Devil's Plaything

Wicked Virtues

He was silent for a moment as he watched her. Then, he lay down next to her and took a deep breath. "I'm not sure. I've never exactly been."

Mira shrugged, feeling silly for having asked. "I thought maybe you had heard something about it." He remained quiet, and she felt pressure to change the topic. "Do you have demon friends?"

He chuckled. The sound was easy and charming, different from his typical sardonic laugh. "You think I don't have any friends?"

"Sorry," Mira said, holding back a grin. "I just don't really know anything about you."

"I don't know much about you, either," Noah said. They spoke quietly, as if they were discussing a sensitive topic. "It doesn't feel that way, though," he added. "I feel like I know you well." She felt that sense of intimacy he had a habit of provoking with a single, well-aimed remark.

The conversation was beginning to become too warm for Mira's taste. She needed to divert attention from the increasing tension between them. While she usually disengaged with him by changing the topic, she instead thought that drawing attention to the situation in a humorous way may prove more effective. "Is this how you talk to all your friends after you teach them self-defense under the starlight?" she asked, trying to steer the conversation in a shallower direction.

He turned his head towards her, seeming surprised by her words. "Is that what we are?" His eyes were relentless as he searched hers. "Friends?" She turned from him and looked back at the stars. Silence passed, but she didn't respond. "I would feel privileged to be considered your friend," he said with finality.

Mira couldn't answer his question. She didn't feel obligated to, either. And, if she was being honest with herself, she knew that under different circumstances they could very well have been good friends. But he had taken her soul from her in order to benefit himself—even if she had consented, even if it had been the only way she could have saved Sam—and now she was going to go to Hell for it. She knew that fact should bother her more than it did.

For the first time, it occurred to her to question whether it was fair for her to condemn Noah for her losing her soul, but not grant Sam any moral responsibility. Of course, Sam had been by her side, helping her out since the incident. She had to beg Noah for his help.

But right after that thought, she remembered a time when she had rejected his help, before she realized she could really benefit from it: the time when Noah had tried to save her from being robbed.

He kept his focus on the sky when she looked at him, despite seeming to be aware of her staring. She had never examined his profile before. Unsurprisingly, he was striking from that angle. His defined jawline framed strong cheekbones. His nose was straight, and his expressive eyes were framed with dark lashes that were visible even under faint starlight. He was growing stubble, she realized. It was likely because she had been keeping him too occupied to shave for the past few days.

She wondered what he had sold his soul for, and to whom he had sold it. Had he been resentful about it afterwards, as she was now? Looking back, did he think it had been worth it? She was so curious that she almost actually asked him. But she feared that the line of questioning would cross a boundary from which it would be impossible to return. So, instead she asked, "if you had been in my position, would you have saved Sam?"

His eyes skimmed across the sky as he considered the question. "Sam? No. Saving those I barely know if not a virtue of mine."

"What are your virtues, then?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. It was clear that she was starting a personal conversation, but it seemed natural somehow.

He smiled, proving instantly that attractiveness was certainly among his strengths. "While I'm not as brave or as righteous as you are, I will sacrifice anything for the people I love." She stared, wondering if he was giving an answer to her unasked question about why he had sold his soul.