The hurricane in my chest gathered speed, crashing waves of hot and cold. But some stubborn part of me could not refuse him outright. If I could possibly learn anything from this, how could I not try? The Demons had already destroyed my family and my best friend. What did I stand to lose?

And after this, if he still refused to tell me anything, I would be ready to make him pay.

"Fine," I said. "I'll do it."

But then I eyed the Demon, wondering how to kiss someone strapped to a chair. How to kiss an enemy wearing cuffs, tattered clothing, and a smile almost like the cheeky smirk I had initially anticipated. When I had kissed men before, it was either with soft tenderness or in the throes of passion. Now only fear and disgust quickened my heartbeat.

Or at least, that was what I told myself. But when my eyes found my target–his lips–an undeniable flutter of giddy anticipation mingled with the dread. What would it be like to kiss a Demon? Could his lips do half of the wicked things the stories promised?

Shame twisted my gut and burned hot on my face. What the fuck, Remgar? If Marqan was watching this, or Borgal, or worst of all, my father...

"So, you mean, like, today?" asked the Demon. He looked almost relaxed now, lounging in that chair as if he were there by choice. "Or tomorrow? My calendar is pretty clear, but there's no time like the present."

Alright, fine. I would use sheer irritation as my motivator. That, and the need to shut him up fast. I pressed one hand flat on the table and curled the other over the back of his chair.

But when I leaned toward him, he stiffened. His shoulders drew back an inch, and his wrists tugged against the straps.

I stopped.

On some knee-jerk reaction, my eyes found the ripped seam of his button-down shirt. Usually, my empathy did not extend to Demons. But usually, I was not about to kiss one.

"Did they already hurt you?" I heard myself ask.

He studied me with perturbed fascination–like watching water flow upstream. "No. Not really."

"Then...you are scared of me?"

"Shouldn't I be?"

I glanced at the straps still securing his wrists, and my chest pinched. Moments earlier, I had been prepared to rip off his fingernails. How ridiculous that I now worried about consent for a kiss–one he himself had requested. If anything, he was using me.

Yet...

"Not right now," I said finally. "I will torture you, if I have to, but I won't force myself on you. So, if you've changed your mind–"

"I haven't." The renewed strength in his voice brought my eyes back to his, which still regarded me curiously. I had the unnerving feeling he was sifting through the dark recesses of my mind, discovering secrets unknown even to me. "I want you to kiss me, Guardian. Please."

Fuck, those last words, drawn out so softly...

Heat swirled in my belly.

Before I could stop myself, I tugged free the straps holding his hands to the table, leaving only the blocker cuffs. He blinked, eyes dipping to his hands before returning to my face. He arched an angular brow, asking what I was doing, perhaps.

The fuck if I knew.

A different part of me had taken over–the part that knew how to kiss but not how to harm. The part that craved intimacy, but not with someone who couldn't pull away.

"You can move your hands," I told him, even as my own hands grew clammy. "You can–you should push me away, if it doesn't feel right. If you change your mind."

His brow furrowed. "You do realize you are talking to a Demon."

"I am quite aware, thank you."

"Then why are you acting like I'm..." His voice caught in his throat a little on the way out, the most imbalance I had heard from him. "Not?"

I hissed an exhale. "Just promise you'll stop me if you want me to stop."

His hands slipped out of the restraints and dropped, still-cuffed, to his lap. His eyes followed the descent of his hands, and his teeth pinched one corner of his lower lip. "Yeah, alright. I promise."

My heart pumped faster, and my throat dried. Never would I have imagined that a Demon could bite his lip like that–that he could look so uncertain.

Was it all a ruse? Probably.

But fuck, it was working.

I needed to get through this kiss fast, collect whatever information he was willing to tell me, and get out. Then I could wipe my hands clean of this, and my team could...

Kill him.

After I left, they would kill him.

I swallowed an unexpected lump in my throat. Maybe this wasn't just about using him. Maybe this was about making his death more tolerable. I would give him an enjoyable last few moments, he would give me information, and then he would die.

Quickly; painlessly. I could at least guarantee that.

With that decided, my awkwardness dissolved. I brushed a thumb over his cheek like I had with my most recent Guardian lover months ago. But his face felt different than any Guardian's I had touched. The fine bones, the smooth skin, the little spark of pent-up electricity. And when I threaded a hand through his hair, black locks much softer than any Guardian's slipped through my calloused fingers.

His head tilted back an inch, and his eyes fluttered shut.

My lungs contracted, and cold sweat dripped down my back. At that moment, I didn't fear him. Rather, I feared my own desires. I would rather die than be led astray.

'Demons are manipulative, even with their powers blocked.'

I can do this, I promised Borgal in my mind. This time, I am the manipulator.

I drew a breath.

And pressed my lips to his.

The feeling surprised me. The softness, the sweetness, the hint of electric charge. The way his mouth responded to mine slowly, cautiously. Almost... submissively. His unexpected shyness drew out my instinct toward gentleness, which warred with my lust, fear, and disgust.

My insides leapt and plummeted, like my first time in a terranean warper. But with a subtle adjustment on both of our parts, our lips fit together perfectly. For a second, my inner turmoil fell silent, and my eyes fell closed.

For a second, it just felt right.

My eyes flicked open, breath trapped in burning lungs.

His eyes were still shut, eyelashes fanned out in perfect black brushstrokes over his pale skin. A soft exhale left his parted lips, his breath a warm breeze on my face. His shoulders relaxed. Satisfied; savoring the moment.

As though it might be his last.

My lips found his again, more forcefully than before. My hands threaded further into his hair, inviting his face to turn up toward mine.

He conceded with a half-muted hum in the back of his throat, and his lips parted for me. Barely aware of what I was doing, my tongue found that opening. Probing, gently at first, then a little deeper, until my tongue met his–

Fuck!

I staggered back a step and sucked in a long breath. His eyes opened, gaze dark and glassy. Dazed–as though waking up from a nap.

Or maybe waking up from a wet dream.

I might have felt pleased at having affected him, if not for how much he had affected me. I swiveled away before he could observe his own impact. This was so fucking wrong. Yet the wrongness–the self-disgust–just fanned the flames brighter.

Cupping a hand over my forehead, I focused on the connection of my feet to the ground. After a few deep breaths, I found the pulse of the First Guardian, still supporting us all deep within the earth. My own heartbeat slowed and steadied.

After one more breath, I turned back toward him.

His eyes had resumed their usual glow, and a slow smile curved his lips. "I'll admit–I'm impressed. That was certainly a real kiss."

His lips were still wet. The sight sent a throb straight down to my core.

I scrubbed a hand over my own lips to erase the memory. "So then you'll tell me?"

"Tell you what?"

I blinked. "How to enter the palace, how to free the slaves, how to kill the Morgabeast...?"

"Oh, I don't know any of that."

My breath left in an explosive exhale. I had already accepted that this was probably a ruse, yet his nonchalant dismissal hit me like a bucket of freezing water. "You promised you would tell me everything if I kissed you."

"Did I? I'm sorry about that." He slid both hands back beneath the straps on the table and tipped his head toward the pliers. "Now, then... right hand. You can start with my right."

Nausea slammed my gut.

I swallowed to wet my dry throat and attempted to still my shaking hands. First Guardian, help me. But the ground only echoed my own self-disgust. Even the First Guardian had abandoned me now.

His lips quirked. "What's the matter? You don't usually kiss Demons before you torture them?"

"I don't kiss Demons, period."

The smile grew larger. "I hate to tell you this..."

"I am aware of what just happened. That's why I'm going to resign from this assignment. Marqan can do the honors."

His smile dropped. "If you bring in Marqan, I'll tell him you kissed me."

If he thought a blow to my reputation would hold me back from duty, he didn't know me nearly as well as he thought. "Don't bother," I said. "I'll tell him myself."

I pivoted toward the door. But as my hand touched the doorknob, his voice froze me in my footsteps.

"Remgar, wait."

My hand tightened over the doorknob as my ribcage restricted my lungs. The sound of my name on those devious lips...

My voice came out hoarse. "How do you know my name?"

"The other Guardians said it. Look, I'm sorry I manipulated you. I didn't mean to."

I huffed a disbelieving laugh. "Didn't mean to?"

"Well, I did mean to, but..." A tongue cluck. "If you let Marqan do this, he'll hurt me badly. He won't stop. It will be... I'll be..."

He was right. Marqan would bring this Demon to his knees in minutes but not accept the surrender for days.

I managed a robotic response. "Then you better tell him everything you know."

"But I don't know anything!"

The desperation in his tone tugged on all the wrong instincts. I bit my tongue to prevent myself from offering some ridiculous assurance. He deserved nothing from me.

He swallowed. "You want the truth? Fine. Truth is, I'm not as powerful as my brother. Not by a long shot. My parents are ashamed, so they hide me away. I am a good substitute for anyone who wants relations with the cold High Prince, and that's all I'm good for. That's all I know."

My hand slipped off the doorknob. I knew what it was like to have a powerful brother. For a moment, I reverted to a small child, eyes fixed on my father as he watched my brother perform some miraculous feat. 'Look at Hefgar!' he would say, patting my shoulder absently. 'Incredible. Mark my words–your brother is going to save the world someday!'

But Hefgar didn't save the world. He died.

Because of me.

The Demon's words were exactly the ones needed to puncture my resolve. Luckily, Borgal's words rose up to meet the Demon's: 'They learn your weaknesses and exploit them.' How had this Demon Prince so quickly discovered my weakness? How did he know exactly which buttons to push?

"Remgar, just...." His voice was soft and pleading. "Just give me another chance. I won't manipulate you again."

My nails bit my palms and jaw clenched. "You're manipulating me even now."

And I left the room.

The moment the door slammed shut behind me, my chest grew lighter. No longer would confusing feelings plague me. Now I would simply admit my defeat and move on with my life. Then Marqan would do as he did best, finding answers no matter what it took, and I could help the team develop a plan to destroy our real enemies.

I set off down the hall still feeling a bit off-kilter but growing steadier by the second. I could already imagine how Marqan would laugh when I admitted how easily the Demon had swayed me; how Borgal's brow would pinch. Neither Guardian would tell my father, at least. Even Marqan would not be that cruel.

A scream sliced through my thoughts.

It lasted only a second before the door shut and the rubber seal muted all sound. Marqan stood just outside the door. He tossed a sledgehammer from hand to hand, absently, like a school child carrying a lunch sack. Blood dripped from the hammer to the floor.

Drip, drip, drip...

I saw my brother, skull crushed, strung up on the wall like an ornament. His murderer–the High Prince–had already left, but another Demon watched me. His gleaming white smile flickered in the lantern light, glowing amber eyes fastened on me, and his whisper echoed through the chamber and through my mind: 'Child... run.'

Marqan's heavy brow scrunched, wrinkling the skin above his nose. "Remgar? I didn't expect you to finish so soon."

I forced an even tone. "You use a sledgehammer? I haven't seen that before."

He chuckled. "Rudimentary, but effective. Hands have so many little bones and so many nerves. Even Demon hands! Funny, how those heartless monsters can feel so much pain."

I tried to match his chuckle, but my own voice grated like a terranean warper clogged with dust. "Yeah. Funny."

"Speaking of which..." His smile dropped, and he tilted his head. "How is it going with the Demon Prince?"

My hands curled into fists. "A Demon Prince."

"What?"

"He's just..." I released both the air in my lungs and the tension in my fists. "It's difficult. He's difficult."

Marqan's gaze grew serious–worried, maybe. "I can imagine how hard this job would be for someone like you."

My lips twisted in the mocking imitation of a smile. "Someone like me?"

He clucked his tongue. "Remgar..." His voice was gentler than I had ever heard it before. "I know we have had our differences, but I admire you. To beat the Demons, our team needs every tool in the box. But you're not..." He tucked the sledgehammer halfway behind his back and lowered his voice. "There's no shame in handing over the job."

'You're right,' said the version of me who knew best, the me who grasped desperately for the reins. 'I need you to take over.' But another me fixated on the crimson puddle forming beside his boot. Another me heard the drip, drip... drop.

Would the younger Demon prince scream as the sledgehammer smashed through his bones and snapped his tendons?

'I rather like both of my hands.'

I forced a smile. "Everything is going fine, Marqan. I just need a couple more days."