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… You know why …

You too?I think.

My gaze moves to the girl’s face, and the moment I take her in, I know I’m already going to agree to whatever idiot bargain she wants. Even if some enemy of mine orchestrated this meeting. And it’s all because of her eyes. I can’t look away from them. That old mortal adage, that eyes are windows to the soul, is absolutely true; these ones are wounded, so very, very wounded.

Perhaps this isn’t a clever ploy. Perhaps she is simply as she appears, and the strange pull I feel has nothing to do with some dark enchantment.

Blood coats her, splattered across her face, speckled down her chest, and clumped in her hair. Her lower lip trembles.

What happened to you, and who do I have to kill to make it right?

The darkness hisses, clamoring around me, divulging all sorts of secrets.

… too late …

… She already beat you to it …

… abused her …

… many years …

… many horrors …

… got what was coming to him …

Fury washes over me as the shadows tell me all of their secrets. I take in the dead man before me, and I have to fight the very real urge to bash his face in with my boot. My attention returns to the girl.

… mate …

Shut up.

“Who is he?” I ask, feeling all sorts of sinister emotions rising.

She swallows.

“Who. Is. He?” I’m nearly vibrating with anger. I haven’t felt this way since my father, and even then, was my anger ever this white hot, this aggressive and fierce?

“My stepfather,” she rasps.

My power thickens in my veins.

“Did he deserve it?” I already know the answer, but I can’t accept it. If this girl is who I think she is …

You don’t know that she’s your soulmate. Nothing about this aligns with what you’ve heard of bonded mates. You could be getting conned.

A tear slips down her cheek, cutting through a smear of blood that mars her face. The sight slices through my fury and skepticism, and stirs what little empathy I have. I’ve seen a lot of vulnerable people throughout my life, but this is the first time someone’s pain felt like my own.

I rub my mouth.She’s a bloody teenager, Desmond. A teenager in a bad place.

Maybe I am getting conned, maybe I’m not. But she’s young and frightened and has death on her hands, and the sight gets to me.

I can’tnothelp her.

“Fine,” I rasp. “I’ll help you at”—can’t believe I’m doing this—“no cost. Just this once.” I’m promising myself that more than the girl. “Consider this my pro bono for the century.”

Breaking all my godsdamned rules.

She opens her mouth to thank me.