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Deep copper trunks fused with the walls and shady crowns shielded the roof. Twigs scraped the windows like fingers, shedding remnants of their leaves onto the six or so balconies. A lookout tower on stilts stood tall and watchful in a grove of oaks, connected to the main house by a pretty badass rope bridge. It was the most epic treehouse I had ever seen.

My nine-year-old self would be reeling with envy. I wished I had the stamina to explore every nook and cranny, but…baby steps. The first order of business was discussing the teratorn, not gawking at the woodwork.

A break in the branches revealed a small glade where the sunshine funneled down and ignited the dust, the specks floating through the air like effervescent forest fairies—which could be plausible at this point.

We rolled up to a gabled barn, its sliders opened wide, exposing rafters and a loft strewn with hay. A large bay hollowed out the middle of the building, tools lining the walls and grease staining the floor. I shifted as Ryder braked, still clinging to the roof of the truck, staring at the rooster weathervane, admiring its rusty feathers…alright, I was avoiding him. But the metal bird was good company—it asked no questions, it didn’t cluck orders, it had no social obligations to meet. Yet waiting around in park seemed to amplify the silence and his implicit curiosity. Uggghhh. I couldn’t stay up there forever.

Slinking through the window, I slumped onto the cushion. His eyes were on me before I spoke. My neck felt so light, like something was missing—my headphones. That alone made me want to cry.

“I yelled at it.” It came out flat, unconnected, like this never could have happened. My nails found their way to my mouth and my teeth clamped on.

“You what?” His voice matched my disbelief.

“I was desperate,” I said in between bites. “I didn’t have any other great ideas.”

Ryder gently pulled my hands free, guiding them down to my lap. “So, you yelled at it.” He didn’t break the physical contact, his calloused palms wrapping around my knuckles. “And…poof?”

“And then it got struck by lightning?” I said into the floor, embarrassed to admit it out loud because it…it just…

“That doesn’t make sense?—”

“No shit,” I cut in. None of this did.

“What I mean is, lightning itself won’t send a demon back to the underworld.”

I huffed, exasperated, but mostly tired of talking, already and this conversation didn’t seem like it’d be over soon. A couple days ago, these things didn’t exist outside of comics and sci-fi movies. It was supposed to be fiction. Make-believe. Not real.

Yet I’d been there; I’d witnessed it. And so had he. But only one of us was having trouble processing it. “You’re the expert, dude. I’m just telling you what happened.”

We glanced at the bed of the truck. Smoke melted into the post-rain air, rising from the char where the creature once stood. As we both turned to face forward, he watched me beneath lashes so long they could sweep the floor.

Then all he said was, “‘Dude?’”

What, like he’d never been called that before? “Yes.” I doubled down. “Dude.”

He chuckled, giving my hands a light squeeze. Somehow, his heat managed to break through the layers of my crusty exoskeleton. “Let’s go inside and chill out. You need a bath, dude.”

When he said it, his accent dropped the U a few pitches, reverberating in my lower belly. The truck may have stopped, but my pulse shot right back to the chase. Good lord. It was just a word. Heat bloomed in my face. I didn’t need to check the side mirror to confirm I was blushing, hard. When I met his gaze as he opened my door, his smirk said it all.

Ugh. Could we just go back to discussing demons?

I took his outstretched hand, my legs a little shakier than I’d like to admit, and he helped me to the ground. “We don’t have to talk about any of it right now if you don’t want to.”

An attempt to reassure me, clearly. It might have done so, if the rest of the world hadn’t started to spiral around me. After one puny step I teetered for support. He caught me and guided me into the crook of his chest. I leaned in, my arms instinctively wrapping around his waist—not because he was solid and comfy and his touch was sanctuary—but because everything was spinning. Until it wasn’t, because by then, I’d passed out.

Whispers flooded my mind. Had the Voices finally come home? In my foggy state, head still pounding, it could have been two or all three of them. My mind raced to wake the rest of my body, which clearly wasn’t ready to stir—my legs leaden, fingers tingling, throat tight and parched. It took a few moments, but my bleary vision adjusted to the late afternoon, and my ears perked at the voices I’d heard: two guys, hints of their accents slipping under the crack of the door.

I pulled off the comforter someone had placed over me and swung my legs off the bed someone had put me in—cringing at the stains left by my dirty clothes, and how overall crusty I was. I tiptoed towards the entrance of the bedroom, pushing the door ajar just enough to catch a glimpse of Ryder and the silhouette of whomever he was talking to.

If it hadn’t been for their terse exchange of words, the crackling fire would’ve drawn me out.

Although his face remained in shadow, Ryder’s intensity burned as bright as the flames in the hearth. Normally the hunter moved with grace, but something added tension to his stride, like he carried an invisible weight.

“Just some girl,” Ryder said to the figure in the room.

“Why’d you bring her here?” the guy questioned, the timbre of his voice similar to the deep bellow of a foghorn.

“I had no choice. We almost got killed by a teratorn.” Ryder’s pacing halted.