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Regardless, he locked it this time, feeling more than a little stupid for doing it. But there were people in this house that he had to protect, and even if that deadbolt bought them two extra seconds, those two seconds might mean the difference between the people he loved living or dying.
The others had made their way into the kitchen, where Ivy, Jack, and Travis were waiting, along with Dominic, who’d stuck around after Darien had run into him at the MPU headquarters. They were all at the island, Ivy in her husband’s lap, arm slung around his neck. In the adjoined sitting room, Bandit was pancaked on the couch, nose whistling as he slept—a restful state that was soon interrupted as he became aware of the people around him, eyelids opening in a flash.
When the Familiar Spirit caught sight of the girl at Lace’s side, he lifted his head, a low growl rumbling from deep in his chest.
Cool it, big guy, Darien said down their bond as he walked past the couch. She needed help.
Another stray? Bandit’s voice was a smoky hiss. This isn’t a Darkslayer house anymore, it’s a rescue facility.
If you’re referring to Mortifer, you’re going to have to get over that eventually, and you know it. From the moment Darien had brought Mortifer home, Bandit had made it his personal mission to turn the Hob’s life into a living hell, which was why Mortifer chose to spend most of his time on top of the refrigerator. Initially, it had provided security—a safe place to hide from Bandit and the other Familiars. The ice chips were an added bonus, and it hadn’t taken long for the Hob to discover how much he loved those. Now, he barely ever came down from that fridge. Darien was still waiting for Bandit to snap and knock the whole damn thing over.
Bandit whistled a sigh through his nose and flopped his head back down. Freeloading demon-monkey…
Darien raised a brow. I heard that.
Bandit simply closed his eyes and pretended to be sleeping.
“We haven’t been able to figure out anything about her,” Lace was saying to Dominic in the kitchen. “Not even her name.” The stranger was still glued to her hip, her eyes flicking about the kitchen as if she’d never seen half the things that were in it. Dominic was seated at the island, finishing off his third beer.
Pushing his hair back from his face, Darien crossed the kitchen and leaned back against the counter near the fridge, where Mortifer was chewing on chips of ice, as usual.
The crunch, crunch of ice being crushed between tiny teeth had Darien glancing at Bandit again, just in time to see his left eyelid slowly open as he looked toward the fridge…
Don’t even think— Darien began.
Bandit promptly shut his eye. Wasn’t even thinking about it.
Darien rolled his eyes so hard, he saw gray.
“It seems she can only speak Ilevyn,” Lace was saying. Ilevyn—a language that was even harder to learn than Ancient Reunerian. Hardly anyone living knew how to speak it, and the odd person who did only knew fragments of the language, not enough to have a firm grasp on it. Most of it had been lost to time and death long ago, and because it was considered obsolete, not many people bothered to learn it.
The Angel polished off the last of his beer and leaned across the counter to set the bottle in the sink. “I know a little bit of Ilevyn, actually.” His tone was casual, like it wasn’t the biggest deal in the world.
Everyone’s attention went to Dominic. When the Angel became aware of the multiple pairs of eyes on him, his own shifted from side to side, a frown pulling on his mouth. “What?”
Darien smirked. “Only the fact that Ilevyn hasn’t been widely known or taught in thousands of years, yet you casually mention that you know how to speak it?”
“Yeah, what else are you hiding?” Tanner crooned.
Dom leaned back in his seat and stretched his vast wings out, the motion causing the girl to flinch. Barely a second passed before she was staring intently at the black feathers, fingers twitching at her sides, as if she were debating touching them. And whenever she wasn’t entranced by his wings, she was examining the tattoos on his hands and arms.
Darien nearly laughed. The girl already seemed to fancy the Angel.
“My dad had an interest in learning dead languages,” Dom said. “It was one of his hobbies when I was a kid, so I never thought of it as weird.” Dom’s dad, like so many others, had died of the Tricking.
Lace asked him, “Do you think you can try to learn anything about her? Maybe see if you can communicate, or at least try to find out her name?” At this, Darien raised a brow. Lace had never been the type to go out of her way to help someone, so this was a first. He wondered if she saw a little of herself in the stranger—back in her days of living not just under Lionel Savage’s roof but also his rules.
If only she’d been as welcoming when he’d brought Loren home.
“I can certainly try,” Dom said.
Darien pushed away from the counter with the heels of his hands and walked into the middle of the kitchen. “If you want to take her into the library and see what you can learn while I have a talk with my Devils, that would be appreciated.”
“Of course,” Dom said. “But only if I can have another beer.”
“I’ll go with him.”
At the sound of Loren’s soft voice, Darien turned to see her drifting into the kitchen, cradling an empty mug in her hands. He’d barely had a chance to see her since he got home. He was so wound up from the day’s events that her voice alone was enough to ease the tension in his shoulders and make him think straighter.
