Chapter 4 A Dangerous Decision

MALRIK

I was making a mistake.  

I knew it with every fiber of my being, with every century of hard-won experience, with every scar that marked my immortal flesh. No ordinary human should have made the city react like that.

I was making a mistake, and I was doing it anyway.  Because her scent lingered in my lungs, and my demon kept murmuring mine over and over, like some twisted prayer or a haunting curse.

My penthouse was in one of the older buildings downtown, the kind that had been built before the city's tech boom and still maintained some character. The top floor was mine, all of it, and I'd spent years making sure it was secure.  

Wards carved into the doorframe. Sigils hidden in the walls. Protection spells woven into the very foundation of the building. Nothing supernatural could enter without my permission, and most humans wouldn't even be able to find the elevator that led to my floor.    

Sera was quiet as we rode up, her duffel bag clutched in her hands, her eyes darting around like she expected something to jump out at her.  

"Relax," I said. "We're safe here."  

The elevator doors opened directly into my living room. "This is my territory. My domain. Nothing can touch you here."  

She stepped out slowly, her eyes widening as she took in the space. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. Dark hardwood floors. Furniture that was expensive but comfortable. Bookshelves lining one wall, filled with volumes in languages most humans had never heard of.    

"This is not what I expected," she said.  

"What did you expect? A cave? Coffin?"  

She flushed. "I don't know. Something less normal?"  

"I've been alive for a long time, Sera. I've learned to appreciate comfort."  

She set her bag down and moved toward the windows, her reflection ghostly in the glass. "How long?"  

"How long what?"  

"How long have you been alive?"  

I hesitated. This was the moment where I could tell her the truth or keep pretending I was something I wasn't.  

"Three thousand years," I said quietly. "Give or take a century."  

She turned to look at me, her eyes wide. "That's not possible."  

"It is if you're not human."  

"Then what are you?"  

I held her gaze, letting her see the truth in my eyes. 

"I'm a demon," I said. "A high demon, to be specific."  

She should have screamed. Should have run. Should have done anything except what she actually did.  

She laughed.  

It was a short, slightly hysterical sound, but it was definitely a laugh.  

"Okay."  She said.

"Okay?"  

"I mean, I saw you get shot and not die. I saw your eyes glow. I saw you throw a two-hundred-pound man like he was a rag doll. So yeah. Demon. That tracks."  

I stared at her. "You're not afraid?"  

"Oh, I'm terrified," she said. "But I've been terrified since Volkov's men grabbed me off the street."  

"You're taking this remarkably well."  

"I'm in shock. Ask me again in an hour when it wears off and I'll probably have a complete breakdown."  

Despite everything, I almost smiled.  

"You should get out of those wet clothes," I said. "I will find you something dry." Although she had brought clothes, they were likely wet as well.

She looked down at herself: soaked jeans, a thin sweater that clung to her curves, sneakers that squelched with every step. Then back up at me.  

I went to my bedroom, found a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants that would be too big for her but better than nothing. When I came back, she was still standing in the same spot, shivering.  

"Bathroom's through there," I said, handing her the clothes. "There are towels in the cabinet."  

"Thank you."  

She disappeared into the bathroom.  

I went to the kitchen, poured myself three fingers of whiskey, and downed it in one swallow. It didn't do anything-my metabolism burned through alcohol too fast for me to get drunk-but the ritual was comforting. I poured another glass and stared at it.  

What the fuck was I doing?  

I'd brought a human into my home. A human with a suspicious origin. I felt the foundation spells recognize her when she walked in and she must have felt it too; I heard her breathing change.

The bathroom door opened. She stood in the doorway, wearing my clothes, her dark hair wet and tangled around her shoulders. The t-shirt hung off one shoulder, and the sweatpants were rolled up at the ankles. She looked small and vulnerable and absolutely fucking beautiful.  

"Better?" I asked, my voice rougher than I intended.  

"Much. Thank you." She walked into the living room, sat on the edge of the couch.

"Thank you for saving me, Malrik. And for bringing me here. I know you didn't have to."  

"No. I didn't."  

"So why did you?"  

I looked at her, really looked at her. "I don't know," I replied.  

She smiled, a little shyly, but it was real. "Well, I'm glad you did. Even if you don't know why."  

We sat in silence for a moment. Then she said, "Those men. They work for someone named Volkov. Sergei Volkov. He's-"  

"I know who he is."  

Everyone in Greyhaven's underworld knew Sergei Volkov. Russian mob, with connections that stretched back to Moscow. He ran drugs, guns, girls: anything that made money and destroyed lives.  

"My brother owed him money," Sera continued. "A lot of money. He was gambling, got in over his head, and Volkov gave him a loan. Then my brother died in a car accident, and Volkov decided the debt transferred to me."  

"That's not how debt works."  

"It is in Volkov's world." She wrapped her arms around herself. "He gave me a month to pay it back. Two hundred thousand dollars. I don't have that kind of money. So he said I could work it off."   

"Work it off how?"  

She didn't answer, but she didn't need to. I could see it in her eyes.  

Rage, hot and sudden, flooded through me. My hands clenched into fists, and I felt my demon rising, pushing against the edges of my control.  

"He's not going to touch you," I said.  

"You can't stop him. He has an army. He has connections. He-"  

"He's human." I looked at her, let her see the fire in my eyes. "I'm not."  

"Everyone's dangerous until they meet something more dangerous."

The casual confidence in my voice should have been arrogant. She stared at me, and I saw something shift in her expression. Fear, yes. But also hope?  

"You'd protect me?" she asked quietly. "From Volkov?"  

I should have said no. Should have told her that I'd saved her once and that was enough, that she needed to figure out her own problems, that I wasn't a hero or a savior or anything other than a monster trying to live quietly. But her scent was still in my lungs, and my demon was still whispering mine, and I was so fucking tired of being alone.  

"Yes," I said. "I'll protect you."  

The smile she gave me was like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. But then, in an instant, every ward in the penthouse flared to life.

And I knew, in that moment, that I was completely and utterly fucked.