He felt as if he had just wallowed in manure. As he rubbed his face hard, Ferion bolted out of the house. Bel’s gaze shot to his in a brief, surprised flash. She strode after her son.

Graydon didn’t follow them. He could already hear the sounds of retching outside and knew Ferion hadn’t gone far. No doubt, they needed a few moments in private. In any case, he knew he needed a moment.

He couldn’t stand to be in the confines of the dust-filled room any longer. In fact, he would be doing the world a favor if he destroyed the room altogether.

Striding over to the armchair, with one vicious kick he booted it toward the fireplace. It shot across the room, crashing into the flames and knocking logs and embers everywhere.

Following the glowing constellation scattered across the floor, he kicked embers toward the heavy velvet curtains shrouding the front windows. Then he upended the sofa on the rest of the coals.

Malphas would still prey on foolish gamblers, but he wouldn’t be taking anybody’s life in this place again.

When Graydon was through, he walked into the hall to sit on the bottom stairs of the wide marble staircase, elbows on knees and head in his hands while he waited to make sure the fire spread.

It wasn’t enough destruction to suit him. He wanted to rip apart the countryside, set fire to the world. What a wretched, fucked-up day.

After a few moments, quick, light footsteps approached. He didn’t have to look up to know it was Bel. He would recognize her footsteps anywhere, now.

She sat down on the stairs beside him. “The curtains in the receiving room are going up in flames. You set fire to the house?”

He rubbed at his dry eyes. “Not burning the house wasn’t part of the bargain.”

“If this were any other day that would make me laugh.” She sighed. “I suppose you’ve thought of the surrounding countryside.”

“I surveyed the area as we flew in. There may be dust all over the furniture, but sometime in the past growing season, the grounds were well tended. The immediate area is clear of trees and shrubs. Whoever originally built the place set the stables well away from the house.” He looked over his hands at her. “Where’s Ferion?”

“He’s gone to tend to his horse.” In the strong morning light that streamed in through the open front doors, she looked almost as bad as Ferion had, her skin a chalky white, and dark shadows like bruises ringed her large, lovely eyes. “He says that he can feel the lien. It’s like a shackle on him.”

He told her, “I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, but I could throttle him right now.”

She leaned forward to rest her elbows on her knees as he did. She had taken a moment to braid her hair, rather haphazardly, and the long dark silken rope slid forward over her shoulder.

“I’m so angry, I can barely speak to him in a civil tone,” she replied. “It’s incomprehensible to me how he could create such an overwhelming trap, not only for him but for us as well. Can’t he see how his actions have affected others – how they’ve affected me, and now you?” Her eyes filled with sudden liquid. “Does he think so little of his life?”

He needed to touch her so badly it clenched in his stomach like sickness. Malphas mentioned dancing. The Djinn had allowed for them to touch, and that might have been the cruelest part of the bargain.

Slowly, Graydon reached out. When she placed her hand in his, his fingers tightened around hers.

He said, very low, “I can understand wanting and needing something so badly you’re ready to gamble your life away for a chance to have it.”

Her gaze slid sideways at him, and he caught a glimpse of the anguish he had seen in her expression earlier. “This is my fault. I should never have taken your offer of help. I should never have paid his debt the second time, or the third. If I’d only —”

A different kind of pain cut through him. Taking her hand, he held it to his chest, committing the feel and the weight of it to memory, the sensation of her slender fingers curling around his, the softness of her skin. Then he released her, and stood.

“That’s where you and I differ. I could never wish away making love to you.” Despite himself, a note of bitterness entered his voice. “No matter what else happened, or what the cost.”

“Gray,” she said softly, “that wasn’t what I meant.”

“I know what you meant.” If he looked at her, he would kiss her. He closed his eyes. “Can you sense the connections Malphas attached to us?”

She hesitated. “Not really. I felt his Power shimmer when we agreed to the bargain, but now… I can’t feel anything. It’s not anything like what I felt in Ferion.”

He knew better than to entertain any foolish hope that Malphas wouldn’t be able to sense if he and Bel made love. The Djinn would not have demanded terms he couldn’t enforce.

He strode to the doorway of the receiving room. The fire had taken hold with a vengeance. It was small satisfaction. When the blaze grew large enough the smoke would attract people from the nearby town, but they had several minutes before that happened.

Outside, the country air was clean and sharp like a knife. He went around the back to find Ferion emerging from the stable, leading a saddled roan. As he approached the Elven male, he noted how terrible Ferion looked, his normally youthful-looking face lined as if with age.

Graydon wanted nothing more than to unleash his rage on the other man, but the thought of what he had said to Bel remained with him. Need for her ran through his veins, turning part of him into a traitor with ugly thoughts, urging him to do anything it took, just so that he could be with her again.

The predator in him had taken note: nowhere in the Djinn’s bargain had it said Graydon couldn’t kill Ferion and be done with Malphas once and for all.

That same predator took note of Ferion’s inattention and relative fragility, the vein pounding at the side of his neck, the way his hands shook as he handled the reins.