Those lava-like eyes narrowed, then swept away from me to take in our surroundings. His nostrils flared with a silent inhalation and his nose wrinkled in distaste.

“What is this place?” he asked, an alien accent swirling through his husky voice.

“It’s a library … part of the Arcana Historia guild. Which, uh, means you should go back into the infernus before someone sees you.”

His long, thin tail swished, the two curved barbs on the end just missing a shelf of invaluable texts. He canted his head as though listening.

“There is no one close.” He waved a hand around us. “What you need, is it here?”

“I don’t know. I only just started looking. Will you get back in the infernus now?”

His upper lip curled, flashing his canines again.

Nerves tightened my stomach. My demon was standing in the middle of a mythic library. If anyone saw him, at best, I would get kicked out. At worst, I would be discovered as an illegal contractor and put to death.

Time to try out the “rest” command. I concentrated on my infernus. Daimon, hechaze!

Nothing happened. Crap. Was I messing up the Ancient Greek? I was better at Latin. I looked down at the open book.

It vanished from my grasp. Zylas held the book up as though debating whether to burn it to ash on the spot. Turning, he stretched onto his toes, reached for the highest shelf, and shoved the book into the back.

He dropped onto his heels and faced me. Barely topping five feet, I had no chance of reaching the book without a ladder. Which he knew. Jaw clenched, I turned my back on him and glowered at the nearest shelf. What was that command? Hecheze … hesachaze … hesychaza …

Warm breath brushed across the top of my head, stirring my hair.

I shot a glare over my shoulder at Zylas, who was standing obnoxiously close. “Back up. I can’t concentrate.”

“Concentrate on what? You are not doing anything.”

I gritted my teeth. The only thing worse than a disobedient demon was a grumpy disobedient demon.

“You have not done anything for weeks,” he complained. “Days and days of nothing but sleep and lounge and sleep—”

“I wasn’t sleeping because I’m lazy,” I snapped. “I was sick. I had the flu.”

“You promised to search for a way I can return home.”

“And I am. Right now. Or I would be if you’d stop bothering me.” I grabbed a book at random. “The more you distract me, the longer this will take.”

He finally stepped back, taking the scent of hickory and leather with him, and drifted away in moody silence. I unclenched my jaw, fighting the urge to order him back into the infernus. The harder I pushed, the more he would resist. If I’d learned anything in the six weeks since we’d been bound together in a contract, it was that Zylas was infuriatingly stubborn. And deliberately contrary. Defiant. Ornery. Contentious to the point of—

“Should I describe you, payilas?”

His hiss floated back to me and I flushed. Thanks to the telepathic connection that was supposed to allow me to control him, he could hear my thoughts. Not always—it depended on how forcefully I was thinking them—but often enough to be completely unfair.

Pretending I hadn’t been insulting him in my head, I opened the book I held and blinked at the title page. Demon Psychology: Monsters Born or Made?

Hmm. I flipped the page and scanned the introduction.

The debate of nature versus nurture has dominated discussions on psychology for centuries. Are humans inherently good or is morality a learned behavior?

In the coming pages, we will examine how this concept applies to the preternatural creatures known as demons. Though psychology is, in theory and in practice, relevant only to humans, we now apply our well-practiced diagnostic methods to the demon psyche.

The symptoms most often displayed by demonkind (aggression, violence, lack of empathy, lack of remorse, inability to form emotional bonds, narcissism, manipulativeness) would earn most humans a swift diagnosis of antisocial personality disorder, more commonly known as psychopathy.

However, the question remains: Is demonic violence a product of the demons’ mysterious home environment, or, as long believed to be the case, are they born monsters?

I peeked over the top of the book. At the end of the aisle, Zylas was crouched low as he peered around the corner. His tail lashed.

Aggressive, violent, manipulative—check, check, and check. Unempathetic, remorseless, selfish—three more checkmarks. My brow wrinkled as I turned the page and skimmed the table of contents to see if there was a nice, neat “Conclusions” chapter I could read. Biting my lip, I glanced up again.

The aisle was empty.

With a horrified gasp, I shoved the book onto the nearest shelf and sprinted to the end of the aisle. It opened into a wider path with tables lined up against the wall. Halfway along, my demon, in all his horned, tailed, leather-and-armor glory, was prowling past the third table.

I dashed to him so fast I smacked into his back and bounced off, almost dislodging my glasses. Grabbing his arm, I hauled him backward—or I tried. I could’ve been an ant for all the notice he took of my attempt.

“What are you doing?” I whispered in a panic. “Get back in the infernus before someone sees you!”

“Be quiet,” he hissed.

I yanked on his elbow. “You need to—get—back—over—here.”

I gave his arm a final heave and my hands slipped. Lurching back, I bumped hard into a chair, which clattered loudly against the table, then tipped sideways. I caught it and shoved it upright. Its feet banged down on the floor.

“Dahganul,” he snarled.

I had a moment to be irritated by the new insult—it was most definitely an insult, even if I didn’t know what it meant—before I heard the distinct sound of high heels clacking against tiles. I lunged for Zylas as though I could forcefully mash him back into the infernus—except the bright glow of his power would be a beacon for the approaching librarian.

He shot me a withering look, then dropped into a crouch and slipped between two chairs. He disappeared under the table.

As the authoritative snap of heels grew louder, I lost my head entirely and dove after him. With the chairs jutting under the table and the wall behind it, only a narrow rectangle was free, and Zylas took up most of it. Too late to go back, I squeezed in beside him.

Not that hiding from the librarian was necessary. She was a librarian. I needed to work on my irrational fear of confrontation.

The librarian’s steps drew closer, then hesitated a few tables away. I held my breath.

Eyes gleaming in the shadows, Zylas leaned toward me and whispered, “Move.”

I shied away from the closeness of his face. “Huh?”

“Move, payilas.”

“Why? We need to—”

“You are on my tail.”

Belatedly, I realized the floor under my butt was uneven, and on my right, I spotted the rest of his tail coiled across the floor. My face heated.

“There’s nowhere to move. Can you just wait?” When he glared in answer, I hissed, “This is your fault, you know. Why are you wandering around where anyone can see you?”

“I would not be seen. You made noise, not me.”

The librarian clacked closer and I bit back my retort. A pair of black pumps and gray dress pants appeared. The woman walked past the table, and her footsteps grew muffled as she continued to the library’s farthest corner.