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Travis shook his head. Smirked. When silence fell again, to his horror he began to sober up, his hellseher genes allowing him to filter out substances a lot quicker.

“You took care of Jewels while I was gone,” Malakai said. “She told me you saved her.”

Travis grunted. “She helped cover my ass too.” He cracked open another beer, not wanting to be of sound mind so soon.

“She’s pretty adamant that if you hadn’t been there, she’d be dead.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“It sounded like you were going to thank me.”

He snorted. “Gods no. I don’t do thank-you’s.” He studied the beer in his hand, moonlight glinting off the rim. “I do steal beer and drink it, though.” He sipped again.

Travis hummed. “Well, just for the record, you’re welcome.”

“Eww.” He got to his feet. “Try not to fall, it’s slippery up here. Or do—I don’t care.” His voice faded with distance.

Travis laughed under his breath. “You’re a weird one.”

The night fell quiet. And Travis sat there. Alone, beer in hand.

He lifted it to his mouth, but paused. Set it down on the roof beside him.

And chose to watch the stars instead.

They had cleaned up the house in the time since Roman and Pax had left. Dumped the demon corpses on the street for city officials to clear away. Used their magic to piece the windows back together, though a few were too difficult to mend and would need to be replaced. The Hob got rid of all the blood, the place almost like new again. Good enough to sleep in, anyway. They’d take care of the rest tomorrow.

Darien found Loren lying awake in her bedroom, her beautiful face illuminated by the orange glow of her salt lamp. Singer was curled up in a tight ball beside her, a back paw twitching as he dreamed.

Loren blinked up at Darien as he appeared in her doorway. “Are you okay?” she whispered, her words crackling with exhaustion.

“I came here to ask you the same thing.” He’d showered and changed into black sweatpants and a white shirt, his hair wet again but no longer reeking of chlorine and blood. His back still burned like a son of a bitch, but was well on its way to healing.

“I’m okay,” she replied. “A little rattled, but fine.”

“Mind if I sit with you for a minute?” He drifted into the room, his need to be closer to her setting his feet into motion before she could reply.

She sat up and scootched over as he took a seat on the mattress beside her.

“I want to apologize,” Darien began, “for startling you.”

A little crease formed between her sandy brows. “When did you startle me?” But then her face smoothed. “Oh—you mean the chair.”

He grimaced. “My temper gets the best of me sometimes.”

“You have a right to be upset,” she said gently. “What they did to your house… To…” She shook her head, her eyes shining, her thoughts clearly on Mortifer. “What they did was wrong.”

Darien drew a breath. “I’ll fix it,” he declared. “I’ll get him back.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes, Darien listening to the sound of Loren’s heartbeat, her breathing. Even simply being alone in a room with her calmed him down in a way nothing else could. Not the fighting, not the slaying, not the drugs. He didn’t know how he ever got by without this girl. His miracle. His angel.

“Hellseher healing is very impressive,” Loren said, those stunning eyes scanning the wounds on his face. She reached for him…

Darien held his breath, wanting—hell, needing her to touch him—

But she abruptly stopped, leaning over to grab a small tin off the nightstand instead. Her healing salve from Mordred and Penelope’s.