mountain—in the spring,” Quinn said.
“If that’s your question, then I’d be obliged to—”
“But I have a more important question to ask,” Quinn snapped, interrupting him.
Lazarus froze as her hand lifted and her fingers traced down the middle of his chest. She had been delirious, hot with fever, but Quinn had a feeling that what she had seen—Lazarus without his tunic—it had been real. More real than that dream—or rather not-dream—she’d had about him. Lazarus clenched his teeth. It made her want to feel the skin of his jaw, touch the muscle and strength there and marvel at it.
“Ask. Your. Question.” He hissed the words out as though they were painful.
“I ask it,” she started, “and this time you don’t give me some blasted non-answer, got it?” Her crystalline eyes met his dark gaze. He nodded once. “What are you?” she asked.
Lazarus stared back at her, and Quinn could feel the whole world fall away—the forest, the ground, the soft sounds of their group in the distance setting up a temporary camp. Her breathing slowed. Her heart rate sped up. Finally, she would have this from him. She would know.
“You wish to know what I am? What kind of Maji you’ve tied yourself to for the next five years?” he repeated. Quinn didn’t answer. He already knew she did. “Very well.”
Quinn’s hand dropped away from his chest as he moved closer until her slight breasts brushed up against him. She kept her gaze steady on his. He leaned close, his mouth a mere inch away from her ear as his lips parted and his warm breath brushed over her flesh, sending shivers down her spine.
Quinn could feel Neiss slithering under her skin, but the creature sensed no danger and quietly fell back into slumber, its presence receding to the back of her mind.
“I am what they make legends from, little fear twister,” he whispered. “I am that which consumes the living. I am a soul eater.”
All of the breath rushed from her chest and Quinn blinked hard as her mouth fell open and Lazarus slowly moved back to once again meet her gaze. Her throat was dry. Her eyes wide. Prickling numbness stretched along her limbs.
“A s-soul eater?” she repeated. Even when she had lived in N’skara, one of the premiere places to learn of all types of Maji, soul eaters had only been talked about in hushed whispers. They were myths—legends, as Lazarus had said. Not real. At least, she hadn’t thought they were. Until this moment.
“I am,” Lazarus replied darkly. “Are you afraid of me?”
Quinn tamped down her shock and lifted her head. “Is that your question for me?” she asked. He nodded once, keeping his expression stoic and impassable.
Moving closer, impossibly closer so that their chests were pressed together again, Quinn leaned up on her tiptoes, and rested one hand on his shoulder as she whispered, “I am fear.” The muscle in his jaw worked as her breath fanned over him, making her grin wickedly. “I do not fear.”
With that, Quinn pulled away from him and brushed by his shoulder, the ends of her now lavender hair lifting at a slight wind as she walked away. Anger seethed within her veins. Soul eater or not, Lazarus should have answered that sooner. It explained so much. Too much. His silence might not push her away, but she could be angry with him in the meantime for it. Quinn paused on the edge of their secret clearing as Lazarus spoke once more.
“I would assume you know that releasing that information will nullify your contract with me and the protections it affords,” he said tersely.
Quinn turned and lifted an eyebrow at him. “And I would assume that you would know me better than that by now,” she replied. “I’m a fear twister, not a canary.”
Lazarus relaxed his shoulders.
“However,” she said. His shoulders tensed once again. It amused the dark depraved parts of her soul to see him on edge, even if only for a moment. “In the future, it might behoove you to share important details like that, or the full scope of both your intentions and actions where I’m concerned. I can’t very well circumvent your stupidity if you don’t inform me.”
Lazarus was still gaping when Quinn twisted back around and strode away.
Phantom Inklings
“Emotions are fickle beasts, untamable by even the greatest of masters.”
— Lazarus Fierté, dark Maji, heir to Norcasta, soul eater
She’d barely spoken a word to him in days and the voices were driving him crazy.
Their last conversation