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He inclined his head toward the door.

The Devils filed out into the dark front yard, the Familiar Spirits leading the way. Darien took Loren by the hand, and together they walked out of Heaven’s Gate.

They were heading to the Hunting Grounds to pay a visit to Lionel Savage—another name on their list of people they were crossing out one by one. Another person involved in the break-in and the disappearance of little Mortifer.

Hopefully, by the end of the night, the score would be settled, and Mortifer would be back home.

In the studyat the Hunting Grounds—the house where the Huntsmen lived—Loren sat by herself on the couch as five of the Seven Devils did what they did best: They killed. Brutally.

Her lungs were too small, the smell of blood turning her stomach like a washing machine. Each breath she drew sliced through her teeth in audible gasps.

She was going to throw up the lasagna she’d had for dinner, wasn’t she? She was going to throw up the food Ivy had spent hours making?—

But then Darien was crouching before her, that cold, hateful mask on his face slipping—just for her. The edge in his eyes softened, the reaction so at odds with the massacre going on behind him.

“Close your eyes, baby,” he whispered.

She obeyed. He gently grasped her wrists, lifting her shaking hands until they were resting over her ears. The air shifted as he stood, and she felt his absence as if she were missing a limb as he walked away, returning to finish the job he had come here to do.

After tonight, there would be no Huntsmen left, save for one. Harley Savage, Lionel’s son and Lace’s cousin. Harley was about Travis’s age. The Devils had explained to her that his father treated him cruelly—as cruelly as Randal had treated Darien and Ivy when he was alive.

After tonight, Harley, who’d been forced to step outside and keep quiet, would be Head of the Hunting Grounds.

In Angelthene, killing the members of another Darkslaying House was forbidden. But Lionel had broken another, equally strict rule when he’d made the mistake of trespassing not just on the property of another House…but theHeadof Angelthene’s Houses.

This was payback.

It was also a message. A very clear and ruthless message:Don’t fuck with us.

For several minutes, Loren kept her eyes closed and her ears plugged.

And then she took a deep breath, lowered her hands, and opened her eyes.

Darien noticed immediately, his eyes—so full of rage and self-loathing—snapping to her face.

She held his lethal stare.I’m not afraid of you,she thought.I see you, Darien, and you do not scare me.

He seemed to understand. Understand and accept what she was giving him.

Because he lowered the sound barrier he’d put up to protect her.

The screams of the Huntsmen pierced the air. Awful—those screams were awful. Spine-chilling.

But she did not cover her ears. She did not close her eyes. She watched, and she was not afraid.

Back at Heaven’s Gate,Loren found Darien waiting for her by the swimming pool behind the house.

Standing in her swimsuit in the empty, lamplit kitchen, she peeked out at him through the blinds. He was sitting on one of the pool chairs, wearing only a pair of black shorts. It was Witching Hour, and the yard was dark, save for the soft glow of string lights and garden lanterns.

As she watched him, he bowed his head, the locks of his hair sliding forward as he cupped his brow. In his other hand, he held a pendant, his fist swallowing it up. Only the silver chain was visible, and it was the gentle swaying of that chain that alerted her to the fact that his hands were shaking.

She opened the door and slipped outside, the ground beneath her bare feet cooled by the breath of night.

Darien made no indication that he was aware of her presence as she crossed the yard, her feet making sticking sounds on the flagstone path. The shadows of the night drew attention to every impressive muscle in his back, every bit of ink that made up his tattoo. Every scar as well. As she drew near, she slid her hands across his broad shoulders, feeling the ridges of all those scars beneath her palms.

He loosed a long breath, his rigid muscles relaxing beneath her touch.

“Are you okay?” she asked him.