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“You’re not a fan of organized religion?” he asks.
“Not when it spouts nothing but horseshit,” I say, and his eyebrows raise.
“You don’t believe in Aletha?” he asks, shock coloring his tone as we pick up our pace, Zev merely grunting as we slowly work our way through the crowd now dispersing to the small market booths.
“I do,” I admit. “My father made sure I knew the stories our of goddess, working the grand tales into our bedtime routine before h...” Emotion takes over my voice, but I do my best to press on. “My mother never spoke on the goddess much, so I’m not sure if she believed or not.”
“Why do you think she didn’t believe?”
“My father always explained it’s because he and her were raised so differently, him being an incubus and her being?—”
I clear my throat, feigning a coughing fit and shake my head. Close. That was too close. Have I truly gotten so comfortable with Jagger that I let my tongue run away like that? I study him as we walk, wondering if he slipped a little siren power into our conversation. I find nothing but mild curiosity, and he didn’t so much as hum at me.
No, it’s my fault. The slip, the memories, the heinous words of the acolyte. It’s building beneath my skin in a way I’m terrified will burst out of me involuntarily.
“Anyway,” I say, pausing as Zev moves to a nearby wooden table and buys a bag of apples for ten times what they’re worth, the only fruit that isn’t spoiled on the entire table. “I don’t believe in what he was saying. And I don’t think Aletha would be too happy about it either.”
“He’s a Collector acolyte,” Jagger says. “He teaches people how to pray and when to worship. You don’t think Aletha appreciates that attention?”
“I highly doubt she’d be happy that her followers are spreading lies to the masses in order to justify cold-blooded murder. You heard him talking about the creatures who are in hiding and supposedly plotting against the Collector. He’s practically begging for riots.”
Zev grunts as he returns with the apples, forcing us to walk through the crowds again. “Lies?” he asks, eyebrows drawn as he looks down at me while we move, Rain following behind us dutifully. “The elimination of the tresses may be the only justified purge in history.”
I stop dead in my tracks, my lips parted as shock barrels through me. I blink a few times, repeating his words in my head to make sure I heard him correctly.
“Tell me you’re not that dense,” I snap, and his golden eyes flare at my tone.
“Excuse me?” he grumbles, tugging on the reins to pull Rain off the main path, situating us between two crumbling huts. “Have you forgotten who you’re dealing with, little succubus?”
“Have you forgotten that I saved your life last week, drifter?” I hiss right back. Anger slices through me like flames, and my magic rises to the surface, begging to be unleashed.
“I will never forget,” he says plainly. “What the fuck does that have to do with you calling me stupid?”
I glare up at him. “You can’t honestly believe that the elimination of an entire species is justifiable.”
Zev takes a calculated step toward me, all his muscles and power and dominance on full display, as if that will sway my argument. He doesn’t fucking know me. That only makes me want to fight harder.
“The tresses,” Zev says, his voice low. “Were a band of evil witches focused on taking over everything. They weren’t capable of empathy or remorse?—”
“You’re spouting horror stories mothers tell their younglings to get them to behave,” I cut him off, absolutely fuming.
“There is always a hint of truth in legend,” he fires back.
“If that’s the case, then a succubus is nothing more than a seductive temptress who fucks males without their consent while they sleep.” I roll my eyes. “And they shouldn’t be capable of leaving an open wound untouched,” I argue, raising my brows as I fold my arms over my chest.
I watch his face, watch it all play out in his eyes—last week, when he and Jagger were attacked. I could’ve easily drunk my fill on any one of those wretched drifters who tried to take me, but Ididn’t.
“You’re too young to remember what it was like when tresses walked freely?—”
“You’re barely older than me, so don’t play superior. I remember everything.”
A muscle in his jaw ticks, and Jagger, who’s remained loudly silent this entire conversation, steps up to my side. I don’t know who he’s trying to protect—me from Zev or Zev from me.
“Why do you care so much?” Zev asks, his hands in fists at his sides. “Or do you just delight in arguing with me so much you’ll do anything to pick a fight?”
WhydoI care what he says? What he thinks? There’s barely a soul alive that feels any differently toward tresses, but Goddess, every time I think I’ve taken a step toward respect with Zev we take two giant steps backward.
“I care about people who cower behind religion in order to justify their own disgraceful needs, and wiping out an entire race is one of them.” My words are low, harsh whispers in the heat of this argument.
