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I hesitated, then continued. “There is one way. One way to bind a human to an oath... which you won’t like.”

His eyebrows pinched together. “How?”

“We’ve done it before, sort of. You give them your blood, enough for them to curse you with. So you can’t renege.”

He stared at me incredulously. “Should I cut off my own head while I’m at it?”

“Have I not proven that you can trust Infernari to keep an oath,no matter what?Alive, dead, it doesn’t matter to them. They just want you to stop killing our kind.Iwant you to stop killing our kind... and I want you to live past tomorrow.”

“And rot in a dungeon for the rest of my life?”

“I’m a lifebreather, I’m the princeps of Abyssos, I’m the primus’s daughter. Even deathmarked, I still have some sway.”

He studied my expression, and I waited, and waited.

Finally, he seemed to deflate, and he said, “Maybe.”

I felt my entire body relax, too.

Maybe was good enough for me.

Human aromas filledthe kitchen as several of the pots and pans in front of me bubbled and simmered. Next to me sat my mostly empty glass of wine.

“I can’t believe I’m making Italian food in Mexico,” Asher muttered from where he cut vegetables.

“I can’t believe I’m makinghumanfood!” I was practically bouncing on the balls my feet.

I might’ve drunk my wine a little too fast.

“You’re watching noodles boil,” Asher said over his shoulder. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

He stopped chopping. “And—” He came over, stepping up behind me, so close that his chest pressed into my back.

I didn’t breathe for a moment.

“—you’re supposed to be stirring.”

“Hmmm?” I said, distracted by the way I fit against him. The crown of my head came up to his sternum, and my torso was engulfed by his broad chest.

He was big, even by Infernarus standards.

Asher picked up a large wooden spoon and put it in my hand. Then he wrapped his fingers around mine, our arms brushing together. He directed our hands round and round the pot in front of us, stirring the long flat noodles.

If this was how humans always cooked, I’d found myself a new hobby.

A lock of my hair draped itself over Asher’s arm. He paused, and I bit the inside of my cheek. Human hair didn’t do that—lay claim to things it liked. And Asher was pretty skeptical of anything not human.

I could practically feel his eyes on the dark strands that lay against his skin. After a moment, he resumed stirring as though nothing were amiss.

We stood together like that for a while. I wondered if he was as tense as I was; I couldn’t tell. He seemed like a natural when it came to physical closeness, despite his cold and aloof attitude. And he seemed content to stay pressed against me.

“Are you sure this is going to taste good?” I asked, dragging my attention back to the boiling pot. The noodles were interesting enough to look at, but earlier, when I tried to bite into one, it was hard and bland. Even softened, I couldn’t imagine these tasting all that appetizing.

“I’m sure,” Asher said, his breath tickling my ear. “In fact, now’s a good time to check if the noodles are ready.”

“How do you check?” I asked, only slightly interested in what he was saying. I was more enraptured by this strange intimacy between us.

“You taste one. If they’re soft, they’re ready.”