“So,” she said, sneakers squeaking, “what’s your story?”
“My story,” Darien mused as he swung open the door, “is for another day.”
—
Never in her wildest dreams would Loren have imagined Hell’s Gate could be found on the west side of Angelthene, within the red-brick walls of a wealthy community in the heart of the Victoria Amazonica District.
She watched out her window as homes that gave the penthouse a run for its money passed by in a blur. If it hadn’t been Darien Cassel himself who’d brought her here, she might’ve slapped him for being so rude to her about the luxurious neighbourhood she’d grown up in. But her irritation fizzled out as he turned onto a gravel drive that would take them to their destination.
A wall of red bricks enclosed a sprawling property shaded with fern pines and gardens of pink jasmine. The magic protecting the property sensed Darien’s approach, and the wrought-iron gates swung open to permit them entrance.
At the end of the drive sat a vast, red-brick manor house with abundant windows. White pillars framed either side of arched double doors, and twin statues of winged lions rested on either side of the front steps. The house was at least three stories high and was almost as wide as the Bright apartment building was tall.
Now, shereallyfelt like slapping him.
But she didn’t have time to spend feeling angry, because Darien pulled up to the right of the steps that led to the front door and pushed the gearshift into park.
She was at Hell’s Gate. And within a matter of what was possibly minutes, she would have to face more slayers than the single one sitting beside her.
She knew all the Devils by name. Maximus Reacher, Jack Steele, Travis Devlin, Tanner Atlas, Ivyana Cassel, Lace Rivera…and Darien Cassel. At least she could check off one from the list of seven—the worst to boot, which was somewhat of a consolation to her.
And the worst Devil was staring at her again, with those eyes she might’ve called dreamy had his gaze not scared her shitless every time she caught him looking at her.
“You nervous?”
She gave a snort of amusement. “Why in the name of the Star would I be nervous?”
His mouth twitched with the hint of a smile. He didn’t strike her as someone who allowed himself to fully smile very often. “You’ve got quite the sarcastic personality, haven’t you?”
Loren ignored him and stared out at the property. At the fern pines swaying gently, and the silent house with its open shutters and bright windows.
“If it’ll help,” he said, “I’ll have you know that none of them are home.” At that, she dared to look at him. Those intense eyes were surveying her with what she thought was perhaps sympathy. She wondered if his hellseher sense of hearing was picking up on every erratic thump of her heart.
How utterly embarrassing.
“Promise?” she whispered.
“Promise.” He cracked open his door, and the spice of jasmine flooded the vehicle and stirred his hair. “Though what Ican’tpromise is that they won’t be back any minute, so it’s best if we get you inside and find you a room.”
—
The house was gorgeous.
There wasn’t a speck of dust from what she could see, and no cobwebs hung in the corners. The air was fresh and slightly sweet, fragranced by the collection of lilacs, lilies, and white roses bursting from a crystal vase that sat upon the round glass table in the centre of the entrance hall, alongside a curved wooden bowl with silver coins and keys in it. For a building that housed seven bounty hunters, it was far from what she’d expected.
Of what Loren could see, as she lingered near the front doors Darien was currently shutting behind her, there was a sitting room to the left, followed by a dining room and a kitchen thrice the size of the one at the penthouse. To the right appeared to be a library, and she knew from what she’d observed of the building while she was outside that the garage lay somewhere beyond that. And directly across from where she was standing was a broad, carpeted staircase that swept up to the next levels.
“You’ll be staying on the third floor,” Darien said, his voice echoing softly. He gestured for Loren to ascend the stairs. “Come with me.”
Loren forced herself to cross the distance to the stairs. Was it just her, or did the floor feel like she was walking on a waterbed? She moved up the stairs slowly, Darien at her left side, her legs wobbling so hard she nearly fell. She blamed her nerves on how closely he was watching her, as if every miniscule move she made was interesting to him. And shedidfall when she got halfway up the stairs, her toe snagging on the slightest wrinkle in the carpet, though Darien caught her by the elbow before she could find out what that carpet tasted like.
Loren’s heart was flipflopping; she wasn’t sure if it was from the lingering anticipation of pain or because he was still holding onto her. She cleared her throat and straightened, extracting her elbow from his grip.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she mumbled.
“What was the alternative, exactly?” He was standing so close to Loren that she had to resist the urge to back up, to look away from the intense gaze she swore she couldfeel,like a caress on her skin. “Watching you smash up your pretty face on my stairs within minutes of entering my house?” His word choice had her flushing from head to toe, and she swore the floor tilted again beneath her feet. She wished she was standing closer to the railing, so she could steady herself by grabbing onto it. It suddenly felt very, very hot in here. Darien continued, “I offered to protect you from danger, and I guess that includes wrinkled carpets now, doesn’t it?” The corner of his lips tilted up at one edge.
She started walking up the stairs again, ducking her head so he might not see the splotches of color spreading across her cheeks. “If you insist.”
