Isalio didn't look much better than before. He huddled on the floor in the corner of the room, knees pulled up to his chest and arms wrapped around his legs. He perked up a little when his gaze met mine, but his eyes were bloodshot and face lined.

Inexplicable irritation tightened my voice. "I told you to rest. Why haven't you?"

His eyes flitted to the bottle in my left hand, then alighted on the tattered sheet in my right. "Remgar, is that...did you bring me a blanket?"

I set the bottle down on the table next to the empty packet of food—at least he had eaten—and tossed the blanket toward his feet. "I thought you might still be cold."

He studied my face for a few seconds, eyebrows pulled close together and head slightly tilted. Then, without unbending his legs, he reached out a hand to snag the blanket. He tucked the sheet over his legs and released a long, shuddering exhale.

I frowned at him. "You still look too weak."

"And you still look too sexy, but you don't see me complaining."

I pinched the bridge of my nose. "You realize I can change my mind any time, don't you? I can go get Marqan right now."

His head dipped to rest on his knees, and he regarded me through his lashes. "Will you?"

"Not if you stop flirting with me and take me seriously."

He lifted his head and drew back his shoulders. "I do take you seriously. I know you can do whatever you want with me, and there's nothing I can do to stop you. Still..." He nodded at the bottle clutched in my hand and flipped out a hand in a half-shrug. "Why not enjoy my last moments?"

My brow furrowed, but I nodded. I popped the cap off the bottle and tilted it into a mug. An aroma of sweet nutmeg wafted into the chamber, barely obscuring a bitter sting. This batch was strong.

When the amber liquid splashed halfway up the mug, I strode toward the corner and offered it to him. He took it from me, but he paused before taking a sip. I wondered if he could smell the heavy concentration of zaikut as well as I could.

He swirled the cup and stared at the contents. "Actually, I just remembered...I don't drink alone."

"What do you mean?"

"It's a rule I made for myself years ago. I only drink if someone else drinks with me."

I huffed a laugh and rolled my eyes. "Well, I don't drink with my enemies."

"Then we find ourselves at an impasse." He arched an eyebrow. "Unless you are planning to force it down my throat?"

The question sounded almost innocent...but not quite. My throat dried, and my hands clammed up. I could threaten to hand him off to Marqan if he refused to drink—but was that a threat I wanted to follow through on?

Maybe some zaikut would steady my nerves. Though I hadn't had any for years, I knew my tolerance would far exceed his. Guardians were blessed–or perhaps cursed–to remain level-headed through everything.

Demons were notorious lightweights.

"One for one?" I asked.

He clucked his tongue and rolled his eyes. He must have known as well as I did how unequal the offer was. I waited for his refusal or counteroffer. Instead, he shrugged. "Alright."

"Alright?"

"Yes. But I have to warn you..."

I raised my eyebrows, encouraging him to continue. Was he about to claim a high tolerance? Threaten me? Reveal powers?

What he actually said was probably worse than any of those.

"I'm adorable when I'm drunk."

I should have heeded his warning. Instead, I shoved my nerves aside, scowled at him, and poured myself a mug.

I dropped down to sit against the wall a few feet from him. When I lifted the mug to my lips, so did he. Our eyes connected as we took the first sip.

The liquid coated my tongue with saccharine-sweetness and burned bitter in the back of my throat. I swallowed, and fire trailed down my throat. But within a second, the fire extinguished, leaving me just as anxious as before.

Isalio choked, coughing into his hand. "Sweet dominion, that's strong. How much zaikut is in this thing?"

I frowned at him. "A lot. Just—" My throat closed around the ridiculous warning: drink slowly. It was the warning I might give to a new man I was dating, one who seemed a bit too naive. Ha. I was the naive one here. Still, my eyes dipped to the blood speckling his left shirt sleeve.

I picked my words carefully. "Are you...well enough for this? Maybe we should wait until tomorrow."

"It's Marqan's turn soon after that, isn't it?"

I let my head thump the wall behind me. "Marqan will never have a turn if I succeed."

"You won't."

I rolled my head sideways to eye him. "What makes you so sure?"

He rolled his eyes. "We've been over this. I don't know anything."

"You know some things."

"Nothing useful."

"I'll be the judge of that." I nodded at the mug in his hand. "Have some more."

By the time I finished my first mug, a hint of warmth tickled my belly. Meanwhile, Isalio kicked his legs out straight, eyes bright and shoulders relaxed. He killed the last portion of his in one go, head tilted back. When the empty mug fell to his lap, he expelled a contented sigh.

"Ready for another?" I asked.

He ducked his head. "I'll drink whatever you give me, Remgar."

My heartbeat ratcheted, remembering my fumbling attempt to explain Isalio to Borgal and Fraschkit. He acts confident at times, but he's also so...

Submissive.

That was the word I hadn't admitted. Whenever he wasn't teasing me, he behaved more submissively than any Guardian I had dated, and certainly more than I expected from a Demon.

Did he know that was the way to break through my defenses?

Steadying myself, I gritted out, "We'll drink another."

He lifted his mug.

I tilted the bottle into his cup and then into mine, pouring a little more than the last time. Isalio lifted the mug to his lips, and I matched his swig. He pulled a grimace, and I barely suppressed my own reaction. Fuck, why did the second drink taste even worse than the first? Had some of the zaikut settled to the bottom of the bottle?

By the second sip, Isalio's eyes were growing glassy, and his shoulders melted into the wall behind him. A mingling of nerves and giddy anticipation tightened my chest. Now was my chance to fulfill Rakimar's orders: Let's find out what he says when his tongue is loosened. And at this moment, my selfish desires aligned with my goals as a dutiful Guardian.

Both parts of me wanted to hear Isalio unfiltered.

"Tell me about your family," I said.

"What about them?"

"What are they like?"

He huffed a breath. "Well, they're Demons. They kill people."

"Like you." It was supposed to be a statement, but my voice lifted a little, expressing the question I would not allow myself to ask. Are you like your family?

His eyes flitted between mine for one second too long before he replied. "Right."

Half to see his reaction and half to remind myself, I said, "The Morgabeast killed almost everyone in Anyalasa today."

"Well, that's..." His throat worked. "I told you my brother didn't do that."

I studied him. "Because your brother is so innocent?"

"No, but he's also not..." His teeth trapped his lower lip, and he pulled it through with an audible pop. "He does things for a reason."

"Then why did he kill my family?"

Even with my Guardian perceptions fully activated, I barely caught his reaction—the subtle fingers tightening over his mug, the slight unevenness of his breath. "When?"

"Fourteen years ago."

He exhaled, and his eyes fell closed. "All of them?"

"My father is still alive, but he'd probably rather be dead."

His mouth moved to form several responses he did not articulate before he settled on one. "And...how old were you when...?"

"I'm the one asking the questions here."

His shoulders flattened against the wall behind him. "Sorry."

I sighed and scrubbed a hand over my face. "I was twelve."

"Oh."

In unison, we took generous swigs from our mugs. As my mug drifted down, the warmth in my belly finally expanded over the rest of my body, relaxing my muscles a little.

Isalio swayed, and he blinked at the ground.

I set down my mug and twisted toward him. "Hey, are you alright?"

"Yep."

The fast, choked reply did little to reassure me. "What's happening? What are you thinking?"

His eyes refocused a little, but his lips set in a frown. "Remgar...are you going to hurt me?"

I blew an exhale. "Let's not talk about that right now."

"But I need to know."

"Isa—" I stopped myself. "You know how this ends. Either we kill you, or we torture you and then kill you."

"I know, but...you? Will you be the one to do it?"

The vulnerability in his tone made my heart skip a beat. "I don't know. Does it matter?"

"Yes. I don't want you there when they..."

"Why?"

"I just..." He gave a frustrated cluck of his tongue and gestured to the frayed hem of the blanket still tucked around his knees. "This blanket is from your bed, isn't it?"

Yes, it was from my bed. The Guardians no longer had extra resources to spare, especially for the comfort of prisoners. There was no way I would admit that to him, but the three seconds it took me to come up with a denial were enough to confirm his suspicion. He released a slow breath and nodded as if I had just proved his point.

I folded my arms across my chest, surprised to feel the lack of cuffs constraining my own wrists. "What does that matter?"

His eyes fell to his drink, and his hands clasped together on his lap, squeezing hard enough to whiten the knuckles. "Because you're..." His eyes met mine for a bare millisecond before averting again. "If you do it, it will feel worse."

I struggled to make sense of his bizarre statement. My lips summoned asinine promises which I only quelled by tilting the mug to my mouth.

I didn't even care if he reciprocated the drink, but obediently, he did. When we finished our drinks, I raised the bottle in question. He swung his mug up to meet the offering.

His mug wavered.

I hesitated. "Will this make you sick?"

He raised his mug a little higher. "Does it matter?"

My gut pulled taut, a tug-of-war between two equally certain responses. 'Of course it matters' warred with 'Of course it doesn't.'

With a shrug, I splashed a little more of the liquid poison into his mug and then my own. We both took another swig. Then his leg stretched out further...and tipped toward mine.

I watched, breathless, as he closed the fragile space between us, his bare toes grazing my boot. Tentative...shy. Playful, even.

My eyes flicked to his face. His own gaze still fastened to his mug, nibbling the corner of his lower lip. My heart skipped a beat. His mouth had conceded to mine with that same sweet hesitation. The memory constricted my chest with guilt but engulfed my core in hot, delicious shame.

As sweet and vile as zaikut.

When his eyes met mine, my cheeks flushed...yet he looked more contemplative than victorious. "Remgar," he said slowly, "If I didn't know better, I would think you wanted to kiss me again."

Somehow, I managed a steady response. "You think I would do all this just for another kiss?"

"No," he said. "We both know you don't need zaikut to have your way with me."