Page 40 of The Demon’s Collar (The Bard’s Demon #1)

I started to retort with appropriate fury and remind him once again that I was not fae, and that even if I were, fae were not dogs who aged by different year counts. His laughter stopped me.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding. But seriously…why would information about your lineage be in a ‘centuries-old’ book if you were born two decades ago?”

I rocked back on the stool. It wasn’t like I hadn’t asked myself the same thing.

And although I’d decided to share what I was searching for, I still wasn’t keen on the idea of telling anyone in the Fated who my mother was or why she might be significant enough to warrant inclusion in the more aged rolling histories.

“The Temple Mother didn’t say,” I said, choosing my words carefully. “But a lot of the histories have entries spanning decades.”

“Decades,” Tavish agreed. “Not centuries.”

I turned my palms up, annoyed by his focus on semantics. “Maybe the ‘centuries’ part was an exaggeration.”

“Yes, prophecies are known for their imprecise language,” he mused drily.

Was he mocking me? I narrowed my eyes.

“Humor me,” Tavish said. “What were the Temple Mother’s exact words?”

I didn’t need to pull out my journal. I’d read the transcribed words every night for months after that temple visit—had long ago committed them to memory. Without hesitation, I recited, “The key to your legacy lies in a centuries-old book.”

Tavish didn’t react at first. And then slowly, he tilted his head. “And the rest?”

“That’s all of it.”

“But the part about your father?” he prompted.

I shook my head. “I asked the Temple Mother how I could find him,” I explained. “I’d been away from my mother for seven years to the day at that point, and I’d had no luck finding him on my own. That was the guidance she gave.”

Tavish pressed his lips together. He met my eyes, and I could see a variety of calculations unfolding in his before he said, “I don’t mean to suggest you’ve been on a wild kobold chase, but is it possible that you’ve misinterpreted…everything?”

I suddenly found Tavish’s pretty eyes a bit grating.

“No,” I said slowly, as if talking to Hammond after he’d caught the scent of sticky buns. “My entire relationship with the temple is about my father. He’s the one who told my mother I have to visit every year. If it’s not— He’s— I mean, he has to be?—”

My argument fizzled out. Did he have to be anything?

He’d never been yet. Maybe his sole contribution to my life was ensuring that I dedicated some part of it to Haz.

There were myriad religious zealots out there.

And sure, this one had to have some measure of power to have made demands of a fae queen—hell, to have impregnated her to begin with.

But did that mean the temple was duty-bound to help me find him?

Tavish’s tone softened. “I know a centuries-old book, is all I’m saying. So do you. Spelled a little differently, but sounds the same…”

I swallowed hard, refusing to meet his eyes .

What was it about hearing someone else say out loud something sensible that you’d already dismissed?

I had thought about B?k in regard to the Temple Mother’s words—sardonically—in the cavern the moment I’d learned his name.

It’d seemed ironic. But it was also too…

too something . Too neat? Too ridiculous?

Too whimsical for the temple to have made that prediction in that way?

And even if the Temple Mother had actually meant B?k, how did that connect to my legacy?

Was it simply that I was destined to join the Fated?

That didn’t explain why the Huntress wanted me.

Why the old crone of a Temple Mother today had ended her life in response to my visit. Why anything.

I shook my head, searching for words.

Tavish took a few tentative steps forward, laying his hand on my forearm. “Do you want to find him?”

I looked hopelessly at the mess of books.

I needed Tavish to be wrong. My legacy couldn’t be this collar.

My legacy couldn’t be a demon whose sole purpose where I was concerned was to possess me.

The very thought made me want to scratch my skin off.

And then images from the past twenty-four hours assaulted me.

B?k scrying with his cock buried inside me.

B?k washing me in the rain after utterly destroying me.

Me grabbing B?k’s hand as I approached the temple like a gods-damned nervous child.

Shit, shit, shit.

How had I relaxed into this? Was I letting him become my legacy?

In a flash, I had a bad idea.

“No,” I said, sitting up straighter and looking Tavish dead in the eye. “I don’t want to find him. I want to fuck you on this pile of books.”

Screw the brand on my thigh. Screw the Temple Mother. Screw B?k. If Haz’s devotees were called to make their own fate, then I would. And I would make sure it wasn’t him.

For a beat, Tavish stared at me, and I stared right back. Then his lips twitched—and for one fraction of a second, I thought he was going to agree.

He was not.

“As fun as that sounds,” he said, clearing his throat as a shit-eating grin took over, “I’m not especially interested in the eternal torment side of the equation. Sorry, pal.”

Heat bloomed in my cheeks. Of course. Anyone I touched would face B?k’s wrath. How incredibly selfish to even suggest putting a factionmate in that position.

Oh, except maybe Fl?r?

No.

I really did need sleep. And maybe to shoot something.

“Fine.” I slapped the table with an open palm, giving up. “Let’s find B?k.”