Surprise flickered through Jack’s eyes. “You both sanctioned the possession of humans?”
“Temporarily,” I said, ashamed.
Temporary or not, it was wrong, all of it. I’d hated the gleam in Blood Mama’s human eyes as I’d called her back for help—compelling more possessions, violating more lives. That should have been the line in the sand, one I’d never cross. But I had, without more than a moment’s thought.
Because there was another line in the sand. Humans on one side, demons on the other. And God if I hadn’t made a choice that I still couldn’t face, or speak of out loud. It wasn’t shame I felt every time I sided with the demons—it was self-loathing.
Grant squeezed my hand. I kissed his shoulder, wishing I could just stay there, leaning up against him for the rest of my life. Instead, I nudged him away. “We’ll meet you in the camp. Lord Ha’an has to be warned that Jack is coming. The other clans will have to prepare, too.”
Demons might want to eat humans, but there was no hate involved. Jack, on the other hand, was one of the architects of the prison. He and his kind had committed atrocities against the demons. Fought them in a thousand-year war.
This was not going to be cute.
Grant didn’t smile. I wasn’t sure he could. I realized right then how tired he appeared, and his dry lips were close to cracking. He still had that odd flush in his cheeks, which stood out against his pale, drawn skin.
I regretted I’d said anything. “Never mind, it can wait. Come inside. You shouldn’t be alone, anyway.”
He shook his head. “It has to be done.”
“We’ll get Mary to do it. She needs to take the kids back anyway.”
Jack squinted, staring hard at my husband. I wondered how awake he really was because he seemed to have trouble focusing. But when he did lock in on Grant, all the considerable lines in his face seemed to get only deeper, and harder.
“My dear boy,” he said. “You are being cannibalized.”
Grant flashed him a hard look. “That’s a bit dramatic.”
I stared. “What?”
Jack scowled. “I knew there would be consequences to those bonds. I had hoped otherwise, but you, lad, are no demon. No matter how powerful you are. You were not made for the burden you bear.”
Grant shook his head and limped toward the power-charged six-wheeler parked in front of the porch: the only vehicle that could transport him around the full three thousand acres of our land.
I blocked his path. “Jack,” I said, holding my husband’s gaze. “Talk.”
“He won’t die,” said my grandfather, still watching him with those piercing, searching eyes. “The bond he shares with you won’t let him. But the bond with those demons is different. He’s not . . . taking. He’s only giving. And that’s not the way it works.”
“How do you know?” Grant snapped, but all that anger deflated as a coughing fit hit him, and he turned away, bent over, covering his mouth as his entire frame rattled. It was an ugly, wet sound—and when it eased, I wanted to check his hand for blood.
“Lad,” said Jack in a gentle voice, “I spent a thousand years studying these creatures. I had to because we were trying to kill them. What you are doing will leave you a walking corpse. I can see it. Surely others can, too. I’m surprised your . . . people . . . haven’t warned you.”
“Grant,” I said.
“Another hour won’t turn me into a zombie, Maxine. Let it go.”
“This has to stop.”
“How? I can’t cut the bonds. Even if I could, we need them now. We need these demons.”
“We never needed them before.”
“You’re being stubborn.” Grant leaned in, dropping his voice. “I know you. I know how afraid you are of losing me . . . losing all of this . . . but there has to be a better solution than just letting the ax fall. You know that.”
“Whatever.” I poked his chest with my finger. “I know you, too, and you’re too smart to let yourself be . . . abused . . . like this. You’re not acting like yourself.”
He closed his eyes, mouth tight—but it was all pain, and weariness. “Of course I’m not. The things I hear inside my head, what those demons make me feel—”
Grant stopped and went very still. It wasn’t just physical. I felt him draw inward, shutter down, put up the walls: like a door slamming in my face. I couldn’t remember a single time he’d ever done that to me. Usually, it was the other way around. I was the one who hated being vulnerable. I was the one who was defensive with my heart.