Page 28 of A House of Gold
I want to argue and tell him he’s wrong, that he’s reading me incorrectly, that whatever he’s sensing is just adrenaline or fear or anything except attraction.
But I’d be lying.
Because he’s right. Standing this close to him, breathing in that scent of wealth and smoke and power, feeling the heat radiating off him, my body is responding. My pulse is racing for reasons that have nothing to do with fear. There’s a pull,magnetic and undeniable, that makes me want to step closer instead of backing away.
And I hate it.
“This is going to be a very long year,” I mutter.
“On the contrary.” Croesus’s smile widens, and it transforms his face from merely beautiful to devastating. “I think it’s going to be fascinating.”
He moves to his desk, settles into the chair behind it with the fluid grace that speaks to centuries of practice. Gestures to the chair across from him. “Sit. We have terms to discuss.”
I want to refuse on principle. Want to stay standing, to maintain some illusion of control in this situation where I have absolutely none.
But I’m exhausted. The walk through the maze of hallways, the weight of the last few days, so quick after my last purge, and the sheer overwhelming presence of him, are all catching up with me.
I sit.
The chair is more comfortable than it looks. Expensive leather, the kind that molds to your body. Of course, it is. Everything in this place is expensive.
“First,” Croesus says, steepling his fingers on the desk in front of him, “let’s establish the ground rules. You will address me as Lord Croesus or simply Croesus. Never ‘sir’ or any other honorific. I’m not human nobility, and I don’t pretend to be.”
“Noted.”
“You will have quarters in the residential wing. Private rooms, your own space. You’re not a prisoner, Raven. You’re a contracted employee.”
“That’s a nice way of saying indentured servant.”
His mouth twitches. “Call it what you like. The point is, you’ll have autonomy within the House. You can move freely through most areas, though some sections are restricted.”
“The hallways all look the same.”
“You’ll learn to navigate. Everyone does eventually.” He reaches into a drawer, pulls out what looks like a ledger. Opens it with the same reverence most people reserve for holy texts. “Your duties will be straightforward. I have a number of contracts I need broken. Rival deals from other Houses, mostly. You’ll absorb the sins, purge them, and release the souls so I can claim them.”
“Corporate warfare with salvation. How noble.”
“Mock all you like, but this is how the houses have operated for millennia. We compete for souls the way human companies compete for market share. It’s civilized, relatively speaking. Better than the alternative.”
“Which is?”
“War.” He says it simply, without drama. “Actual war between houses. It’s happened before. It will happen again. But for now, we steal souls from each other and pretend we’re being subtle.”
I lean back in the chair, trying to process all of this. “So I’m your corporate spy.”
“You’re my sin eater. A valuable one. The only one currently in my employ.” He closes the ledger, sets it aside. “In exchange for your service, I will ensure your sister remains safe. No one from the supernatural world will touch her. No one will reveal to her what you are, or what’s happening in the shadows. She’ll live her normal human life completely undisturbed.”
“And I get to call her once a week,” I add.
“Every Sunday, you may call her. The call will be monitored, not by me, but by the magic that binds us. If you try to warn her, if you try to tell her the truth, the call will be terminated and the privilege revoked. Understood?”
“Understood.”
“Good.” He stands, moves around the desk with the same predatory grace. “Now. Let’s discuss the other term you attempted to negotiate.”
I tense. “Which one?”
“Your autonomy.” He stops a few feet away from me, close enough that I have to look up to maintain the illusion of eye contact. “You wanted to retain your free will. No compulsion, no magical binding beyond the contract itself.”
