Page 39 of Samhain Savior

“I’m guessing this isn't a social call, then?” she asked, her voice dripping with venom as she took a step closer to Archer, one hand coming to rest on his chest.

“No,” was all he said.

“Shame,” she replied, blinking her blue eyes at him flirtatiously. “Last time you stopped by we had such fun. Remember, Archer? The ropes. The bell tower. Thescreaming.”

Archer cleared his throat, looking decidedly uncomfortable which gave me a sick kind of happiness. I certainly didn’t like the way her words had stirred an acidic rush of jealousy in my guts, churning in a way that I was absolutely trying to ignore.

Not that I had anything to be jealous about; Archer had been nothing but horrible to me. He was a brute and a monster, and he was literally holding me captive. I should hate him. Immensely.

But that wasn’t all he was.

I told myself to ignore the subtle ways he’d looked out for me. The natural protective—if slightly possessive—instinct he seemed to have when it came to me. All those good qualities were drastically outnumbered by the bad, right?

But if that were true, why did I continue to feel an undeniable pull toward him? And why did his shadow magic seem to fit inside me like the missing piece of a very large puzzle?

Without thinking, I brought my hand up to stroke the collar, feeling it almost purr beneath my touch. The move was unconscious, as though just thinking about Archer’s shadows made me want to ensure that the collar was still there. Still a part of me.

Unfortunately, the move brought even more attention my way.

“You collared her?” Percy hissed, rounding on Archer. “Are you serious right now?”

“It’s not like that, Persephone,” Archer sighed, one hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“What is it like then, Archer?” the angry beauty went on. “Explain it to me, because the last time we spoke, you said you’d never—”

“She’s myprisoner.”

That pulled her up short, her full, perfect mouth left hanging open as she processed his words. She stared at me, her contempt still there, but now her eyes also held contemplation, and, if I wasn’t mistaken, a touch of fear.

“You’re here to see my uncle then?”

“We are. Now, if you would let us in, we could conduct our business and be on our way.”

Archer sounded exhausted, and I wondered how much sleep he’d gotten back at the brownstone. I imagined it wasn’t much, not if the dark circles under his eyes were any indication. He looked tired. The kind of tired that wore you down to dust, and my heart ached for him just a little.

“Or, you could stay. Let me take care of you like the old days.”

“Persephone.”

“It’s almost Samhain,” she pressed, blinking her long lashes at him. “We haven’t spent a cross-quarter festival together in ages.” The woman was relentless. “If you want, we can—”

“Persephone!”

“Fine,” she pouted, dropping her flirting and crossing her arms. “Uncle Nathaniel is in the office. You know the way.”

And with that, she turned on her heel and stomped away into the darkened church.

Chapter seventeen

Archer

The inside of Old North Church was vastly different from that of Temple Church.

In New York, the overall atmosphere was dark, full of natural wood and dozens of stained-glass windows, often lit only by candlelight. As a result, the building typically felt like a darkened alcove, a place for quiet contemplation and reverence.

By contrast, the church I currently stood in was bright as a summer’s day, the pews and walls all painted a blinding white, the upper balconies boasting arched windows of the clearest glass, allowing the sun to infiltrate every single corner of the room and fill it with dawn’s early light.

I hated it.