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“We know what you are taught about us, that when your kind do heinous acts you claim to be possessed by ours, but shifting blame is just another atrocity humans commit. It has been centuries since the ancestors of the demons here were summoned up out of the hells. Summoned by your kind I might add.” Severath speared one of the steamed roots on his plate, and the piece crumbled around his fork leaving a crevice all too similar to the scar in Aldgate Square.

“And that means none of you ever hurt one another?” she spat despite the widening white ring in her eyes.

Severath called back his fangs. She hadn’t summoned anyone, and despite the insult, she was only looking for reassurance.

“The humans are under the protection of the council— you are under the protection of the council. There will be no hurting—the lot of you are safe.” He chewed and then tipped his head.

“I can’t imagine a demon being interested in a human anyway, so they wouldn’t even court one.

First, that would require attraction, and humans don’t even have tails .

And secondly, why woo a mate incapable of soulbonding? ”

“A mate?” She cocked her head as if he were stupid. “Soulbonding?”

“Yes—the natural progression of things. Well…” And then Severath did feel stupid—he had a mate or two in his past but as for progressing… “Never mind. Eat.”

She made a quiet noise of annoyance and shook her head, her dark hair dusting her shoulders as she speared a piece of meat. “This really isn’t human, is it?”

“Of course not.”

She sniffed it, the other conversation apparently over, thank the hells. “You said it’s from the Veilwood? Is that the place you found us?”

“No, the Veilwood is the place between here and there. The Dreadmoor is significantly more dangerous.”

The meat flopped limply on her fork, and he did have to admit it looked unappetizing. “Is Veilwood boar supposed to be so…gray?”

Severath balked at that word, but humans already had muted skin colors, so he swallowed back the defense of his only friend, a demon whose skin and magic had faded. “If you do not wish to eat it?—”

She finally stuck the fork in her mouth and began to chew…and chew and chew. Blunted teeth , he thought, shrugging and going back to his own meal.

They fell into a silence filled only with the sounds of scraping ceramic and the occasional swallow. She was careful to inspect the copper cup he’d put out, sniffing the water multiple times before drinking. What she hoped to discern, he couldn’t know—human senses were painfully dull in comparison.

“Well?” he finally asked when she had cleared half her plate.

She made him wait through another exaggerated chewing session to finally tell him, “The bread’s good.”

Of course it was, Lazerath made that.

Severath shoveled in a huge bite to keep from sniping at her, which was clearly what she wanted. He partook in his own rendition of her chewing spectacle though it turned necessary halfway through when a dry, overcooked bit proved untearable.

“Tails are weird.”

“What?” he asked around a tough mouthful.

“Tails.” She gestured to his as it flicked unconsciously through the gap in the back of his chair. “They’re gross. Kind of like this boar.”

“First of all?—”

“Oh, Nhil take me if you’re going to count again.”

“—having a fifth appendage is nothing but a boon.”

“You’ve only got five?” The corner of her mouth ticked up.

He feigned stoic deafness, though his tail was not so convincing as it thwacked against the floor. “And second, er— also , they come in all sorts of shapes, so you can’t just make a sweeping generalization about all tails like that.”

The woman crossed her arms and sat back, face pinched. “ Yes, I can: tails are extra long spine covered in skin, which is gross. And yours is scaly. Double gross.”

“Those are plates, not scales. And some tails have tufts of hair at the end.”

She retched. “Disgusting.”

“All right, enough.” Why in all the hells was he arguing with her about something so idiotic? “How did you do it?”

She stiffened, lips turning down. “Do what?”

“Kill him.”

The woman moved then, but to an undiscerning eye it wouldn’t have been noticed. Her knuckles tightened, her jaw ticked and nostrils flared, and her next breath came shallow and quick. “Knife,” she whispered, eyes turning down.

“And how did?—”

“There’s no point,” she growled. “Just throw me in jail or hang me.”

Severath wanted to argue that indeed the entire point of her presence was the point —how she had done it, why she had done it, if she was redeemable—yet there was no light in her eyes, no flame that could be bent or fanned to say more, only a deadened steadfastness that she would remain silent because it simply didn’t matter.

It was untrue, he realized as he studied her untwitching lips—what she had to say did matter, but there would be no prying it out of her then.

“Can I go back upstairs?” she asked in a stilted tone.

Severath nodded, and she stood, scurrying away without even throwing him a last glower.

He leaned back and pinched the bridge of his nose, still painful but what did that matter? If he couldn’t even question a human properly, then he deserved to suffer.

A noise made him stiffen, though, and he caught the human’s figure in the corner of his good eye. She darted into the alcove, but only to snatch the rest of the bread loaf before scurrying away again.

Final challenge failed. For now.