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Darien began down the flagstone path, his attention on the front doors. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get there.”

Everyone followed his lead, Loren hurrying to catch up with him. Aspen came up on her other side, her boots making far less noise now that she was walking on grass instead of flagstones. The Reaper was drawing shallow breaths, a sign that her fears of being kicked out of her circle were as real as the ground beneath their feet.

Darien said, “Where’s Malakai?”

“The last I heard, he was in his suite.” Aspen grimaced.

Darien threw her a curious glance. “Do I want to know?”

“Probably not.” She walked up the front steps and pushed open the door. “But at least he’s far too occupied to see you coming.”

Everyone fell silent as they walked, one by one, into the House of Souls. Warm air that smelled of vanilla, leather, and a hint of tobacco wrapped around them, the fragrance tickling Loren’s nose. As soon as they were all in the entrance hall, they paired up and followed Aspen down a narrow corridor lined with oil paintings, the colors bleached with age. Loren stuck close to Darien, the sleeve of her cardigan brushing the back of his hand.

The architecture was old but beautiful. Wall sconces made of intricate metalwork and amber glass lit their path, bathing the interior of the house in mellow golden light. Vintage wallpaper with a cobalt damask pattern made the place look and feel even darker than it already was. Straight ahead was a huge lounge room with antique sofas and armchairs, a tall grandfather clock ticking in a corner. An eight-light brass chandelier with etched glass shades hung above the collection of furniture. There was a bat Familiar with a long arrowhead tail sleeping upside down from an arm of that chandelier, its leathery wings draped around its body. With its face entirely hidden, it was hardly more than a small black cocoon.

Two men were sitting in the armchairs closest to a fireplace of ink-black bricks, sipping what looked like whiskey from crystal glasses. While one had golden eyes, ivory skin, and dirty-blond hair that fell to his shoulders, the other was the opposite. His black hair was softly curling, his skin a stunning shade of brown that brought out the hue of his eyes—such a light blue, they almost had no color at all.

It didn’t take the two Reapers long to notice the group. As soon as they caught sight of them, they shot to their feet, the blond replacing his whiskey with a blade, while the dark-haired one drew a gun from the holster concealed at the front of his gray jeans.

“Cool it!” Aspen snapped, hands flying up. “I don’t want any bloodshed tonight.”

“What the hell is this, Asp?” The dark-haired Reaper waved a gun at their group.

Maximus was standing at Loren’s other side, fencing her in with Darien, she realized. He seemed to be suppressing a smile as he assessed the man brandishing the gun. “You look better than the last time I saw you, Sylvan. You get a nose job or something?”

“Go screw yourself, Maximus.”

The blond one bit out a husky laugh. “Wait until Malakai gets a load of this.” A sharp whistle cut between his teeth.

A dark shadow separated itself from his and hurtled past the group, leaving nothing but a trail of dark mist in its wake. It was moving far too quickly for Loren to tell what kind of animal it was.

Aspen’s expression was a mixture of worry and discontent as she stared after the Familiar. “You never give me a chance to explain anything, Valen.”

“You’re breaking the most important rule: no Devils allowed in here. You ever been excommunicated before? It fucking sucks.”

Darien stepped up to Aspen’s side. “I see you haven’t changed at all, Valen,” he said icily. “Still quick to judge, and even quicker to rat out the people who are supposed to be your family.”

Valen’s eyes blazed. “If she was family, she wouldn’t let enemies walk through our front door.”

“We’re not your enemies, but your boss has clearly convinced you otherwise. It doesn’t really surprise me; brainwashing always has worked best on weak-minded people.”

Valen smirked, using his blade to clean his nails. “As soon as he gives me the okay to cut out your tongue, you and I have got a date.”

“I wouldn’t hold out hope if I were you,” Darien said. “I’d be willing to bet everything I own that he lets us walk out of here in one piece.”

The one with the frosty eyes—Sylvan—smiled coldly and crossed his beefy arms. “After you killed our men? You’re not going anywhere, Darien.” When his gaze flicked to Loren, she saw a mixture of emotions there, but it was mostly curiosity and disdain. “I see you brought another peace offering. That’ll do you no good, Malakai’s got enough pussy in this house.”

Darien clenched his jaw. “I’m starting to see why you’re still single, Sylvan.”

Sylvan narrowed his glacial eyes. “You want to go, Cassel?” He made to lunge for Darien, but he stopped when Valen grabbed him by an arm, neither of them missing the fact that Jack and Travis were now flanking Darien, hands hovering near their weapons.

Darien said coolly, “Tell you what. If things don’t go the way I’m hoping they will, we can square up outside, just you and me. How does that sound?”

“Like music to my ears.”

Bare feet slapped on hard floors as someone approached.

The two Reapers shared a hyena-like grin. “This’ll be good,” Valen murmured.