She was almost finished eating when Darien’s phone buzzed with an incoming call. He excused himself, answered with a muffled, “Hey,” and disappeared into the library.
Resisting the urge to lick her bowl clean, Loren scraped the dish until there was nothing left, hopped off the stool, and loaded the fork and bowl into the dishwasher.
The front door swung open just as Loren was closing the dishwasher, and she looked up to see Ivyana Cassel strutting in, the stiletto heels of her knee-high black boots clicking on the floor. She tossed her keys into the wooden bowl that sat upon the glass table in the entrance hall, spun around, and froze, her dark shoulder-length hair swaying as she caught sight of Loren lingering by the kitchen island.
Loren opened her mouth to say something, but no sound came out. She likely looked like a fish washed up on land, and certainly not for the first time that evening.
“Oh.” Ivyana blinked, her thick lashes made darker by the irises that were the same steel-blue as her brother’s. “You must be Loren.”
Ivyana walked into the kitchen, her movements sure and graceful. Loren had heard plenty about this Devil, as she had the six others, most of those rumors hair-raisingly gruesome. The fact that she was Darien’s twin sister wasn’t the only reason creeps kept away from her. You couldn’t be a Darkslayer, let alone a Devil, without having bloodied your hands enough to deserve the title. But Ivyana was so beautiful and willowy that Loren had a hard time picturing her doing any of the things the rumors had illustrated.
When Ivyana reached her, she offered her a hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Loren took Ivyana’s hand, the slayer’s skin slightly cold from being outside. She had a grip that was surprisingly firm. “You must be Ivyana,” Loren said. “Pleasure to meet you, too.”
“Have you had a chance to meet the others yet?”
Loren nodded. “Yes.” She cleared her throat; there seemed to be a very consistent frog in it tonight. “They were all very…kind.”
Ivyana gave her a smile that suggested she knew exactly how kind they had been. “It’ll take some adjusting, but I’m sure you’ll fit in here just fine.” She gave Loren a once-over that was different than the one Lace had given her. More…curious. As if she saw something in her that the others didn’t. “Anyone my brother brings to Hell’s Gate is more than welcome here.”
“Thank you,” Loren said.
Ivyana smiled. “I know this is rather abrupt of me, but I am exhausted, so I am going to excuse myself.”
Loren cleared her throat again. “Okay.”
Ivyana smiled again and made for the stairs. “Sweet dreams, Loren. You’re safe here.” She pranced up the stairs before Loren had a chance to reply.
As Loren waited for Darien to return, she wandered about the kitchen, taking in the photos—animated with magic—that were pinned to the fridge. The photos showed the seven slayers that lived here, doingnormalthings. Riding motorcycles, playing poker in their dining room, posing in front of monuments.
Loren carried on to the framed photographs that hung near the front doors. A picture of Maximus in the kitchen with his mouth full; Darien and Ivyana wearing aviation headsets inside a helicopter; Lace, Darien, Travis, and two guys Loren assumed were Tanner Atlas and Jack Steele posing on a white mountaintop in snowboarding gear.
As she studied the countless others, she found herself returning to the one of Darien and Ivyana. And it wasn’t until Darien returned from the library after finishing his call that Loren realized why she couldn’t look away from that photo: it was because Darien wore arealsmile in it. Not the half-smiles he’d given her today. As he strode into the kitchen, she saw the contrast there, and it was like night and day.
It wasn’t her business, but she wondered what secrets he harboured that had turned him into the person standing before her now.
12
When Loren awoke the following morning, she discovered that Darien was gone.
In fact, there wasn’t a single vehicle out front. And although she knew there was a chance the Devils might’ve parked in the garage, as she ate a bowl of puffed rice cereal in the kitchen (no sign of the Hob, thank the Star), she had the nagging feeling that she was entirely alone in this big, beautiful house. And since Darien hadn’t bothered to tell her that he would be ditching her bright and early, she figured she would do the same to him.
As soon as she was finished eating, she washed her bowl and spoon and sprinted back up the stairs to her suite.
Not bothering to fold her clothes, she stuffed them back into the suitcase, wondering how it was possible that the same number of items she’d packed only yesterday somehow had trouble fitting today. Birds warbled outside the windows as she crammed her bag of toiletries into the suitcase and zipped it shut.
If one thing was certain about this whole mess, it was that she didn’t belong here. And despite his offer, it seemed Darien had no interest in helping her. She refused to sit here and do nothing while Sabrine was held hostage by a couple of psychopaths.
The day had started out sunny but was now overcast and muggy. Dressed in gray leggings, a white tank, and a denim jacket, Loren swung open the front door and left Hell’s Gate.
She’d almost made it to the wrought-iron gates, its magical barrier vibrating invisibly through the air, when those gates swung open to allow Darien’s vehicle to pass through.
Loren kept walking, even as he slowed beside her and lowered the tinted window, taking her in over the top of his sunglasses.
“Where do you think you’re going.” It wasn’t exactly a question, but more of an accusation that she was making the wrong move.
“I’m leaving.”
