“Then what’s your deal?”
“No deal. I’m just looking out for you.”
“Well… you can stop. What I do with my body—or my blood, for that matter—is none of your business. Good night, Ronan.” She charged ahead again. I let her go, just far enough to give her a little breathing room, but not so far that I couldn’t keep an eye on her.
A jealous boyfriend…
Yeah. If only it were that simple.
Much as it pained me to admit it—and I never would, not out loud—Gray could do a hell of a lot worse than Beaumont for company. He made my blood boil on thebestof days, but he was on the damn decent end of the bloodsucker spectrum, and he’d always looked out for Gray, just like Emilio and Asher had.
We’d saved her life, the four of us. That kind of thing bonds people for eternity. Her memories of that time were murky at best, but eventually shewouldremember, and she’d find her way right back to them. To that deep, unbreakable bond. And one day on that distant horizon, if Gray decided Darius Beaumont or Emilio Alvarez or Asher O’Keefe was the man for her—hell, if she decided allthreeof them were—I’d never stand in the way of her happiness.
I just wanted to be part of it.
But I was playing with serious fire justthinkingabout crossing that line. One toe over the edge, and I’d likely get my ass smoked to oblivion, no chance at resurrection.
A demon guardian falling for the woman whose soul he was charged with delivering upon her death? Forbidden didn’t evenbeginto describe it. Hers was a devil’s bargain; didn’t matter that the contract had been signed in someone else’s blood before Gray was even old enough to speak. Didn’t matter that she had no idea what awaited her at the end of all this, and if I so much ashintedat it, she’d be banished to oblivion, too.
Didn’t matter that she hadn’t asked for this, or that I knew—deep the fuck down in my bones—that she was meant for greater things than becoming a demon slave.
How could she not be? Every time she was supposed to die, the woman just kept on fighting her way back from the brink.
Hell was losing patience. I was losing my mind.
If I was jealous of anything, it was this: when the shit finally hit the fan, Beaumont, Alvarez, and even that crazy-ass demon O’Keefe would still come out of it the good guys.
Me? Three hundred and twelve years old, and the only thing I was good at was following orders.
Hell’s orders.
Fuck this…
“Gray, wait.” I caught up in a few strides, and she finally slowed down, letting me slip an arm over her shoulders. Her scent washed over me—that fruity, tropical shampoo of hers that always made my damn mouth water—and I pulled her close, kissing the top of her head. “Mmm. You taste like a smoothie.”
“Shut up.” Gray nudged me in the ribs, finally cracking a smile. “Can’t you see I’m trying to be mad at you?”
I tugged on one of her curls. “Give it up, Desario. You know you love me.”
“Excuse you, Mr. Ego. Itolerateyou. Subtle but important difference.”
She tried to punch me in the arm, but I grabbed her hand and held on tight.
We kept our mouths shut the rest of the way home, but I could tell her mind was working overtime—she almost missed the turnoff for her street.
When we finally got to her place, she leaned back against the railing on the front porch and sighed, her shoulders slumped with exhaustion.
I tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “Rough night?”
“Understatement.”
“You, ah, wanna talk about it?”
Gray pressed her lips together and closed her eyes, and I backed off. Last thing I wanted to do was crowd her, but seriously—what the fuck was going on?
The woman was covered in scrapes and bruises—a story she’d yet to tell me. She’d made a blood deal with Darius Beaumont. And as much as she tried to hide it, a deep, new worry had settled in around her eyes.
This wasn’t just another day in the life of my crazy, badass witch.
