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“I didn’t know she was going to do that!” I exclaimed. “I wanted to trade. The tears were all I had, and we thought they would be enough to get Loren back.”

Whitney sneered—such an ugly expression on his handsome face. “And the angel hadnothingto do with it?”

I shook my head. “Evander didn’t even know. I told him after, and he didn’t like it. I don’t think they really want demons in Heaven.” I shrugged sheepishly. “No offense.”

Sully rounded the kitchen counter, and Loren inched toward her, trying to extend his protection. But I didn’t feel at risk. Like with Evander, I accepted that Loren was innately distrusting,but Whitney had saved him. Freed him from the clutches of some foul demon with nothing to gain from doing so. He wasn’t a bad dog. Or a bad man.

After another tense moment, Whitney folded his arms.

“Well, the angel is right. The hounds are loose, and Hell is in turmoil. That’s why I can’t go back.” He glanced at Loren. “Neither of us can. And, with you here, Nero himself has no way to return. I’m sure he’s none too happy about that.”

Loren relaxed, but only barely. His hand stayed pressed against my chest and his feet were set, ready to pounce.

Whitney looked at him expectantly, then heaved a noisy sigh. “That damned tongue better hurry up and grow. I frankly cannot wait to hear what you have to say about all this.”

“You’ll have to wait a while longer,” Sully said as she stepped into the open. “It’s been a long day, and it’s getting late.”

I glanced at the window and found that night had fallen. The city lights twinkled like stars in a blanket of black, and it was so pretty I couldn’t help tugging on Loren’s sleeve and pointing for him to look, too.

He did, but only long enough to appease me.

Ducking under his arm, I tucked against his side and pressed my palm to his stomach. “Ready to go home, baby? I’ve been waiting for you.”

It sounded better than admitting the Airstream felt haunted without him in it. Like he was dead instead of gone, and staying there was like sleeping in a tomb. Also, I didn’t trust myself alone. I’d thought it would be easier to walk the straight and narrow with Sully’s oversight. On that point, I had been proven wrong.

Loren curled his hand around my side, then pressed a kiss to the top of my head.

“You guys going back to the trailer?” Sully asked.

I nodded. “Nothing personal, but I’ve missed sleeping in a bed.”

“Right.” Sully smiled. “You missed thebed.”

Heat rushed my cheeks, and I grinned. “Among other things.”

When Sully turned to the blond hellhound, her smile stayed strong. “You’re welcome to stay here, Whitney. Like Indy mentioned, I don’t have a spare bed, but the cushions work in a pinch.”

Loren raised his free hand, calling for their attention before he shook his head.

Whitney’s brows arched and then flattened into an irritated line. “Are you going to write something down or leave us to guess?”

With a grumble, Loren stooped to where the paper and pen had been pushed aside. He scribbled hastily, then turned the page toward Whitney.

The other hound read it, and his mouth tipped in a smirk. “Was the foul language entirely necessary?”

Loren let the paper flutter to the ground and tossed the pen after it. I read the note as it landed beside my feet.

Come with us, jackass.

“We don’t have a spare bed, either,” I pointed out. Plus, I had been looking forward to having Loren to myself, with more privacy than the thin wall between Sully’s bathroom and living room. The Airstream didn’t even have that much. Damn thing was a glorified tube with only a curtain to section off the bedroom. If Whitney was going to stay with us, I might have to gift him some earplugs. Loren was quiet in nearly every aspect, but I was not.

The hounds shared another silent moment, this one less tense than the last, before Whitney conceded, “Then I suppose I’m no worse off. Lead the way.”

With Loren’s truck in a Pennsylvania junkyard and the Firebird collecting dust in the Trailer Trove parking lot, we took a cab home. After some shuffling and unspoken debate, we all three crowded into the taxi’s backseat with Loren in the middle and me squished against the door. While I didn’t mind being crushed by a pair of handsome hellhounds, Loren was flushed red and so stressed I thought he might start to shed by the end of the ride.

We offloaded at the trailer park, and Loren took my hand to lead me home. The press of his palm against mine was so welcome and so wonderfully familiar that I wanted to press the rest of me against him, too. But with our houseguest hot on our heels, Loren moved with purpose.

Inside the Airstream, Loren directed Whitney to the couch while I went for a spare blanket. It was only a throw—a purple, fuzzy thing Whitney turned up his nose at, more for the color and texture than for the fact that it barely covered him from shoulders to toes—but he ended up accepting it along with a toss pillow for his head.