I tensed. I’d been one hundred percent serious, but I also didn’t want her to ask me not to compete in the Prince of Wrath’s tournament. I’d do what she asked, but it would destroy me inside.
“Yes,” I said.
She didn’t say anything, just held on to me while the suspense drove me crazy until Roth walked back in.
“Time’s up, lovebirds. Laila, you can stay and watch or you can leave, but we’re going to need you to stay off the mats.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll leave.” She disentangled herself from our embrace and headed for the door.
“Wait,” I called after her. “Why did you ask me that?”
She shot me a smile over her shoulder. “Just curious.” And then she was gone, leaving me with the distinct impression that she was keeping something from me.
“All right, lover boy, head in the game. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
* * *
The punching bagswayed on its chain as I drove my fists into it again and again. The tournament was tomorrow, and I was supposed to be sleeping right now, but every time I closed my eyes, I was swamped by memories that kept me wide-awake.
Everything was riding on this fight, and no matter how confident I was that Icouldwin, that didn’t mean I automatically would. It can take as little as one wrong move to lose a fight. And whether we think about it or not, we’re always one fight away from death.
I’d never cared before. The secret order,my family, was a gift I didn’t deserve. As far as I’d been concerned, I was living on borrowed time. My life should have been over the day I fucked up and killed that human boy.
His lifeless eyes flashed through my mind. I hit the bag harder, faster, as images cycled through my head.
The broken body of the girl I was supposed to be delivering a message to.
Thump.
A female demon running her nails down my chest while she ground herself against my lap.
Thump.
The vision Laila had shown me of herself ruined by guilt. Laila writhing as flames burned her while demons held me back and forced me to watch. Asmodeus, awash in red light, telling me that demons had been fucking with my head for three years.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
“Joriel.”
I didn’t turn at the sound of Laila’s voice. I couldn’t face her right now. I couldn’t even face my own past. Catching the punching bag as it swung toward me, I pressed my forehead against it, letting my eyes fall closed.
Laila’s hand touched the center of my back a second later. “Talk to me,” she said, her hand smoothing over my damp shirt.
“There’s nothing to say.” I didn’t let go of the bag or open my eyes.
“Are you having second thoughts about tomorrow?”
“No.”
“Bad dreams?”
“Yeah, except I’m not sleeping. It’s always there, all the bad shit I did or couldn’t stop from happening. I can’t get it out of my head.”
Laila kissed my shoulder. “I know.”
I spun to face her, searching her face for some clue as to what was going on inside her head. “What do you mean, you know? What haunts you?”
She gave me a tiny, pained smile. “You want a list?”
