Hunting Fiends for the Ill-Equipped (The Guild Codex Demonized #3) - Annette Marie Page 0,23

could know one thing I think of you, what would it be?”

His eyes narrowed.

I shifted forward onto my hands and knees, staring into his face. “If I tell you one thing, will you tell me one thing?”

“What thing?”

I frowned. I hadn’t thought that far ahead. “I want to know … what does ‘protect’ mean? Our contract makes you protect me, but I don’t know what that means to you.”

His tail lashed. “You do not know this yet, vayanin?”

“No. You’ve never explained.”

“I will keep you safe. That is what it means.”

My brow scrunched. “But what does ‘safe’ mean?”

“Safe means you will not die. That is most important. For me, that is what safe is.” He studied me. “But here, this world is different. Safe means more things. I am still learning them.”

“Oh.” On my hands and knees, I inched closer, as though being nearer to him would help me understand better. “What have you learned so far?”

“You do not feel safe if you are hurt or scared or alone.”

Well, that made me sound like the biggest wimp ever. I scooched closer. “What do you want to know?”

“I will ask you later.”

“Ask me now.”

“You are zh’ūltis right now.”

Pouting, I moved even nearer, bringing us nose to nose. “Why are you mean to me, Zylas?”

“I am not mean.”

“You call me names.”

“They are true things.”

“Then say something true that’s nice.”

He smirked. “You are vayanin.”

“Ugh!” I threw my hands up in my best Amalia imitation, almost smacking him. My head spun, balance gone, and I tipped over backward.

He caught my arms and tugged. I pitched forward, sprawling onto his lap with my face somehow mashed in the crook of his elbow.

“You’re so aggravating,” I muttered.

“You are so mailēshta.”

I flopped onto my back, my head and shoulders pillowed on his legs. I squinted up at his face, then pressed my hands against his cheeks, his skin delightfully warm. “I wish I could see in your head again.”

“What if you see I am something different than you want me to be?”

I stared up at him, my heart pounding in my throat. “I … I don’t know.”

“Hnn.” His hand closed around mine. He turned his face, nose pressed to my inner wrist, and inhaled. “You smell like my vīsh.”

My gut flipped twice and twisted straight into a knot. “What … I mean … is that bad?”

He slid his nose across my wrist, then paused. Angling his head, he peered at the back of his hand. “Bleeding again.”

I jolted, then shoved up off his lap. “I forgot! You should heal your hand. Go on, take care of it.”

I shooed him into the center of the room. As crimson magic lit up around his split knuckles, the cuts trickling blood, I backed into the far corner and took several deep breaths—then realized I was holding my wrist where he’d breathed in his scent on my skin. My stomach reknotted itself.

As Zylas carefully adjusted the healing spell, I marveled at the complexity of the magic. I could vaguely grasp what made healing so much more difficult than the battle magic he and other demons wielded. He couldn’t just call up a spell and use it. He had to cater the spell to each individual wound, sometimes using multiple variations to heal different aspects of an injury.

The red light of his vīsh reflected off the glossy floor, flaring brighter as he cast the spell. I leaned against the bookshelves, watching the splits in his skin close up. The weird, tingly feeling faded from my body, and as my head cleared, I tried not to think of how idiotic I’d sounded a minute ago.

“You would’ve had no problem with those golems if you could’ve used magic,” I murmured. “If they attack the guild, there will be mythics everywhere. You still won’t be able to use magic.”

The healing spell disappeared and he opened and closed his fingers. “What are golems?”

“I’ve only read about them. They’re metal creatures that move around because of a spell. They aren’t alive and can’t think … They’re like robots with really simple programming. Uh, I mean—” I racked my brain for a comparison he’d understand. “They’re like vehicles, except with no driver and really stupid.”

He rose to his feet. “These are made with hh’ainun magic?”

“With sorcery, yes.”

“Do they bleed?”

“No, they’re made of metal.”

“Why is there demon blood in them?”

My brow furrowed. “There isn’t. Blood is rarely used in sorcery.”

His tail snapped sideways. “I could smell demon on the golems. The large one had demon blood coming out after it