Page 13

The thing looked perfect. Every detail exactly right—the messy dark hair, the stubble he never quite shaved clean, that little scar through his left eyebrow from when we hunted that poltergeist in Detroit. If this was a fake, it was the best I'd ever seen.

“Sean,” Sterling said carefully, like he was talking to a cornered animal. “Before you do anything stupid?—“

I punched Cade in the face.

My fist connected with his jaw, a solid hit that sent him stumbling backward. The impact shot pain up my arm, but it felt good. Real. Not some ghost bullshit or demon smoke.

“What the fuck are you?” I snarled, grabbing him by the jacket and slamming him against the brick wall. Six months of grief and rage exploded out of me like a dam bursting. “What kind of sick game is this?”

Cade didn't fight back. Just stood there, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth, staring at me with those blue eyes that looked exactly right and completely wrong at the same time.

“It's me,” he said quietly. “Sean, it's me.”

“Bullshit!” I shoved him harder, my voice cracking. “I watched you die! I watched that gate close with you inside and I couldn't—“ The words choked off. Six months of keeping it together, and now I was falling apart on my own doorstep.

Sterling's hand landed on my shoulder. “Sean, I've tested him. Silver, holy water, everything. It's really him.”

“No.” I shook my head violently. “No, that's impossible. Nothing comes back from Hell. Nothing.”

That's when Roxie decided to make her grand entrance. She shot between my legs like a furry missile, making a beeline for Cade. Started circling his ankles, meowing up a storm like she was chewing him out for being gone so long.

Then she did something that made my blood run cold. She stood up on her hind legs, front paws on his thigh, and started purring. Not the cautious, testing purr she gave strangers. The full-throated, rumbling purr she only gave me.

And Cade? He looked down at her like he'd never seen a cat before in his life.

“Hello,” he said, voice flat as cardboard. He reached down to pet her, movements careful and deliberate, like someone who'd read instructions on how to interact with animals but never actually done it.

Roxie didn't care. She was in heaven, rubbing against his hand, purring loud enough to wake the dead.

Animals don't lie. They can spot a shapeshifter from a mile away, sense things humans miss. If Roxie thought this was Cade, then...

“Son of a bitch,” I whispered, releasing his jacket.

“Can we take this inside?” Sterling asked, glancing around the empty street. “Before someone calls the cops about the domestic violence?”

I stepped back, numb. My living room suddenly felt too small with three people and a cat who'd apparently forgotten I existed. Roxie stayed glued to Cade's side, demanding attention like the spoiled princess she was.

“Sit,” I ordered, pointing at the couch. “Don't move, don't touch anything.”

Cade sat. Didn't argue, didn't crack a joke about my hospitality, didn't do any of the dozen things the real Cade would have done. Just sat there, hands folded in his lap like a kid in the principal's office.

I pulled out my testing kit, hands still shaking. “Every monster with a grudge has tried wearing your face these past six months,” I said, approaching him with the silver knife. “So excuse me if I'm a little fucking paranoid.”

“Test whatever you need,” Cade said simply, holding out his arm.

The easy compliance hit me like a slap. Shapeshifters fought tests. Demons mocked them. Cade always understood the protocols, but he'd still give me shit about it. This... this was like testing a mannequin.

I pressed the silver blade to his wrist, harder than necessary. Drew blood. No sizzle, no smoke, just normal human pain and the smell of copper.

“Not a shifter,” I muttered, reaching for the holy water.

I splashed it in his face without warning. Water ran down his cheeks, soaked into his shirt collar. No burning, no screaming, just Cade blinking water from his eyes with the patience of a saint.

“Salt?” he suggested, wiping his face with his sleeve. “Iron?”

I stared at him, my brain trying to process what every test was telling me. This was Cade. Somehow, impossibly, definitely Cade. But...

“Christo,” I said suddenly.