modern history, but aside from his work, no one had ever invented a spell to combat demon magic—for a very simple reason. Developing counter magic required detailed study of the origin magic. And no one could study demon magic because what demon would allow his magic to be studied?
But the twin sorcerers had studied demon magic, and I had a good theory on how: Nazhivēr. Twenty-two years ago, one of the sorcerers’ victims had seen a winged demon, which suggested Claude had already formed his contract with Nazhivēr. He could have loaned his demon to the sorcerers to study over two decades ago.
And the result? A perfect arsenal of spells that could stop a demon in his tracks.
Massaging my temples, I abandoned the coffee table and headed for my bedroom. I pushed through the door—and came to an abrupt stop.
Zylas sat on my bed, a towel over his head as he scrubbed his hair dry. He wore only his dark shorts, devoid of even his belt. And that left a lot of smooth, reddish-toffee skin on display, dotted with water droplets from the shower.
I cleared my throat, wishing in vain that my face wouldn’t flush—but heat was already gathering in my cheeks.
He pulled the towel off his head, his hair sticking in every direction, and blinked lazily. “Na?”
“We need to talk.”
“Hnn.” He tossed the towel on the floor. “Now?”
“Yes, now.” I picked up his discarded towel—trying very hard not to glance across the thick muscles of his thighs. “Get dressed and we’ll talk.”
“I am dressed.”
“You’re practically naked.”
He shrugged, and I huffed. What I’d give to be that unselfconscious.
I’d asked him early on if he needed supplies to wash his clothes and maintain his armor, and he’d smugly informed me that he had vīsh for that. I hadn’t believed him until he’d run a crimson spell across his clothes and I’d watched the dust and dirt sift down to the floor. The scuffs and tears had mended beneath another spell. A third had smoothed the scratches in his armor.
Talk about convenient.
“I’ve been thinking,” I began, twisting his towel nervously. “Those sorcerers use Arcana designed specifically to stop your magic. But if you and I combine magic, it becomes something new. Their abjuration shouldn’t work on it.”
“I tried, vayanin.”
“I know.” I ignored a slash of hurt at his reminder of our weak trust. “I understand that you don’t want me to know every single thing in your head. But maybe we can get to a point where you can share some thoughts with me, the way I do with you.”
He was silent as I strangled the towel. Realizing what I was doing, I set it on the foot of the bed.
“I was thinking …” I said again, my words slowed by hesitation. “We spend so much time together, but I don’t know very much about you. And you don’t know much about me either. Maybe if we talk more … about ourselves … we can know each other better and trust each other more.”
He gazed up at me, dark brows drawn in thought. My hand rose toward his face, then stuttered. I shyly brushed a damp lock of his hair out of his eyes, half expecting him to bat my hand away.
He merely watched me, and I knew exactly what he’d meant when he’d talked about “thoughts in your eyes.”
“What do you think?” I asked.
“Hnn.”
Rolling my eyes at his unhelpful murmur, I straightened another piece of his tangled hair. He didn’t seem to mind, and his messy mop had been making me itch to grab a hairbrush for months. As I tugged another lock in a more natural direction, my fingers brushed against one of his small horns.
Curious, I pressed the pad of my thumb to the dull point.
“Our horns show our age.”
I froze. He looked up at me.
“Child demons have no horns.” His voice was low, vibrations sliding under my skin. “The oldest demons have the biggest horns.”
Remembering Tahēsh and the huge horns sprouting from his hairless skull, I again traced the dark, bone-like protrusions poking through his hair, estimating their length—or lack thereof.
“You’re young,” I whispered. I’d suspected, but now I knew for sure. He was an adult, but only just. Same as me.
His eyes glowed faintly. “Eterran has lived my years many times.”
“How long do demons live?”
He shrugged. “We live until we die.”
Not a helpful answer, though if their society was as violent as it sounded, old age might be a rare occurrence.
The shadows in his eyes mesmerized me—the