ones who discovered the truth. “You have my word.”
“Tell whoever you’d like. You’ll be labeled crazy. Insane.” He shrugged and at long last drained the glass.
Relief bathed her, cool and sweet. She waited, watching him closely for any sign of sedation, but nothing changed.
Rule eight: distract when necessary. “Convince me. Tell me about your life.”