I inhaled sharply, my composure slipping in the face of his casual cruelty. My oath to never let him see me crumble was all good and well, an admirable effort to keep the scales from tipping too far in his favor. There was only one problem—I was an angry crier.
Rile me up enough, and tears would stream down my cheeks while I shook with fury. A lot of people—most often men—would mistake that reaction for a display of weakness, an overly emotional response revealing the supposed fragility of my feminine nature. Which would only make me cry harder with frustration.
Now, despite my best intentions, tears filled my eyes as I stared at the demon prick who refused to grant me the simple kindness of seeing my loved ones, the lone sliver of light in the gloom of solitary confinement he intended for me.
“You can’t do this,” I rasped, my throat tight. “You can’t be this unfair.”
“Unfair?” His eye twitched. Or at least I thought it did. Kind of hard to see through the blur of tears. “You dare speak of unfairness when you’re the one who tricked me into this contract?”
“I didn’t fucking trick you into anything!” I yelled, shooting up from my seated position, all consideration of body language thrown out the non-existent window, along with my equilibrium.
My move had apparently caught him off-guard—he drew back just enough that I had room to stand right in front of him. For a split second, I wondered how I must appear to him...a spitting mad kitten hissing at a tiger poised for a pounce?
“And yes, you’re being unfair,” I continued, my voice breaking. Damn that angry crying! My breath caught in my chest, too much like a sob for my liking. “You act like you’re so inconvenienced by this covenant, yet nothing actually changed for you, did it? You get to live your life just like before, especially since you’re going to just dump me here and never look back.” More tears spilled over, hot and infuriating on my cheeks. My voice sounded awfully like a wail. “I’m the one whose life is uprooted. I lost my home, my world, my family, my friends. Everything and everyone I’ve ever known. And now you won’t even allow me a simple visit.”
His jaw tightened, as far as I could tell with my compromised vision. “Quit that.” His voice was a low snarl.
I cringed when he reached out, his hand going for my face. On instinct, I wanted to jerk back, but he caught my chin with his fingers, held me there. With his other hand, he wiped the tears from my cheeks, his gentle touch at odds with his harsh expression.
“Quit that,” he repeated more quietly.
“I can’t.” I sob-gasped for air. “You make me so angry.”
“Angry.” He stilled, his gaze disconcertingly thoughtful.
“Yes,” I hissed.
His hands still lingered on my face, and the slight pressure of his fingers on my chin, the heat of his palm on my cheek messed with my focus.
“I’m an angry crier. It may look like I’m a miserable pile of sobbing sadness, but I’m actually contemplating how best to eviscerate you.”
His smile startled the fuck out of me. Brilliant, blinding, it lit up his face all the way up to and including his eyes, transforming the brutal beauty of his features into something ethereal, enthralling, a vision of grace tempered with sin.
“A fillet knife would do.” Sparks of lightning in his eyes, his expression distinctly delighted. “But make sure it’s forged in Hell.”
“Noted.” I swallowed, trying to think past the feel of his fingers on my skin.
“As for your visits,” he said, brushing his thumb over my lower lip, distracting me more than I liked to admit, “they’re not simple. Those trips would cost me, and I am not spending valuable resources on your sentimental whims.”
I clenched my jaw tight and stepped away from him, away from his touch. Ignoring the latest sting of his words, I focused on the new information I could glean. “What do you mean?”
“Both your mother and your friend live in areas too far from Azmodea’s gate. To get there and back in a reasonable time, I’d have to use gates in other territories.” His features darkened. “And nothing in Hell is free except the illusion of kindness.”
“You’d have to pay to use the gates? With what?”
“Souls.”
I reared back. “They’re your currency?”
“That, or favors. The latter of which—” he raised a brow “—are the riskier to give.”