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I gasp, my lungs burning as the cryptid absorbs the mortal spirit. The Devil Dog needs souls to sustain its internal fire, and as it consumes Kyle, a cascade of Kyle’s final memories leaks through the triad link directly into my head.

I see Kyle’s past. I see the innocent people he beat, the dark bribes he took, the countless lives he ruined down in Wraith’s Harbor for a stack of Gregory’s cash. He wasn’t just a man following orders. He was an evil, sadistic monster who took joy in tearing people apart.

A cold, dark satisfaction settles deep in my stomach. He got far better than he deserved.

But he’s dead now. He can’t hurt a single soul ever again, I think back through the link, pouring my own dark approval into the tether. Devour him.

Down in the woods, I feel the Devil Dog let out a silent purr that vibrates through my bones, energized and nourished by the kill.

I search through the link, finding Vesper, happy he isn’t hurt. Off to the side, I spot Jake’s dead body. I’m not entirely sure how it happened, but I’m glad he’s gone too.

With Kyle and Jake dead and the shadow illusions multiplying across the woods, the remaining paid thugs lose it. Panicked screams echo up the mountain as the surviving hired men scramble over each other, piling into their trucks or fleeing on foot down the road, leaving Gregory completely behind.

Outside, the chaotic noise of gunfire and shouting abruptly dies out, replaced by a breathless silence.

Fucking finally. It’s time.

I turn away from the arched window as the shadows in the gallery deepen, pulsing with Vesper’s distant rage. Through our bond, I feel the precise moment he reaches for the ancient nexus stone in the woods, channeling his power to lock down the estate and the surrounding territory.

Smoky shadows and dark magic flare through our shared connection. Far below, a terrifying wave of black shadow slams through the foundation, driving the heavy front gates shut with a deafening sound that echoes across the manor. The perimeter snaps, locking tight. The fleeing trucks are shut out forever, leaving only one man trapped inside our woods.

I walk slowly to the top of the grand staircase, looking down into the dim foyer below. The fireplace glimmers softly with its supernatural flames, reminding me so much of the two pairs of glowing eyes that mean everything to me as I wait for my mate to finish the hunt.

Outside on the stone porch, heavy footsteps approach the front entrance. Gregory is walking up the steps, panting, desperate, and completely unaware that he’s walking into a demon’s trap.

I stand tall at the top of the stairs, smoothing my dark purple shirt over my chest, my eager gaze fixed on the entrance.

My pulse is steady.

The front doors creak open, and the monster from my past steps across the threshold.

Chapter twenty

Vesper

Down the long, winding cobblestone drive, Gregory stumbles through the downpour like a blinded, wounded animal. His wool coat is soaked through, sagging around his shoulders under the weight of the water. He breathes in wet, ragged wheezes that I can hear from here, his mouth hanging open as he gasps for air.

I don’t rush. I walk ten feet behind him, cloaked in shadows, my boots making no sound against the wet granite.

There’s an exquisite art to the slow, deliberate reduction of a man. A merciless unraveling. Down in Wraith’s Harbor, Gregory believed he was powerful. Unbreakable. He built his reputation on wealth, legal threats, and paid violence, forcing everyone in his small circle to bend to his whims. He thought power was something one can purchase with deep pockets.

Now, stripped of his men and money, he’s nothing more than a pathetic creature scrambling through the mud on my mountain.

Look at him, the Devil Dog rumbles through the link. Weak. Soft. Scared.

He is an empty shell, I answer back through the tether, letting my crimson eyes trace the line of Gregory’s slicked-back hair. And tonight, my mate will watch him break.

A sudden, sharp ripple in the air signals Killian’s return. The wraith demon materializes out of a patch of shadow beneath a towering redwood tree, his amber eyes burning with bright, arrogant amusement. His tailored dark coat is dry, his posture effortless as he falls into step beside me. He looks like he’s ready to walk a runway, not like he just spent the evening torturing a few souls.

“The surviving men are almost at the bottom of the mountain,” Killian reports smoothly. “They abandoned three of their trucks at the lower gate.” He chuckles. “Two of them were weeping so hard they could barely hold the steering wheels. I doubt any of them will ever step foot in this town again.”

“Good,” I say softly.

Killian smirks, tilting his head toward Gregory’s trembling figure ahead of us. “He actually thinks he’s running toward safety.”

A dark, cold laugh pulls at the corners of my lips. “Mortals always run toward light, never able to handle the dark.”

“Not like your, Bellamy.”