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I took off in search of the bathroom. When I woke up this morning, my period was mostly over—thank god—but I needed to check that the flow didn’t pick up again after my journey through the portal. I also just needed to pee. I wore nothing but a pantyliner, and thankfully, things were mostly over.

Free of that burden for another month.

I looked like shit as I studied myself in the bathroom mirror, the frame gilded in gold. My super kinky hair was frizzy, my face was grimy and greasy, and when I took a whiff of my pits, I nearly gagged.

Hopefully, Mr. Jol wouldn’t mind me using one of his plush hand towelsto wash my face. I gave myself five minutes to freshen up, finding some lemony-scented hand cream in the cupboard under the sink and slathering that on my armpits. I used the hair elastic around my wrist to tame my tresses into a bun, feeling instant relief to have that weight and cover off my neck.

Gentle murmurs pulled be back down the hallway toward the living room where I found Zandren sitting on the leather chair, Maxar on one end of the couch, and Drak on the other. Mr. Jol was perched on a barstool, clutching a short tumbler of amber liquor.

“Been ages since I’ve seen Ryden,” Mr. Jol said, swirling the liquid around in his glass. “He refuses to come to Hell, and I can’t be bothered to go back to Earth. So …”

Zandren snorted. “Dad’s pretty set in his ways. I can’t call him before eleven in the morning—after his nap.”

That made Mr. Jol chuckle. “My kind of man.”

I cleared my throat and all four of them faced me. “I … I hope you don’t mind, but I used a towel in your bathroom to wash my face.”

Mr. Jol nodded, reached into the bar, and held out a tall glass of water. “Afraid it’s too hot in Hell for ice,” he said.

I didn’t care. I accepted the glass and chugged it. “Thank you.”

“We haven’t told Mr. Jol much,” Maxar said. “We were waiting for you.”

With a satisfying, “Ah,” I wiped the back of my hand over my mouth and set the water glass back on the bar. “All right then, let’s start from the beginning.” I made my way over to the couch where I sat down between Drak and Maxar. “A couple of weeks ago, I was struck by lightning …”

CHAPTER SEVEN

Zandren

We sat there quietly as Omaera told her story. It was a story we all knew well, and while we were certainly the main characters in it, it was ultimatelyherstory to tell. We were here forher. We crossed through the portal to Hell forher.

Mind you, I would do anything for my mate, but I hoped to the gods she didn’t ask me to buy a vacation home in Hell and spend our winters here. I shuddered at the sheer thought of it. The sooner we got out of this nightmare of a place, the better.

Mr. Jol, to his credit, remained tight-lipped and stoic as Omaera started from when she was struck by lightning, all the way to our ambush earlier that day in Reno. A few times, especially when she was forced to relive finding her aunt’s dead body, and what happened to Gemma, she had to pause and regain her composure. Those wounds were still raw, and I could feel how badly she just wanted to give in to her emotions and weep for those she loved. But she didn’t. She was so fucking strong, and as angry as a rabid badger. Which, to her credit, was serving her well right now. Anger and pain were her fuel to keep going when everything seemed bleak.

Our bond allowed me to feel her emotions as authentically as if I were experiencing them myself, which also allowed me to send her comfort, reassurance,and strength. So I did my best, quietly, while she did her best to get through the story.

“And now we’re here,” she said, taking a deep breath and exhaling. “Asking you for your help. Because from what King Ryden has said, the best trap for a demon is set by another demon. And I’m not …demonenough—”

“Yet,” Maxar said quickly, giving her a mildly chastising, but mostly kind, look.

She smiled at him. “I’m not demon enough—yet—to know how to set one effectively. I’m also still trying to get a handle on my powers.” She offered the grumpy demon a brittle smile, but even I could feel her nervousness from where I sat in the chair.

All I wanted to do was pull her into my lap and absorb her worry. To stroke my hand down her back, press my lips to her neck, and ease the strain that had her ears nearly touching her shoulders.

We were all wound tight, but Omaera was wound the tightest. She’d already lost so much, and now she could lose more. Her mind—and a large portion of her heart—were back on Earth in the healer-mage’s infirmary with Gemma.

Fuck it.

Lunging forward, I pushed past the vampire and grabbed Omaera by the hand, hauling her up from the couch and over with me, where I plunked her on my lap and held her.

She didn’t protest. If anything, she seemed relieved. I ignored the glares from the mage and vampire. Fuck ‘em. They could have comforted her too.

“You’ve only mated with the Prince,” Mr. Jol finally said, his first words in what seemed like forever.

Omaera squirmed a little in my lap. “I … I’m getting to know them first. It’s been a rather overwhelming week and a bit. B-but I will. If you think it will help.”

Mr. Jol’s eyes scanned me, then quickly, briefly, drifted over to the couch where the other two sat. “The Fates won’t let you until you feel it in your heart.”