Loren felt herself blushing. “I donothave the hots for him.”
Dallas clicked her tongue. “Yes, she does. She’s just in denial, Sab.” Sabrine laughed, but then Dallas was assessing the witch-turned-wolfwith a shrewd eye. “Tell us about Logan.”
Sabrine stiffened. “What about him?”
“Ooh,thereit is!” Dallas giggled, pointing a sharp, red-painted nail at her. “You liiiiike him.”
Sabrine crossed her arms. “I do not!” she huffed.
Dallas tsked. “You’re both screwed, and you know it.”
“You’re one to talk, Dallas,” Loren cut in. “Miss I’m-going-to-jump-Maximus-Reacher’s-bones-the-first-chance-I-get.”
Sabrine gasped. “Did shereallysay that?”
Dallas popped the videogame out of its case. “The difference between me and you girls,” she drawled, “is at least Iadmitwhen I like someone.”
“I don’t like Logan,” Sabrine said again, her tone clipped. She slumped against the couch cushions. “Besides, I don’t have time for boys. I need to catch up on my studies.”
“Always the bookworm.” Dallas gave a dramatic sigh as she plopped down on the couch between them and handed them each a controller. “I foundThe Covenant.Get ready to get your guts pumped full of lead, bitches.”
Loren set her controller aside and got to her feet. “You guys can play first,” she said. “I’m thirsty.” It was a lie, but she didn’t want to tell them what she was really doing.
Dallas merely shrugged and started the game.
When Loren got into the kitchen, she caught sight of Mortifer crouched behind the cereal boxes on top of the fridge. Thecrunch, crunchof ice chips shattering between his shadowy little teeth could barely be heard over the videogame blaring through the surround sound system.
Loren swung open the freezer door and flipped up the metal lever that determined whether ice would be made. Down for ice, up for no ice.
Mortifer immediately stopped chewing and peered around the cereal boxes, his tiny hand curling around the puffed rice box.
“I need a favor,” Loren said in a low voice. Mortifer stared at her, clearly vexed by the fact that she’d shut off his precious ice machine. “I need you to tell me the next time Darien is having a Surge. I don’t care what hour of the night it is…I need you to tell me.” Her hand hovered on the lever, the cold metal biting into her fingers. “I know you listen to Darien, and I know you feel you should do everything he asks you to, but Ineedyou to tell me, or this ice machine is not coming back on.”
Mortifer glowered down at her, his eyes redder than Dallas’s hair. For all Loren knew, the Hob might know how to turn on the ice machine on his own, but she was willing to try anything she could to find out when Darien was having a Surge again. She wasn’t sure what she would do when that day—or night—came, but…she would cross that bridge when she got there.
“You care about him, too,” Loren said gently. Mortifer merely looked at her, but the way his eyes softened said everything. Loren prompted, “Do we have a deal?”
The Hob finally nodded his shadowy head.
Loren flicked the lever back down, and the freezer rumbled as it prepared to fill the ice bin. “Thank you,” she whispered.
The Hob merely shrank back behind the cereal boxes and resumed his crunching.
—
Darien stood at the head of the group alongside Logan as they watched the limousine pull onto the gravel driveway in the Silverwood District. A mist of rain started to fall, soaking them instantly.
Although Logan hadn’t shifted for the occasion, several of his pack members who stood along the perimeter of the group insisted on being in their canine forms. They were nearly as large as horses, their coats varying shades of gray and brown. One glance in Max’s direction, who stood at Darien’s right, said he was just as bothered as Darien was by the stink of wet dog. Darien usually enjoyed the rain, but he could’ve gone without it today. And it wasn’t just because of the smell.
It was because of the vampires who were inside that limousine. The vampires that hadn’t exited the vehicle yet—and who were likely assessing the group that stood over a dozen strong in Logan’s driveway. The vampires that hated sunlight, making today’s stormy weather perfect for whatever they had planned.
Where he stood on the other side of Max, Jack murmured, “Are they going to just sit in there and stare at us all day?”
“Immortals have no sense of time, Jack,” Darien said, hand tightening on his belt. Although Jack was immortal, he was physically—and literally—twenty-two years old. He hadn’t lived long enough for time to become meaningless. None of the Devils had. The driver’s door opened then. “Least of all four-hundred-year-old vampires.”
And itwasa four-hundred-year-old vampire who stepped out of the limousine, her door opened by her driver. At the sight of the tall, graceful woman with moon-pale skin and eyes redder than blood, Darien almost swore. He hadn’t expected Calanthe Croft, leader of all vampire covens in Angelthene, to come here herself.
Apparently, Logan hadn’t either, for the muffled crunch of bone carried through the misty air as he fought the urge to shift at the sight of her.
