Page 94 of The Devil May Care

“What?”

He shakes his head. “Magically. I’m not allowed to speak of it. Not the shape, not the scope, not the danger. I can’t even write it down. I tried. It doesn’t work.”

I feel it, then. A chill that crawls over my skin like ash.

“They want me to go in blind?” I ask. “That’s the plan?”

“Yes,” he says. The word is acid.

I can’t stop staring at him. At the fury in his eyes—at how much it clearly hurts him not to be able to warn me.

“He did this to you?” I whisper. “Your own father?”

He doesn’t answer. But that silence is answer enough.

Something inside me breaks open. Not fear, exactly. Not even despair. Just… sorrow. And something like loyalty. I thought maybe I wasn’t important enough to be told. But he’s being silenced. By the man who raised him. Who rules this realm. It wouldn’t have been necessary unless Caz… I turn my head to hide my smile.

“You’re not upset?” he asks, and his voice is too careful. “That I can’t help you?”

My head jerks up. “What?”

“I know you want to be prepared,” he continues. “And I failed you. I let my father—”

“Stop.” He goes still at the word, and I get to my feet, heart pounding. “I’m not upset with you. I’m furious for you.” His eyes finally snap to mine. “You think I care that I don’t get a cheat sheet?” I ask, stepping closer. “I’m angry because your father doesn’t trust you. Because instead of having your back, he shackled you. You—who’ve done nothing but try to help me, who’s given me shelter and training and kindness—he treated you like a liability.”

Caziel stares at me, stunned.

“I thought…” he begins, then shakes his head. “You’re the one facing the flame. I thought your anger would be about that. About being thrown to it blind.”

“I’m used to people trying to control me,” I say bitterly. “But you? You were betrayed by family. By someone you should be able to trust.” A slow exhale escapes him. His features shift, softening with something like awe—or grief. He shakes his head. “You shouldn’t have to be afraid of the people who are supposed to protect you,” I murmur.

He looks like he’s trying to swallow glass. Then I do something that surprises even me: I reach up and touch his face, and he doesn’t pull back.

I trace the curve of his jaw, the barely-there stubble I hadn’t noticed before. He leans into my palm like he’s starving for it.

“I hate that he did that to you,” I whisper. “That he took your voice.”

His hand comes up to cover mine. “You’re the first person to say that.”

The air shifts between us—something deeper than attraction, heavier than heat. I feel it settle in my bones.

“Will you let me feed you?” Caziel asks, voice low, rough with something that scrapes the edge of desperation. “Please. It’s the least I can do.” I blink up at him. For a second, I can’t breathe. The words shouldn’t feel like that—like an offering. Like a vow.

“Yes,” I say softly. And it feels like I’ve agreed to more than food.

He exhales slowly, and I see it then—how tightly he’s holding himself together. The way his shoulders tense and his gaze doesn’t waver from mine. Like he’s memorizing me. Like this is something he can still control, still offer, when everything else has been taken away.

He starts to step back, to guide me inside, when we hear the sharp echo of boots against stone. Caziel stiffens. Before I can even register the sound, he’s moving. A large hand at my lower back, another curling lightly around my wrist as he pivots, places himself between me and the corridor like a shield. The movement is precise, practiced. I find myself pulled into the hard line of his chest, his body blocking me from view, one arm angled just enough that I can see his fingers twitch with restrained tension.

My hands instinctively land against him—one braced on his chest, the other gripping the edge of his coat—and I’m suddenly very aware of how close we are. His scent, the heat of him, the feel of his breath as it brushes the top of my head.

My heart pounds like a drum line. “Caz,” I whisper urgently, craning my head slightly to look up at him. “What are you doing? They’re going to think we’re…”

Kissing.

Necking.

Fucking.