“Protect.” He seemed to taste the word, his eyes gleaming dangerously. “What does this word mean, na?”

He lowered his face until all I could see were his glowing eyes. Fresh adrenaline surged through my veins. A demon was pinning me down. He could kill me before I could draw breath to scream.

“What does it mean, payilas?” he whispered, his breath warm on my lips.

“It—it means you can’t hurt me.”

“Is that all?”

“And … and you won’t let anyone else hurt me.” I wanted to close my eyes but I was afraid to look away from him. “Would you move?”

“That is your meaning?” His wolfish grin returned. “You did not tell me this when we made our contract.”

“Contract?” I mouthed silently, terrified by the word—by the confirmation of my new worst fear.

“So,” he concluded with vicious delight, “your meaning does not matter.”

No. No no no. This wasn’t happening. “Zylas, get off me!”

With a husky laugh, he slid off the bed. I leaped off it after him, my shaking knees barely holding me up—but now we were standing in the whole five square feet of floor space between the bed and dresser. It wasn’t nearly enough room.

I planted my feet and lifted my chin, fighting the urge to cower as he circled me. His movements were smooth and fluid, and the sunlight flashed on the armor that shielded his left shoulder, forearm, and a small square of his chest. Where metal or fabric didn’t cover him—meaning most of his abdomen and half his right arm—powerful muscles rippled and flexed beneath his reddish-toffee skin.

He stopped behind me and my panic spiked again.

“You agreed to protect me,” I said shrilly. “So you have to—”

“You did not explain your meaning.” His fingers caught a lock of my hair and tugged. “So I get to decide what protect means.”

That answer was significantly worse than I’d been imagining.

He let the lock slip between his fingers—then suddenly slid both hands into my hair. “Why are you so soft?”

I jerked away, tearing my hair free, and spun to face him. “Keep your hands off me!”

“Na? But payilas.” He stepped closer and I retreated. My back hit the dresser. “Protect … does not mean obey.”

I recoiled into the dresser as he leaned over me. He was of average height for a man—a human one, at least—which meant he towered over half a foot above my diminutive frame. With mocking deliberateness, he sank his hands into my hair again, cupping my head. He leaned into me, his body hard and heavy and warm. Terrifyingly solid. Strong. Dominating.

Suppressing the urge to shove him away, I let my arms hang at my sides. That’s what this was. Domination. He was stronger, he could do whatever he wanted, and he was proving it.

What a bully.

“Must I keep you from all hurt?” he mused, as though there’d been no pause in our terse exchange. “Or only keep you alive?”

There was a distressingly large difference between those two interpretations.

His taunting smile returned. “You did not explain your promise either.”

My promise? I hadn’t promised him anything. “You don’t get my soul. I didn’t agree to that.”

An edge sharpened his smile—angry displeasure. New fear skittered up my spine, but he didn’t attack. Though he could show off his superior strength, I was guessing—or rather, desperately hoping—that whatever his interpretation of “protect” was, it didn’t allow him to hurt me.

But what had I agreed to? I only remembered refusing to give him my soul. Since I hadn’t promised to get him out of the circle, that couldn’t be what he meant, and I didn’t recall offering him anything else in exchange for …

My eyes popped wide as my fuzzy memory handed me the answer.

“Cookies?” I blurted shrilly. “That—that’s what you agreed to?”

In my befuddled terror, that was the only offer I’d made. If I hadn’t been half out of my mind, I never would’ve suggested something so ridiculously worthless.

“Why on earth would you agree to that?” I added, too flabbergasted to think before speaking.

His lips peeled back, flashing his canines, and his narrowed eyes sparked like angry flames. Yes, he’d agreed to my cheapskate offer, and he was pissed.

I might have gotten the better end of our deal, but he hadn’t walked away with nothing. He’d escaped the circle without enslaving himself. Though he wasn’t completely free—he was still bound to the infernus—he had survived a death sentence while keeping his mind and will intact.

Because, as he’d said, protect didn’t mean obey.

Amalia’s voice echoed from the main level as she called something to Kathy. Zylas’s head turned toward the sound. His fingers flexed, then began to withdraw from my hair.

I grabbed his wrists.

“You promised to protect me,” I hissed urgently, “so you need to know this: if anyone—I mean anyone—discovers we have a contract, I’ll be put to death. Do you understand? The MPD—the organization that rules over mythics—will kill me. They’ll kill you too. We’ll both be executed. You can’t protect me from them. No demon is that strong.”

He listened, his expression inscrutable.

“The only way to protect us both is to stay hidden. You can’t let anyone see you or hear you or—or anything. We can’t let them find the infernus. We can’t draw attention to ourselves or we’re dead!”

His eyes squinched. “Attention?”

“That means we can’t—”

“I know what it means.”

He leaned close again, pressing me back into the dresser. I’d never felt so small and powerless—exactly what he wanted. I dug my fingernails into the back of his hands, but my nails couldn’t pierce his skin. He didn’t acknowledge my attempt to wound him.

“No attention,” he pondered. “That is a problem.”

“What? Why? Has anyone seen you?”

“Not a hh’ainun.” Abruptly releasing me, he stepped back. “We should leave this place.”

“You did something!” I realized with a gasp. “What did you do?”

He opened his mouth to answer—and magic exploded somewhere outside my window, the detonation shaking the mansion walls.

Chapter Fifteen

“What the hell!” Amalia’s frightened yelp rang out from the stairs.

“Zylas!” I grabbed his arm. “What did you do?”

He shook me off like I was a kitten clinging to his sleeve. “We should leave now.”

“Not until you tell me—”

Feet thudded up the stairs. Someone was coming.

I dove for the bed and grabbed the infernus. “Get back in this thing!”

His face twisted with contempt.

“Hurry! Before she sees you!”

The disgust on his face intensified. The pendant heated on my palm, then red light ignited over his hands and feet. As his body dissolved into luminescence, the swirling glow sucked into the infernus and it vibrated before cooling. That fast, the demon was gone.

“Whoa,” I whispered, holding up the pendant. Zylas was inside this thing? How did that even work?

A second explosion rocked the house. I staggered sideways and caught myself on the dresser. Dropping the infernus around my neck, I tucked it under my sweater with one hand as I threw my door open.

Amalia was picking herself off the floor. White showed all the way around her eyes as she spotted me. Her terror sent mine skyrocketing.

“Amalia, what—”

“The other demon is loose!” she shrieked. “It got out!”

“What?”

Slamming through her bedroom door, she shouted over her shoulder, “It blew the greenhouse sky high and now it’s starting on the house. We have to get out of here!”

I gawked as she disappeared into her room, then I bolted back to mine. I tore my clothes off the hangers, rammed them into my suitcase, threw my books in on top, grabbed my phone, and zipped the bag up. Hauling it by the handle, I launched back into the hallway.

Amalia burst out of her room ahead of me, a backpack over her shoulder, and I chased her down the stairs. Another detonation shuddered the floor and my heart pummeled my ribcage. I remembered the huge winged beast, its magma-like eyes radiating bloodlust. It was out there. It was coming for us.

Amalia tore outside but I skidded to a stop to grab my runners from the closet. I stuffed my feet into them, then extended the handle of my suitcase to pull it. What about my mother’s grimoire? It was probably in the house. I couldn’t leave it behind when—

A fourth blast shook the walls, and I hurtled through the door. Recovering the grimoire would be pointless if I died. I would worry about it later.

Outside, the evening air was crisp and chill, the final beams of the setting sun peeking over the trees at the property’s western edge. My suitcase bounced down the steps as Amalia ran across the drive toward the four-car garage.

Crimson light flashed.

A blazing orb hit the garage like an armor-piercing rocket. The building exploded, the doors rupturing and fire bursting from its interior. Amalia was flung backward and landed painfully on the concrete drive.