Slaying Monsters for the Feeble - Annette Marie Page 0,62
wet arm snaked around my waist and he pulled me backward into the tub. I yelped but his hand caught my head before it could hit the tiled wall, and I landed on his lap, the hot water drenching my clothes.
“Zylas!” I exclaimed furiously, hoping I wasn’t blushing but knowing I was. “What are you doing? You—”
When my glare snapped to his face, I forgot what I was saying. He gazed at me with a deepening crease between his brows, as though I were a math equation he couldn’t quite solve.
“What will you do, drādah, when you have the grimoire?”
“What do you mean?” I asked weakly, unable to look away from his probing stare. Our faces were much, much too close. “I’ll translate it and see if it has answers about how to send you home.”
“What if it doesn’t?”
“I’ll keep searching until I find a way.”
He studied me, his dark eyes prying deep. “If I die, you will not have to do that.”
My mouth fell open in disbelief. “If—”
“You said that, before me, you did not need protection. If I die, you will not be in danger. You will not need me. If I die, you will be free of these burdens.”
“I don’t—”
“You want me to die.” His wet hand closed over my mouth, silencing my immediate protest. “I thought this, but then I was bitten and could not move. You could have run away. You could have left me.”
I tugged on his wrist, forcing his hand off my mouth. “I would never have left you. You didn’t leave me when I was bitten.”
“I promised to protect you. You made no promise. You—”
“Then I’ll promise right now. I’m not strong like you and I know it isn’t worth much, but …” I stared hard into his eyes. “Zylas, I promise to protect you however I can, no matter what, until you return to your world.”
He lowered his hand. “No, drādah, you cannot make that promise.”
“Why not?” I asked fiercely.
“I cannot protect you if you are protecting me.” He leaned in, bringing our faces closer. “Be smarter, drādah. Say this instead: ‘Zylas, I promise to be your ally.’”
“Your ally?” I repeated, bemused.
“An ally helps and does not harm, but an ally is not …” He paused, searching for the right word. “An ally does not do stupid things and die.”
A laugh bubbled in my throat. “So an ally isn’t self-sacrificing, is what you mean. Okay, fine. Zylas, I promise to be your ally.”
He blinked slowly. “Hnn.”
“What?”
“I have never had an ally.” He shrugged one shoulder. “No demon will ally with my House.”
“What about the demons in your House?”
“Guh. They have sworn to me, but they are useless. More useless than you.”
“Thanks,” I said dryly. “But even a demon with half your strength and skill would be better than me.”
“No,” he said confidently. “They are zh’ūltis and nailēris.”
“Nah-ill-leer-iss?”
“Easy to scare,” he translated. “Coward is your word, na?”
“Haven’t you called me that before?”
“I called you nailis. Weak. You are not nailēris.”
He didn’t think I was a coward? Well, that made one of us.
“But I am zh’ūltis,” I reminded him. “You’ve told me about a hundred times.”
“Hnn.” He tilted his head. “Only sometimes, drādah.”
My eyebrows rose and I smiled slowly. “Are you feeling okay, Zylas? You just told me I’m not stupid all the time and I’m less useless than some demons. I don’t think you’ve ever said so many nice things.”
His tail slapped the tub with a splash. “I have more insults if you want.”
“I have just as many,” I retorted. “We can start with how you thought I might try to kill you.”
“Everyone tries to kill me, drādah.”
My humor fizzled, an odd ache gripping my chest. I shoved the feeling away and slapped his shoulder lightly. “I’m not everyone, stubborn demon. I’m your contractor.”
He snorted.
The dryer buzzed loudly, breaking the odd moment. My cheeks flushed and I hastily dragged myself out of the tub—and off his lap. Water dripped all over the bathmat and I sighed at having drenched the clothes I’d only put on ten minutes ago. Leaving Zylas to soak, I returned to my bedroom to change.
The water shut off, and a moment later, a soaking-wet demon walked into my room. His steps lacked his usual grace, but he was steady on his feet.
“Wait here,” I ordered. “I’ll be right back.”
I returned with an armful of hot towels from the dryer. He stood at the foot of the bed, water running down his face, exhaustion clinging to him. I flipped