Page 10 of Try As I Smite
“Are you kidding me?” Delilah practically growled the words between clenched teeth. “Your timing is for shit.”
A small, removed part of him had to admit to being impressed. At least he wasn’t the only one pissed about this.
Hazah didn’t even blink. “I’ve bound you together for this journey, and where you are, magic doesn’t work, so don’t even bother to try, Mr. Blakesley.” Hazah flicked a glance at his hands, limp at his sides now. “Enjoy.”
With a frilly wave, their “helper” disappeared.
Alasdair turned to find Delilah standing with her eyes screwed shut, muttering to herself.
“Want to explain that?” he demanded. “I have a fucking demon problem to deal with.”
Her eyes snapped open, and, for a heartbeat, he swore contrition gazed back at him before she composed herself. “I know, but from past experience, there’s nothing we can do. Let’s just get through this quickly.”
“The hell with that. I’m leaving.”
“How?” she demanded.
Alasdair ground his teeth together. He was in a castle, which meant he was far away from California where his people were, so walking his ass out of here was not an option. And his magic wasn’t working.
“This is…” He shook his head, too furious to put words to it.
“I know not being in charge of this”—she waved a hand between them—“is difficult. Especially for a man who apparently needs to control everything around him. When I first met you, I assumed it was a bit of a Napoleon complex.”
“I’m six-three—”
Her lips tipped in a Cheshire smile. “I didn’t mean short by that reference.”
Napoleon complex, but not because he was small. So, what? He was a power-hungry tyrant?
He scowled. It better not be the other small reference.
“I mean, I understand the need for control, of course. It’s…necessary.”
Alasdair tried to switch gears from the irritation of being compared to a tyrant to being placated for that facet of his personality, all while an imp of a smile peeked at him from the most unexpected source.
Weeding through all that, his mind glommed onto the word “necessary.” A telling descriptor. As though she knew that truth for herself. Made sense. He’d known the first time they’d met that he was staring at a mirror image of himself. He searched for a response to any part of this conversation, or to her in general.
“Listen up, goddess,” he snapped. “You got us into this, sending me to her. Now you get us out.”
“It doesn’t work like that.” Seemingly oblivious to his reaction, Delilah continued blithely on. “But I promise, when it’s over, while I can’t help you directly, I’ll hand over every resource I have at my disposal for your use.”
He crossed his arms and glared at her. Apparently he had no choice here. “What do we have to do?”
…
Delilah folded her hands in front of her, trying to project calm, even as she dug her bare toes into the thick wool of the achingly familiar bearskin rug covering the cold stone floor. These visions always felt so damn real and yet not at the same time.
Damn her mother to one of the seven hells. Preferably the third one. Hazah hated that one the most.
Alasdair wasn’t far off with that random, and unexpected, Dr. Who reference. Who knew the man had any association with pop culture of the human variety? She’d sort of assumed that, like the goddess Athena, he’d sprung to life a fully formed adult who’d eschew such common pursuits.
“She did this to me as a child.” Actually, multiple times over the course of her life, but he didn’t need to know that.
“Did what, exactly?” The man was practically vibrating with anger.
Trapped in a nightmare with a pissed-off warlock of incredible power was not where she wanted to be. Even if he couldn’t access his magic.
The happy giggle of a child behind them had them both jerking around.
