“You know what I’ve been wondering? Why your heart? I’ve never heard of that being something devils like to bargain for.”
“I’d just had my heart broken when I made the deal. Couldn’t imagine that I would ever miss the damn thing.” He’d never admitted that to anyone, but the words just flowed out. If she’d been looking at him, he didn’t think he would have been able to answer, even with the vodka.
Karma was quiet for a long moment beside him, then, “What was she like?”
He shrugged. “Just a girl. Honestly I barely remember her.” That was true enough. But he remembered how he’d felt. How, for the first time in his life, he’d let himself want a home. How badly he’d wanted it to be her. He remembered her laugh. How she’d laughed when he’d proposed. Don’t be ridiculous, Prometheus. We’re kids. You didn’t think this was serious, did you?
So he’d stopped taking love seriously. And he’d found a way to get rid of his heart and ensure he never felt that awful, wrenching powerlessness again.
“Was it worth it?” Karma turned her head, looking at him, and Prometheus lurched to his feet.
“Sure. Who wouldn’t want to be all-powerful? I’m living proof you don’t really need a heart.” He rounded the crate, looking for likely handholds. “Besides, the she-devil was hot. Perfect tonic for a broken heart.”
Karma’s gaze flicked downward. “Ah. I hadn’t realized your relationship went further than a business transaction.”
He shrugged. “I was nineteen and she was made for sex. What was I supposed to do?” When Karma didn’t answer, he bent and hefted the crate into his arms. “You wanna get the door?”
For a second he thought she might say something biting, but whatever it was that rose to the tip of her tongue, she swallowed it back and rose, poised as always. “Certainly. I can’t have you chipping the doorframe as you try to wrangle that thing.”
There was no doorframe chipping, though it was a tight fit on the elevator. Prometheus set the crate in her living room space, where it looked strangely appropriate amid the spare elegance of the room’s style. They both stared at it, listening to the eerily audible thumping of his heart, then Karma shifted away from him. “I’ll walk you out.”
The elevator ride back up was as silent as the ride down had been. When the doors opened, Karma exited first, making a beeline for the doors. He’d clearly said something to upset her, but she was tucking it up behind her layers of restraint. He liked it better when she was screaming at him.
He caught up to her halfway across the lobby. “Karma.” He grabbed her upper arm and she stopped, turning slowly. When she was facing him, she pressed a palm flat to his chest, right over where his heart ought to beat. He’d never been more aware of the silence of his own pulse.
“You’ll have it back soon. Who knows, maybe you’ll like it.”
Soon had to be one of the scariest damn words on the planet. Either he’d have his heart back, or he’d be dead. Not exactly an ultimatum he was eager to see finalized.
“Deuma knows we’re up to something,” he heard himself confess, before the intent to tell her had even finalized in his brain. Damn vodka.
“How do you—”
“She came to see me. At my shop. She mentioned you.” Worth three of you… “I think she’d like to work out a renegotiation.”
“Is that what you want?”
“Original deals with devils are dangerous enough. Renegotiations are usually fatal.”
“So we stick to our original plan. The witches assure us the box is unchanged in any way that Deuma would be able to pick up on. She shouldn’t be able to sense that we’ve done anything and Rodriguez is digging into her history, so we’ll have every advantage we can muster when we summon her. We’ll be prepared for whatever she throws at us.”
Her reassurance made the uneasiness churn even more violently in his gut. “There’s no hurry. I promised Mia she could examine me some more. Tell Rodriguez to take all the time he needs. I wanna make sure we do this right.”
Karma pressed her hand harder against his chest. “It’s gonna be okay. We’re not going to let it fail.”
But it wasn’t only failure he was afraid of now. Now Karma was a part of things and he didn’t want to think about her getting hurt because of him.
Or her people. They’d gone above and beyond today, and they would go further. For him. As they would for anyone they’d claimed as part of their piecemeal family. They were what family should be but had never been for him. He wasn’t a part of their family, not really one of them, but they’d absorbed him in a way—like a step-sibling, an awkward uncle…or a foster kid. It was unnerving. More so because part of him liked it.
He’d never been confused before Karma, but she’d spun his world around so he wasn’t sure which direction was up anymore. He’d never cared about good or bad, but he’d always known what he wanted. Now the lines of his own desires were blurred by distinctions that weren’t in his vocabulary. The only clear thing was the woman in front of him—and the fact that she was coming to mean far too much to a man who made a point never to need anyone.
He studied her face, close enough to kiss, obviously willing—an open invitation in her eyes. Her lips were full—each of her features so perfectly refined. She was so striking, so beautiful her tawny skin seemed to glow with it. It would be easy to claim her as his own, and he was a greedy man by nature. Covetous. And she so clearly wanted to be claimed.
“I should go.”
Karma dropped her gaze. “Right.” Her hand fell away.
His hand didn’t seem to be getting the message from his brain that he was supposed to let her go. Slippery silk covered smooth skin beneath his fingers. It would be so easy to tip their relationship—whatever the hell it was—into something more. Something hot and sweet and maybe a little rough. Just for tonight. It didn’t have to mean anything.
She’s worth three of you. The memory of the words echoed in his brain. Their meaning shifted, taunting. He dropped his hold on her arm. Karma deserved better than what a man like him could offer. She deserved all the bullshit he’d always disdained. The honor and poetry. And for once he was feeling noble enough to want to protect her—from himself.
“Good night, Karma.”
The asphalt gleamed wetly in the parking lot as he approached his bike. The sky roiled with layers of ominous clouds, so dark it could have been midnight rather than six. Wind made the flags on the building across the street twist and snap as erratic spits of rain sprayed the roads. It was gearing up to be a helluva tempest. Maybe my last.
He grimaced as the macabre thought hit him. He’d always loved storms. Even as a kid, he’d never been afraid of thunder and lightning—giving his foster moms (the ones who actually gave a damn) fits as he climbed up into trees or onto the roof to stare up into teeth of the angry sky, coming in dripping wet and exhilarated.
He was far from that exhilaration now. His chest felt hollow, empty for the first time, and as close as they were to success, all he felt was death sliding an icy hand up his spine. He’d known he would drop dead when his contract with Deuma was complete, but he’d never felt his mortality the way he did now.
Great time for a midlife crisis. Just as the clock was ticking down. So what was he supposed to do now? Go skydiving? Buy a fucking Porsche? Screw women a decade younger? Been there, done that. How did a man who lived like a rock star, letting only whim guide him, have a midlife crisis? Get a minivan and a dog and a house in the suburbs? No fucking thank you.