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Malakai’s Familiar swept down from the shadows above the cupboards to perch on his shoulder. Creature was his name—a bat with an arrowhead tail, whose wingbeats kicked up black sparkly clouds everywhere he went. He got along well with Bandit, considering Bandit usually preferred to eat any living thing that was smaller than him.
Bandit stirred in Darien’s shadow. Can you blame me? Small things are pesky, and they usually taste good.
You’re hilarious. He paused, glancing at his shadow that was slanted across the floor. Wait a minute, are you referring to Mortifer?
Bandit started humming to himself.
Malakai turned the tap on. “Get the hell out of here, I’m sick of looking at you guys.”
Darien gave Loren’s thigh a prompting pat. She slid off him and stepped away so he could stand. Aside from Jack, all the other Devils, along with Dallas, were seated near the fireplace with the same Reapers as before, and they rose when they saw him glance their way.
“Meet us at Channary’s this Saturday,” Darien told Malakai. “Six o’clock.” Lacing his fingers with Loren’s, he added, “Sharp, Mal.”
Malakai mimicked him in a squeaky voice, “‘Sharp, Mal.’”
“Fuck, you’re annoying.”
Malakai flipped him off. “I’ll be there at seven o’clock sharp.”
“You mean six o’clock.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”
Regaining Malakai’s favor was a task he could now cross off his list. It wasn’t the biggest obstacle he would have to tackle, not by any means, but at least it was something.
As soon as he came to an agreement with Channary, he would be able to breathe easier. Malakai was dangerous, it was true, but he had a good head on his shoulders, and he was easier to reason with.
Channary and Lionel were the opposite. While Malakai had once been one of Darien’s best friends, Channary and Lionel had always fit strictly into the enemies category. They would be a hard sell, and even if they agreed to work with him, he would never be able to let his guard down and fully trust them.
After what happened with Calanthe, and how easily she’d fooled them all with nothing but a bit of Nacht Essentia, he would take no chances. Looking around at his friends as they made their way out of the House of Souls, he realized he had a lot to lose, and he was unwilling to part with any of it. The choices he made from here on out would be tied to everyone who was important to him.
He refused to fuck it up.
16
Precisely twenty-three minutes had passed since they’d left the House of Souls, and Loren was still struggling to breathe. Twenty-three minutes, and Darien hadn’t said a word. Not to her, not to anyone.
The longer the silence dragged on, the quicker Loren’s heart pounded. The way she had to resort to watching him in the rear-view mirror from where she sat in the back seat, his eyes never once meeting hers in the glass, reminded her of their visit to Stone’s End. She’d pissed him off that night—badly. And now she feared she had done it again.
She knew she had made a mistake—that much was a given. Getting in the middle of a fight that had nothing to do with her had been a huge mistake. Darien had taken a chance by allowing her to go with him to the House of Souls, and she’d wrecked it by interfering. She could feel it.
The golden lights of Hell’s Gate shone in the distance as they drove through the Victoria Amazonica District, sprawling mansions with winding driveways passing by in blurs. The neighborhood was sleepy and peaceful, the windows in most of the houses dark.
A couple minutes later, the car slowed to a crawl, wrought-iron gates swinging open.
Darien turned onto the driveway, gravel popping under the tires. He stopped in his usual spot out front, put the car in park, and dimmed the headlights. Seatbelts unbuckled, and doors swung open as the others got out, leaving her alone with Darien in the car. Dallas threw her a backward glance before taking Max’s outstretched hand and continuing up to the front steps.
Loren waited until the others were inside before she undid her seatbelt, the snap of the buckle severing the silence. Darien’s face betrayed nothing as he cut the engine and grabbed his phone and keys.
She got out, shut her door, and made her way to the front steps. The night was hushed, the sound of Darien’s door swinging open slicing through the still yard. She was all too aware of the Devil walking just behind her, that brooding male presence she’d felt nearly every day since last fall looming at her back.
As soon as they got through the front door, Darien removed his jacket and shirt, both of them too bloody from his fight with Malakai to continue wearing, and draped them on the railing of the staircase. She could feel him watching her as he took a seat at the bottom of the stairs and undid the laces on his boots.
The silence between them weighed on her, heavy and thick. She wanted to break it, but she didn’t know how, and she wondered if it might be better to wait for him to do it instead.
Loren wiggled her feet out of her shoes, not bothering to untie them, and crossed the entrance hall. As she walked past Darien, the space between them electrified with tension, those eyes tracking every movement she made.
When she spoke, she fiddled with the charms on her bracelet, the tiny shops and restaurants all made of rose gold. “Could you come upstairs with me, please?” Even she could hear the uncertainty in her breathy tone. She pulled herself up the stairs, hand grasping the smooth rail. After a moment, she heard Darien following behind her.
