His voice was matter-of-fact...almost. The bare hint of heat curling the words lit a fire in my gut and painted obscene images in my mind. If I tried something, when would he stop me? Would he ever?

With much effort, I forced an eye roll. "I told you I would never force myself on you."

"And who said you would have to force anything?" he said.

A smile flitted past his lips, soft black hair spilling over his forehead, and his chest rose and fell in time with mine. His amber eyes shone as brightly as any Demon's—more lightning than earth—but with dilated pupils and fluttering eyelashes, he looked nothing like the Demons from my nightmares. He looked...

Beautiful.

I swallowed hard. "I'm the one who would have to force it. You really think I would ever touch a Demon by choice?"

Though the defense sounded tinny to my own ears, it proved surprisingly effective. His smile dropped, and his eyes averted.

"No," he said. "I know you hate us."

"I didn't say that."

"But it's true, isn't it?"

The words left my lips at the same time I admitted them to myself. "I don't hate you. I just hate what you are."

His voice lilted, tentative, like sweeping fingers over a blazing fire. "You hate my brother."

"Yes. You must harbor some resentment, too? It seems he has stolen all of your parents' attention."

I was practically spoon-feeding him the key to my defeat. If he told me he also hated his brother, my defenses would be shattered.

But he didn't. Instead, he asked, "Did you hate your brother?"

The question sucked the breath from my lungs, and I watched the gust ripple the amber liquid in my cup, blowing an acrid-sweet breeze into my face. "Of course not. Hefgar was my hero. He was..." Who I should have been. I swallowed that thought and stated something equally true and more pertinent. "He was good to everyone, including me. Even when others laughed at me or shook their heads, he always helped me back up to my feet."

He drew his legs back up to his chest and picked at the frayed fabric at the knee of his jeans. I wondered how he had been captured. Did his knees slam the ground? Had he cried out for help that never came?

"If your brother is not controlling the Morgabeast and he's not looking for you, what is he doing?" I asked.

"He's...finding a new power source, I think."

My heartbeat picked up, and I twisted toward him. "A new power source? What do you mean?"

"The Morgabeast requires a lot of power to control, and the human supply is dwindling."

My jaw clamped. "Dwindling because Morgabeast is slaughtering villages?"

He hesitated, and I could see him fighting to hold his tongue. Fortunately, the zaikut seemed to have loosened his tongue just enough to override his better efforts. "The people in Anyalasa should have gone underground."

I blinked. "Why?"

"The Morgabeast is a creature of the sky."

"And so it can't go underground? But Demons are creatures of the sky too, and you are underground right now."

He hummed into his mug as he lifted it to his lips for a long swig. "Have you seen the Palace, Remgar?"

I furrowed my brow. Was this relevant, or an attempt to redirect conversation? Or had the zaikut stolen his ability to reason?

His gaze grew distant, and his speech slurred a little. "Panoramic windows, ten stories high." He waved a hand in the air as if tracing the distant outline. "From the top floor, you can see at least three towns from each window. Best place in the world to watch a thunderstorm."

His eyes met mine again, shinier than before. "I don't want to die underground."

My gut dropped, and my throat swelled shut. Luckily, Isalio broke the silence by chugging more from his mug. I joined him by downing mine.

Isalio's mug hit the ground too hard and almost tipped. Just in time, I snatched it and pulled it out of his reach.

"Alright, you've had enough," I said. "We're done for tonight."

I planted both palms on the floor to push to my feet, but before I could stand, his hand landed on top of mine.

His skin looked even paler against the deep bronze of my own—and even more fragile. My veins and bones branched like roots, barely seen but ever-supportive. His were like an elegant bird: delicate blue veins, sharp bones. The clunky cuffs only heightened the difference, swallowing his slim wrists. We were sturdiness against elegance, earth against sky, and warmth against...cold.

He was still cold.

His voice left in a ragged whisper. "Stay. Please?"

My voice didn't sound much better than his. "Why?"

"I just...I don't want to be alone right now."

A silence followed in which I studied his face and he studied the ground. Judging by his pinched expression and my pinched chest, neither of us found what we were looking for.

"Forget it." He started to withdraw his hand. "It's alright if you leave."

My hand flipped to trap his fingers. "You're still cold."

He released a sigh of relief and scooted an inch toward me. "You're so warm."

When my breath caught, he stopped and studied me. I pretended that I didn't understand the question in his eyes; that I didn't anticipate every one of his next movements.

He snuggled into my side, and his head tipped onto my shoulder.

I stiffened, staring at the black hair splayed over my shoulder in an uncharacteristically unkempt fashion. Even while his teeth had chattered, he never looked quite so undone as he did now.

Quite so vulnerable.

I gritted my teeth and flexed my arms in front of me, removing the pillow from his head. Silently, I pleaded with him. Pull away, sweet Demon. Please pull away.

His head slipped free from my flexed shoulder and landed on my thighs.

Soft locks of black hair slipped over his face, obscuring his shut eyes and flirting with the sharp bridge of his nose. He squinted up at me, and when the hairs caught in his eyelashes, he scrunched his nose.

Well, fuck. He wasn't kidding when he said he was adorable when drunk. My heart wrestled my mind for control, with a rapidly rising beat that constricted my chest. He was my enemy–the one I was supposed to protect the world from—but my heart couldn't understand that. My heart saw uncertainty, confusion, submission. My heart bleated out a single command:

Protect.

I swept three fingers over his face, brushing aside the stray hair.

His eyes widened.

I cursed myself, and my mouth worked, seeking some excuse for what I had just done. But before I could conjure anything, his eyes fell shut and head rolled to the side. He tucked his left arm into his side and stretched his right out on the floor in front of us.

His breathing slowed.

I sucked in a breath and blew it out through barely parted lips. Fuck, he was finally falling asleep... right now? With his head nestled on the thighs of his interrogator? With his fingers curled so sweetly on the ground beside the man who only yesterday threatened to rip his fingernails off?

I debated how to remove his head from my lap without waking him. He needed this sleep badly, and surely the moment I shifted, he would awaken.

First Guardian, was I really worried about causing him not to sleep? My legs were going to go numb soon, and I needed sleep too.

His fingers twitched. He shifted slightly and squinted one eye open. "Remgar?"

My throat closed, straining my voice. "Yeah?"

"I'm sorry."

I shook my head. "Sorry for what?"

He turned his head away again and mumbled words into my thighs—soft, sleepy words that trailed a cold knife down my spine.

"Sorry you're going to lose."

Twenty minutes later, I finally managed to nudge him off my lap so I could return to my own bed. However, I tossed and turned for several hours before succumbing to sleep. His words replayed in my mind on repeat.

'Sorry you're going to lose.'

The more I thought about it, the less I understood. Was the High Prince coming to wreak havoc on the resistance? Did Isalio already envision me strung up on the wall the same way the Demons had done with my brother?

Was he really as sorry as he looked?

Fuck, I needed more zaikut.

Instead of seeking that tragically ineffective poison, I downed two glasses of water. The water cleared my mind and calmed me a little. I turned my focus to the potentially useful information he had given me. At our next meeting, I would tell Rakimar to order everyone underground during the next Morgabeast attack, and we could discuss possible new power sources the High Prince might find.

And maybe Rakimar would give Isalio a few more days to live.