Realizing she was dead serious, Miguel’s retreat turned into a desperate scramble. He tried to run, but every wound betrayed him, reducing his strides to a pathetic shuffle. After a dozen unsteady steps, his legs folded, and he crashed into the snow and mud.
Flat on his back, he stared up at Elliana towering above him, her face as cold and merciless as any reaper’s. He could not die. Not yet. There were things he still had to do.
“Elliana, let’s make a deal!” he blurted, words spilling out before he could shape them. He had nothing she wanted, no leverage, while she held everything he desired. What bargaining chip could he possibly offer?
Elliana hesitated for the barest moment.
“A deal?” she said, an almost invisible flicker of interest passing through her.
“Fine. Tell me, what do you have that I would want?”
His mind raced, and a single name tore free.
“Quentin.”
At the name, Elliana felt her chest tighten. This was the heart of her every provocation and push, all for a single goal—to find out whether Quentin was still alive and where he might be. She could not, however, reveal her true purpose or let Miguel sense her desperation to rescue Quentin. She smoothed her expression into a hard, unreadable mask.
“You do not care for Quentin much, do you?” Miguel prodded, searching her face for weakness.
“But he is obsessed with you, Elliana. He defied my orders for you. Because of you, he is suffering. Does that mean nothing to you? Don’t you want to save him?”
Elliana dropped her eyes, pretending to mull it over before lifting her chin and meeting Miguel’s gaze.
“Alright, let’s hear what you have in mind.”
Miguel’s shoulders eased a bit, glad Elliana was at least willing to talk.
“If you let me leave here today, I’ll set Quentin free as soon as I’m back at the base of the Evernight Alliance.”
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A dry, mocking laugh slipped out as Elliana studied him.
“Do you honestly expect me to trust you, Miguel? Who’s to say you won’t go back on your promise? If I let you walk out now, what’s stopping you from killing him just out of spite?”
She paused, her stare growing colder.
“Or maybe he’s already dead and you’re just tricking me with a lie.”
“Quentin is still alive, I swear it!” Miguel’s voice came out desperate, rising with every word.
“When he turned on me, I really wanted to end his life right then. But I held back. He’s got a gift, and I have always admired that kind of talent. I don’t let go of exceptional people. You know that as well as anyone.” Bitterness crept into his eyes as his words shifted.
.
.
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