Darien turned around to the sound of heavy footsteps to find Max entering the kitchen.
“Evening,” Darien said, nodding once in greeting.
“Hey.” Max rubbed at his eyes and stifled a yawn. He’d clearly just got in a few minutes ago, for he was still wearing his jacket and his boots were still tied up. His mouth curled into a frown as he looked Darien over. “Are you okay?”
Darien’s frown mirrored Max’s. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
Max stepped up to the island and leaned back against it, hands in his pockets. “Where did you go last weekend? After we left Angelthene General.”
Darien slumped back against the fridge; the stainless-steel door was cold through his shirt. To be honest, he was surprised it had taken Max so long to ask this question. He’d anticipated this conversation happening a lot sooner. “Just to deal with some shit.”
Max’s brows pulled together. “Yeah? Is that why I keep hearing about Tyson Geller’s jaw having been broken?”
Darien grimaced. “That wasn’t me. I brought a peace offering to Malakai Delaney.”
“What peace offering could you possibly—” But he froze, understanding washing across his face. “Oh. His excommunicated Reaper.”
“I didn’t kill him,” Darien said quickly. “I just made sure he wouldn’t talk about Mal’s dealings anymore in exchange for cooperation from Tyson. We need as few people looking for Loren as possible, and if I can at least make sure the other Angelthene circles are aware that the job belongs tous—and Randal—we’ll only have to deal with the wannabes. Plus, it’ll create rumors that will remove us from the list of suspects that could be hiding her.” The list of suspects that those marked with the phoenix head had likely drawn up in their searching.
“You think this is a good idea?” Max said.
Darien shrugged. “It’s our only option.”
“And what about Malakai? If word gets out to Randal about this, he’s going to want in on what’s happening. Which means he might eventually find out about Loren.”
“Then I’ll tell whatever lie I need to tell to keep people from thinking our relationship is worth telling Randal. I’ll say she’s my latest…” He trailed off with a grimace, unable to finish his sentence.
“What?” Max prompted, humor tipping the corner of his mouth up. “Fuckbuddy?”
Darien sighed through his nose. “If that’s the lie I have to tell to keep her safe, then I will tell it.” He paused, measuring Max’s expression. “You still with me on this?”
Max’s mouth curled down, brows pulling together. “Through everything, man. You don’t even have to ask me that.”
“Good.” He took another swig of beer. “Love you, bud.”
Max tsked. “Quit trying to suck my dick already.”
Darien smiled. “I don’t have to. You have a redhead to do that for you now.”
Max’s eyes widened. “How’d you know about that?”
Darien barked a laugh. “We live in the same fucking house, you dumb shit.” The witch didn’t exactly hold anything back either; Darien could usually hear her when he was in his suite, and that was from quite some distance away. Sometimes immortal hearing was a real pain in the ass. He might have to talk to Mortifer about placing some audio-blocking spells around his room.
Max shushed him, glancing over his shoulder toward the staircase. “Don’t tell Loren, alright? In case Dallas hasn’t confessed yet.”
“Those girls are joined at the hip. I bet there’s not a thing they don’t know about each other.”
Max merely shrugged, looking a little worried that the cat was already out of the bag.
Darien pushed away from the fridge and clapped Max on the back. “Relax, my friend. Your secret’s safe with me.” He made for the stairs. “See you in the morning.”
23
Seven days later—seven wholly and painfully uneventful days, aside from the disappearance of yet another girl—Loren marched into the dining room at Hell’s Gate shortly before Witching Hour and slapped a stack of papers onto the oak table.
Darien was sitting—alone and perfectly still—at the head, eyes closed, hands resting palms-up on the oak. The song of cicadas drifted in through the screen of the open window at his back. A bag of Stygian salts sat before him, along with his phone, a handful of photographs, and a can of beer dripping with condensation.
“I decided to do some investigating into the Phoenix Head Society,” Loren began sharply, “after you were toobusyto help Dallas and I get into the Old Hall.”
