“We good?”

Moira nodded as she tiptoed down the last few steps, careful to avoid the creaky bottom one. “Yup. Everybody’s asleep.”

Severus had been dead to the world for the last thousand hours after a whirlwind day of getting his brother settled into twenty-first-century living. At six in the morning, Alaric was still conked out after his bar shift, having returned home only three hours prior. Malachi, who’d dipped into Alaric’s very pricey top-shelf booze last night as he sat glued to the television, was still sprawled on the L-shaped sectional on Alaric’s level, snoring up a storm. Only she and Ella were up, and Ella was only awake because Moira had begged her last night to come with her. Ella had agreed, but she also probably hadn’t considered how early five thirty actually felt.

“You know I need my eight hours,” she’d whined, half serious, half joking, as Moira roused her a half hour ago. But, here she was, her hair especially frizzy, but otherwise totally recovered from puking her guts out at the hell-gate yesterday. They’d been inseparable ever since; Severus had had his hands full with Malachi anyway, and Moira had spent a lot of the day resting and catching Ella up on everything that had gone down in Hell. After an awkward house dinner, Malachi hitting on Ella with every breath he took, they had all watched a movie together—Alaric had been present until work called, Severus until he passed out, and Malachi until the bitter end.

To his credit, the chaos demon had been nice enough to help get Severus, who was currently the most drained Moira had ever seen him, to bed. He’d ruined it all by asking if she and Ella wanted company in their room, and he was currently right where she had left him.

As she slipped on her old ballet flats, Moira motioned to the set of hooks arranged between the doorframe and the front window. Ella pointed from key to key until she finally nodded—that was the one they’d need. No way would she dare drive Alaric’s Lamborghini, which was currently parked at the curb outside, a ticket in the windshield. With her purse over her shoulder and sunglasses on top of her head, Moira took Ella’s hand and crept out of the building, gently shutting the door behind her. The early-morning rush hour was still about an hour away, and together they jogged across the street, Moira’s gaze fixed on Alaric’s SUV, which was currently parked in the alley between the flower shop and the upscale shoe store.

“I’m still never going to get used to the house just disappearing,” Ella said once they reached the sidewalk, pausing for a moment to study what Moira knew would be an empty, dingy alleyway. However, now that she had Cordelia’s pentagram mark on her ribs, the house remained visible whether she was in it, touching it, or not. As much as she would have liked for Ella to be able to do the same, getting that damn mark had been one of the most painful things she’d ever experienced, and she wouldn’t wish it on her best friend for anything.

Outside of the pain excuse, Ella’s lack of a mark meant she couldn’t leave without someone going with her—which, as Moira had learned the hard way, was probably for the best.

“Yeah, same,” she said distractedly as she unlocked the SUV from a distance, the rear lights flickering at her. “Come on, let’s—”

“Ladies.” Moira spied Gibson approaching out of the corner of her eye, and she forced a smile as she faced the demon, hiding Alaric’s keys behind her back. Although he seldom said a word to her, the guy wasn’t all bad; his sole responsibility was Alaric’s well-being, which, in a weird way, kind of endeared him to her.

Oh, and the purple housecoat didn’t exactly lend itself to the menacing demon aesthetic.

“Oh, hey Gibson,” Ella said brightly, cocking her hip—and thrusting those huge boobs his way. To his credit, he maintained eye contact the whole time, his gaze drifting between Moira’s and Ella’s with a sigh.

“May I ask what you’re doing?”

“Breakfast run,” Ella insisted without missing a beat. “The guys are a bit tired, so we thought we’d treat them.”

The demon arched a black eyebrow. “Oh, really? At six in the morning?”

“Sure. Alaric said it was fine to use the car,” Moira added, forcing her smile to match Ella’s. He hadn’t, of course, but she knew that if she asked, he wouldn’t have a problem with it. It was only a partial lie, right? “We’ll be back in a half hour, tops.”

“And we’ll keep the GPS on,” Ella said, ignoring the sidelong glare Moira shot her. “Text me your breakfast order and I’ll drop it off when we get back.”

“I…” Gibson scratched at the back of his head, then looked toward the grey and black building across the street, the building Moira would be able to see forever now. “Are you sure you don’t want an escort? My shift doesn’t start for another hour.”

“We’re big girls. Farrow’s Hollow natives,” Ella told him, throwing an arm around Moira’s shoulders and squeezing. “Pretty sure we can manage the Monroe’s drive-through by ourselves.”

Her heart skipped a beat as she waited, hoping that Gibson of all demons wasn’t about to ruin her plan. While he hesitated a moment longer, in the end he conceded.

“GPS on the whole time, and you bring me breakfast.”

“Deal,” Ella giggled back, a bubbly, bouncy ball of flirt. “Text me what you want.”

Unsure how to handle the shift in dynamics, Moira just turned on the spot and made a beeline for the SUV, hopping into the driver’s seat with an incredulous smile on her face.

“So, what the hell was that?” she asked once Ella climbed into the passenger side and slammed the door. “Are you and Gibson friends? I was only gone like ten hours, Ella.”

“I am the demon whisperer!” Ella proclaimed triumphantly, then, in a more muted tone, she added, “I don’t know… Gibson and Alaric were really nice to me while you were gone.”

Moira’s eyebrows shot up as the engine revved to life, and she watched Ella’s greedy fingers go right for the radio. “Oh?”

“Yeah, but nice in the way that guys are nice to you when they want you to stop crying,” Ella told her, smirking. “You know, that ‘please stop crying, I have no emotions to deal with your womanly ways’ kind of nice. I just went with it. They kept ordering me takeout and talking really slow and soft.”

“Well, whatever works, I guess,” Moira said as she adjusted all the mirrors. Alaric’s SUV was the biggest, most high-tech vehicle she had ever driven, but once she figured out where all the buttons were, it was fairly intuitive. “Anyway, look at you, navigating the demon world like you were made for it.”

Ella snorted, flicking the AC on high and slumping back in her seat. “Not really. There are some demons I definitely don’t have a handle on.”

Malachi. Neither needed to say it; the guy hadn’t stopped ogling Ella since he stepped out of the hell-gate.

It made Moira want to staple things to his face. Ella, her beautiful, smart, tough, independent best friend, was not for gross guy ogling.

As much as she wanted to delve into it, the expression on Ella’s face read loud and clear that Malachi was the last thing she wanted to talk about. So, she went for the GPS instead, only to have Ella slap her hand away.

“What?”

“I wasn’t serious about putting the GPS on,” her friend said, perfectly plucked brow wrinkled. “We’ll turn it on when we get to Monroe’s.”

The diner just outside of the university campus, which had become so popular that they’d opened a second location and installed a new drive-through, wasn’t their only stop on this morning’s outing. Moira nibbled her lower lip for a moment, hesitant.

“But…Gibson?”

“I’ll just have my boobs out when I tell him I couldn’t work the GPS until we got there,” Ella said as she buckled herself in. “He likes them. I can tell.”

Moira pursed her lips to keep from laughing, then drew her seatbelt across her body and clicked it into the lock. With one final mirror check and just a hint of seat adjusting, she shifted the SUV into drive and gently pressed down on the gas pedal.

“This is the smoothest thing I’ve ever driven,” she said decidedly as they neared the sidewalk.

“Does it make you feel like a pretentious asshole?” Ella waved at Gibson in passing, her bright smile back. He still stood in front of the flower shop, purple housecoat done up a little tighter and his gaze steely. As Moira turned left onto the street, Ella added, “Because I feel like people who drive vehicles this big tend to have an ego.”

“Feel free to deflate mine the second it gets too obnoxious.” One last glance in the rearview mirror had Severus’s home in sight, and she tried and failed to swallow the lump of guilt that had settled in her throat. Severus should have been here with her, but Moira needed to do this by herself. She needed just a few more answers about her parents—and it wasn’t Severus’s responsibility to hold her hand and carry her through everything. He deserved to sleep. He needed to sleep. If they ran into any problems, this giant, smooth SUV would whisk them away to safety.

Her gaze slipped over to Ella when they stopped at a light, her friend already switching away from the morning talk shows to find a station just playing music. In Hell, Moira had seen some shit. She’d fought a hellhound. She’d survived an encounter with Asmodeus and his enforcers. If there was trouble waiting for her in Farrow’s Hollow, she finally felt like she might be able to handle it—and she would never, ever let anything happen to Ella. If someone dared threaten her, Moira would go white-light nuclear on them.

Hopefully. If the light felt like listening to her today—if she clapped hard enough.

Besides, the likelihood of demons prowling the neighbourhood Moira had in mind was low. After listening to all of Severus’s grumblings about his own kind, and her very brief experience with a lot of them in Hell, demons seemed to gravitate toward extremes.

And where she and Ella were headed was the least extreme suburb in Farrow’s Hollow. Located in the southwest corner of the city, the sprawling residential neighbourhood where the pair had grown up consisted of an elementary and high school, a strip mall, a bowling alley, four churches, and a few fast food joints; it was the most vanilla suburb imaginable. Both Moira and Ella could have navigated the roads blindfolded, and as they traveled the familiar streets, they spent time pointing out all the changes—how big the trees had gotten, which neighbour had repainted their garage, which lawn had a for sale sign stuck in it.

They drove by the two-bedroom bungalow Moira had shared with her mom all those years, pausing in front of the driveway for just a few minutes. The pair sat in silence, studying the old place. Moira had always wanted to go inside—see what the new family had done with her bedroom, her mom’s. Did they ever finish the basement? The back deck had been a mess when she sold the house two years ago; had they fixed it up?

With a heavy heart, she eventually pulled away, onward and outward to their actual destination. She had been checking the mirrors much more than usual, always alert for a car following too closely, making all the same turns she had. However, no one was up at this hour around here, and she figured they had still had lots of time before school buses flooded the narrow residential streets.

They drove to the strip mall, the one she and Ella had frequented as preteens. First at the corner store to raid the candy aisle, then the little shabby pizza place as they got older and their tastes more sophisticated. Everything there was still closed, a good two hours to go before they started up for the day—everywhere except the twenty-four-hour storage facility around back. Moira pulled into one of a dozen empty parking places, then hopped out with Ella at her heels.

She punched in the security code at the chain-link gate, then pushed it aside when the little box buzzed at her. Unit 22—a giant grey rectangle that housed all her mom’s worldly possessions. She and Ella had been here before; her best friend had been the only one to help her move all the boxes, the furniture, the clothes into storage. To stand in front of it now, when she hadn’t visited in nearly a year, made Moira’s heart heavy, her chest tight and prickly. With a deep breath, she jammed her key into the lock and tried to swallow the lump in her throat as she opened it. Together, they raised the metal door up and over, the musty scent of her mom’s old perfume and cardboard wafting out to greet them.

“Less stuff than I remember there being,” Ella muttered, her hands in the pockets of her teeny-tiny jean cutoffs. “Seemed like we were moving boxes forever that day.”

“We were,” Moira told her, arms crossed, holding herself. They had managed to fill half the storage unit, and even though all this time had passed, she still knew where to find everything.

They walked inside holding hands, the glare of the exterior floodlights illuminating the box towers and the sheet-covered armchair. Ella’s hand tightened around hers when she first felt herself starting to shake, and Moira squeezed back. I can do this.

She had to do this.

“So, what are we looking for?”

“Journals,” Moira said, moving in deeper, scanning the labels on the boxes to find what she needed. “Mom liked to journal when she had time.”

“Do you think she wrote about him?”

Him. Aeneas. Moira hadn’t a clue if her mom had written about him, but ever since she got back from Hell, the thought had hovered at the back of her mind, refusing to leave. Now that she had a name, she needed to know for her own sanity what her mom knew about him—if anything at all.

Together, they combed through the boxes, headed straight for the books section of the unit. Eventually, Moira found one of the larger boxes with Journals scribbled across its side in Ella’s loopy cursive. Heart beating just a little harder, she ripped the tape off the top, tossing it aside, and then knelt on the dusty cement floor. Decades of journals sat in this one box; Ella pulled them out one by one, carefully passing them to Moira to arrange by year, handling them like they were ancient artifacts that might crumble to nothing at any moment.

Her mom had a type: spiral-bound, six by nine inches, brown leather jacket, black pen. The dates were scrawled in the top right corner of the interior cover page; it was the same with every journal they examined. Moira tried not to get swept up in the memories, in the images of her mom seated on the old living room armchair, legs curled under her as she scribbled away.

Growing up, Moira had never understood what on earth her mom did that gave her so much to write about, and journaling was a habit that hadn’t passed on from mother to daughter. Now, however, Moira was grateful; even if she wasn’t using these to find details on Aeneas, she could read any random sentence and remember the sound of her mom’s voice—just like that.

Moira had never gone through them before, the idea too painful to consider after the funeral. There had been too many other things going on in her life, and even when she’d started sleuthing about, trying to catch her dad on polaroid, Moira hadn’t thought to turn to them. Stupid, really. Such a valuable resource…

However, after Moira skimmed through the entries roughly nine months before she was born, she found no reference to a man at all. No secret crushes, no one-night stands, no high-school sweethearts—nothing. Her mom mostly talked about work, and Moira flipped through the journals in a huff.

If she couldn’t find anything, this walk down memory lane would only serve to rile her up.

“This is the third time Gibson’s texted me,” Ella interjected softly, a hand on Moira’s shoulder. “Find anything yet?”

“No,” she muttered, adding the last journal she’d looked through to the pile. “I know we have to get going, but I just thought…”

She shook her head. Maybe she had been reaching here. Maybe her mom’s relationship with Aeneas hadn’t been worth documenting. Maybe…

“Oh, there was one book I kind of assumed was a journal. I thought it’d be rude to read it,” Ella said, reaching down to the very bottom of the huge box and pulling out a black book. “When we were packing, I just wanted it to have a home, you know? I tucked it in the side of the box. Maybe this guy has some information.”

Much longer and thinner than all the other journals, the notebook only appeared half used when Moira quickly flipped through it. Her heart sank, however, when she spotted the date on the inside of the cover: a month before her mom had first gotten sick. Two months before she died.

Throat tight, she scanned the three lines on the first page: I once dated a man named Andrew. I thought he was the One. I can now confidently say, as of today, he was not, is not, and never will be.

“Well?”

“Something,” Moira murmured. Without a word, Ella started packing up the rest of the journals as Moira read on. Her heart hammered; it pounded between her ears, lodged up in her throat, and yet somehow fell into her stomach too, a nauseous wave hitting her. Moira couldn’t feel her fingers, but she turned each page frantically, skimming for details, for key words that caught her attention.

I needed to know the truth.

Andrew was not all that he appeared. How could I not have known? How could I not have seen it?

I thought he was a social worker, always at the hospital during my shifts. I fell in love with him. I thought he loved me too.

He paid me a million dollars after I told him I was pregnant with Moira. He made me swear on the Bible never to speak a word of our tryst. I had to promise to never contact him again. I didn’t believe in God. I wasn’t religious. I never thought he was either.

I saved the money for Moira, let the interest grow. It paid for her schooling, until she wanted to pay for university herself. I couldn’t say no. I was so proud of her.

But I couldn’t let him go. I needed to know him. Moira needed a dad—even if it was only a name.

There were no records of the man I knew—the man I loved.

I started digging around.

Demons are real.

Angels too.

I couldn’t believe it. Didn’t understand it.

Something about the number twenty-two. Biblical significance?

Seraphim Securities is a lie, a front.

Moira blinked hard, her vision blurring, and two tracks of tears rolled down her cheeks. Her mom had known—she had tried to do something. It read to Moira like she had recorded her findings first, but then the tenses in her writing changed—switched from past tense to present. And then it all seemed to fall apart.

I feel like I’m being followed.

Something is in the house with us. I felt it last night while I was getting ready for bed. I felt it watching me from down the hallway. I felt it in Moira’s room.

I think the demons I paid told someone. Too dangerous. This is putting Moira at risk.

His name was never Andrew.

What have I done?

“Moira?”

She shook her head, lips quivering, head heavy, chest tight. Setting the journal on the ground, she flipped to the last two pages with any writing on them, then pressed her hand to her mouth to muffle a sob.

On the left page, one word, six letters: Aeneas.

On the right page: I think he’s going to kill me.

“She knew,” Moira cried as Ella crouched down and hugged her. “She figured it out by herself—all of it. She found out who he really was, and she was terrified.”

It had been hard enough watching her other best friend, the only real constant familial figure in her life, succumb to a horrific illness. To see the woman she loved so fiercely, whom she had looked up to her entire life, break down into a babbling, unfocused, neurotic mess—it had nearly destroyed her. Toward the end, she had been in so much pain that the doctors sometimes needed to keep her sedated just to ride out the day. Moira had been there, holding her hand, sleeping on a cot in the hospital, keeping her company through the worst of it.

But none of that mattered.

Because Lara Aurelia had been terrified of an angel—a creature that she thought was going to kill her.

“I sh-should have been there to help her—”

“Honey, you couldn’t have known,” Ella murmured, stroking her hair. Her voice had hitched, trembled, and Moira could tell without opening her eyes that she was crying too. Ella pushed her hair back, squatting in front of Moira to dry her tears, the newfound journal pushed to the side. “Listen to me… You did everything you could for her back then. Everything. She knew you loved her, right up until her last breath. I know because I watched it happen. We both did. You were the light of her life, and this—” she pointed an accusatory finger at the journal “—is not your fault. Do you hear me? Whatever that fucker did, to her, to you—”

“Do you think he made her sick?” Moira hadn’t considered it until now, that the illness that had stolen her mom away could have had supernatural origins. No one could explain it. No one had been able to give it a name, but she’d assumed it was something—natural. “He gave her m-money not to talk about whatever they had, and she went looking for him. What if he—”

“Stop.” Fat tears cascaded down Ella’s cheeks too, and she plopped back on the ground with a sniffle. “We’re gonna get him. We’re gonna find out what he did to her, and we’re gonna get him, do you hear me? We know his name now. If Mom could find him, then we can too.”

“If it’s all true, then he killed her for digging into his backstory. He…” She couldn’t think about it anymore. She couldn’t imagine her mom, frightened and alone with this enormous secret—right up until the very end. She just couldn’t. Instead, she dried her eyes and took a few deep breaths, watching as Ella picked up the journal and flipped through it.

“Fuck, Moira—”

“Don’t read it.” She covered the page with her hand, waiting until Ella’s honey-brown gaze met hers. “You shouldn’t be involved in this. I shouldn’t have… Severus shouldn’t… I bet he killed her, and he’ll kill you too.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Demons are terrified of angels,” she said, shaking her head as a fresh batch of tears surfaced. “Severus warned me about them, and then I got him involved anyway. I didn’t take it seriously. Not really. I just… I can’t…I can’t let you guys in on this anymore. I can’t… No one else should die because of—”

“Shut your face, Moira.”

No one else should die because of me. Because of who he is to me. The sentiment hung heavy between them.

“Knowing this, I can’t let any of you go forward with me. It’s not safe.”

“Well, I’m not going anywhere,” Ella told her as she swiped her thumb under each eye. She then snapped the journal closed. “And if you bail on Severus without an explanation, he will never forgive you. The guy digs you, Moira. Like. A lot. You don’t go to Hell for just anyone.”

“I know.”

“So, talk to him.” They grasped hands and stood. Moira grabbed the box of old journals and set it back where it belonged, then drifted toward the doorway, that black notebook clutched to her chest. By now, the sun bathed the parking lot, visible from where they stood in the row of covered storage units.

If she talked to Severus, he wouldn’t back down—not after what they had been through together in Hell. Not with unspoken declarations of love in the air. He’d stay in the fight right to the bitter end.

Right until Aeneas killed him.

And Ella.

And, probably, her.

She couldn’t damn them like that. She just couldn’t. Ella would be easy to tuck away somewhere; maybe Alaric would agree to keep her inside the house until all this was over. He could be reasonable.

But Severus…

What the fuck was she going to do about Severus? He had risked so much for her already. She couldn’t ask him to go up against Aeneas for her too, not after this—not after learning what the angel had done to her mom. First Diriel had kidnapped Moira, tortured her, but the look in his eye when he had his sights set on Severus in the battle—it had frightened her more than anything he had ever done to her. And Diriel was a nobody. Aeneas had real power. Real authority. A very real ability to obliterate Severus—permanently. Just as he’d done with her mom.

She couldn’t stand the thought of losing Severus too. Death was so permanent. She had learned that the hard way. So, why hadn’t she realized any of this sooner? Had the threats not been real enough?

How could she have been this stupid—this careless?

Miserably, she handed the keys to Ella as they approached the SUV, opting to ride shotgun on the way to Monroe’s. Her driving right now would have been a hazard.

“Gibson, hey,” Ella chirped into her phone once she got the engine started up. “Are you checking up on me? My girl and I just needed to have a heart to heart about boy stuff. We’re headed to Monroe’s now. Oh, is the GPS not on? Well, I can’t fiddle with it while I’m driving—totally not safe. Gibson. Gibson. Gibson.” Ella shot Moira an eye roll, her smile forced. “D’you want white toast or whole wheat? Text me. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. No. I see a cop and I’ll get a ticket for being on the phone. I’m hanging up now. Bye, Gibson.”

As they pulled out of the parking lot, Moira opened the notebook again to those last two pages and stared at them until she couldn’t see anymore, until her eyes filled with tears—until she knew exactly what she needed to do, but had always been too scared to accept. Moira had feared it from the beginning, feared that Severus would walk away, wash his hands clean of all this with every new bit of information they acquired. Before today, him leaving, too frightened of angels to continue, had sounded like the worst thing in the world.

Now, she knew he wouldn’t go—but separation might be the one thing that would keep him alive.

She inhaled shakily, her chest tight. Beside her, ever the forced distraction, Ella fiddled with the radio, cursed at shitty drivers, and shot Moira worried looks at stoplights.

And if either of them listened closely, over the roar of the latest top-forty track, they might just hear the sound of her breaking heart.

* * *

“Do my ears deceive me—or did you steal Alaric’s SUV this morning?” Severus cocked his head to the side, sprawled out on his bed, half naked and semi-rested. He grinned at the sight of Moira slinking into his bedroom. “Bit of a rogue move, even for you, darling.”

Still blinking the sleep out of his eyes, he scratched at his head as she padded across the room and settled at the end of the bed.

“Severus, we have to talk.”

He frowned, then sat up a little straighter, rearranging the pillows to soften the bite of the barred wooden headrest on his back. “Moira, I was only teasing. I hardly think Alaric cares if you borrowed the SUV. I’m not thrilled that you went somewhere without me, but…”

His gaze snagged on the thin black book in her hands, an item he’d never seen among her personal effects before. Curiosity piqued, he tried to put the pieces together, all the while wondering what Malachi had fucked up now. Why else would she look so serious? His brother had probably done something ridiculous, something that had now come back to bite Severus in the ass. Honestly, bringing him here had been a mistake—one he’d thought would correct itself after they left the hell-gate.

But, his brother had stayed, curious as sin about all the twenty-first century technology around him—curious and insistent that Severus teach him everything in a single afternoon. Since Moira had been occupied with Ella for most of yesterday, Severus had begrudgingly done as his brother demanded, even if it had drained him of his final energy reserves.

He had crashed sometime after they’d all settled in for a movie last night, and had then slept—holy fuck, eighteen hours. Shaking his head, Severus tossed his phone back on the nightstand, unsure of why Moira had yet to say a word. It hadn’t surprised him to wake an hour earlier to an empty bed; Moira had told him before he passed out that she’d be sleeping with Ella anyway. However, Gibson’s dulcet tones had carried from the second floor to the fourth, ranting on and on about how the girls took the SUV to get breakfast. While he hadn’t been able to hear Alaric’s response, he’d heard a door slam, promptly followed by Gibson’s heavy footsteps stomping down the stairs.

Alaric wouldn’t care if Moira took the car. He had always told Severus that whatever vehicles he had on hand were free for him to use should he need them. So, why the sour face? Why did his little hybrid look like someone had died?

“Moira?” He waited, the inner demon grumbling at the sight of her face falling further. Something was wrong. Something had happened. Damn it, he should have gone with her. But then again, she hadn’t exactly woken him up when she’d left. Clearly, she hadn’t wanted him to accompany her. Sighing, he pinched the bridge of his nose. He needed a human touch soon. Yesterday’s headache had cleared, but the trip to Hell had left him weak. Too weak—too weak when the woman he loved was still at risk. Diriel might have been sanctioned, but there was no telling where he was now, if he was back in Farrow’s Hollow or if he’d fled like he was supposed to.

And if not Diriel, then there was still her father. She shouldn’t go out alone, at least not without himself or Gibson or, fuck, even Malachi, just someone who could actually do something in a fight against the supernatural. Ella was sprightly and mouthy—but human. What good was she?

“I went to my mom’s old storage unit before we picked up breakfast,” Moira admitted, fiddling with the sharp corner of the book on her lap. She then tucked her hair behind her ears, her cheeks flushed and gaze averted. “I couldn’t shake this feeling that… I don’t know, I needed to go there. Mom used to journal here and there, and I thought she might have information about Aeneas. And then I found this…”

He thought she might offer the book to him, but she clutched it to her chest instead.

“She went looking for him, and she documented it all. She knew about demons, about Seraphim Securities, and she was terrified.” Moira pulled in a short breath, shaking her head slightly when Severus started to shuffle down toward her. He paused, his frown deepening.

The inner demon’s rumbles had escalated to full-blown growls, neither of them understanding why she wouldn’t let him touch her. Clearly the news was upsetting—and Severus wanted her in his arms. He wanted to kiss the pain away and murmur gentle reassurances in her ear until the look on her face, that morose, anguished expression, melted away to something more palatable. She didn’t need to be all sunshine and smiles, but the sight of her now made his heart hurt right along with her.

So, he pressed onward, crawling down the enormous king-sized bed, the sheets rumpled at his knees—but his jaw clenched when she climbed off and stood a few feet away. Physically fleeing from him now, was she?

What the fuck had gone on while he’d slept?

“This isn’t proof,” she insisted, tapping the book. “It’s only her suspicions, but Severus, I think he killed her. I think he realized she had broken her promise not to look into him after he, he, he paid her off when she was pregnant with me. I…I think he made her sick, and I think he killed her because of what she was doing.”

It physically pained him to see her so distressed. Severus had known all along what the winged bastards were capable of. Demons grew up on fables of warrior angels; they lived the horror, but Moira was just getting her first real taste of it. Of course it upset her.

“Darling, I’m so sorry you’ve had to find out this way. I know it can’t be easy.” Moira had actually liked her mother. They had been close, as far as he understood it, and now the man she had been waiting her whole life to meet was implicated in her death. Severus could sympathize. Not empathize, of course. He despised his mother—yet the news of her death had still hit him harder than he dared admit. Clearing his throat, he held a hand out to her. “Really. I’m sure it’s a lot to digest… Come here.”

She shook her head. “No, Severus, I can’t.”

“What?” He chuckled, waiting for her to break into a smile, emit a giggle, something to suggest that she was joking. Yet all she did was stare at him like she was about to—lose him. “Moira—”

“I can’t do this with you anymore. If it’s all true, and he…and he killed her, I just can’t.”

She was serious. This was a serious discussion. Battling a rush of panic, the inner demon clawing at the inside of his chest to get out, to show her she was being ridiculous and come here and let him make her forget all her troubles, Severus clambered off the bed and started toward her. Again she retreated—and it hurt as if she’d slapped him.

“I mean, I don’t know how I could have been so naive,” she said, her voice catching. “You told me… You told me the day you told me everything. Angels aren’t supposed to, to procreate with humans, so obviously he’d kill to keep it a secret. He broke the rules, and he covered it up when the truth threatened to surface. And here I am, two years later, doing the exact same thing.”

“Of course he’ll kill to keep the truth hidden,” Severus growled, one hand easing into a fist, a fist that got tighter and tighter the more she distanced herself from him. Not physically, but he could see it in her eyes—she wanted to run. “But angels have rules. They can’t kill willy-nilly. I’m fairly certain they need a just cause to butcher a human, and if your mother was a nurse, what could possibly be the just cause—”

“Maybe he had someone else do it. I don’t know,” she cried, the red in her cheeks deepening sharply. “Severus, I don’t have the answers, but this just made everything so much clearer. I can’t keep dragging you into this.”

“As I recall, I volunteered—”

“And I’m not going to take the risk anymore. Not with you. I can’t. Please, please understand—”

“I’m afraid I don’t, Moira, so just come right out and say it.” He winced, the inner demon driving his claws deeper into him. Maybe he was getting too riled up, but the way she was talking—she couldn’t back out now. She couldn’t. They were partners. “Moira, just stop being ridiculous. This… There’s no need for any of it.”

That little book had made her emotional, sure, but they could work through that. He could comfort her as he always did, and she could pour out her heart to him until she was utterly spent. They’d hold one another until the storm had passed. They were partners.

“It has to be done,” she whispered, her pale pink lips trembling, her eyes glassy. “Severus, I’m sorry, but it’s over. Our partnership… We agreed to work together until we found my dad. I know his name. I know where he works. I know what he looks like. It’s done. We… You don’t have to do this anymore. You fulfilled your end of the deal—”

“You think I’m standing here right now for the sake of some fucking deal!” He hated himself for shouting, for raising his voice, for the demon eyes flashing to life in front of her. He sounded more beast than man, more demon than not, and he swallowed thickly when she clapped a hand over her mouth to smother a sob. Exhaling hard, Severus went toward her again—and again she withdrew, backing away from the door and across the room. She hovered in the bathroom doorway, her arms crossed over herself until one reached inside to flick the light on. Briefly he saw the way she trembled until the bathroom light cast deep shadows across her features, hiding her face, her tears.

Fuck your tears, Moira. She didn’t get to stand there and cry, break his heart, so that he would back down and concede. No. Not today. Not this time.

“I shouldn’t have involved you,” she told him, her words breathy. All around them, the air had started to cool—angelic sorrow. Scowling, he snatched a T-shirt off the shelf in his closet, dragging it over his head as she carried on. “It’s too risky. It was stupid of me to ask so much of you.”

“I knew the fucking risks when I volunteered for this,” he snapped, yanking the shirt into place. “You don’t get to kick me aside now, not after everything. Not after…”

Not after I’ve fallen in love with you.

“It’s for the best,” was her response, and she yelped when he slammed his fist into the wall. Pain bloomed up his arm, and he flexed his hand open and shut, shaking his head at her.

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do.” She brushed at her cheeks absently, sniffling. “I have to mean it, Severus. I’m sorry. We need…distance. We need space until I know he won’t hurt you.”

She had always been rational before. Any time a discussion had become heated, they had found a way to discuss things calmly, even if they needed to vent a little at one another first. When that failed, there was always a more enjoyable way to solve an argument, but he had a feeling she didn’t want him near her. Kind of difficult to fuck the tension away when she wouldn’t stop running.

Hands on his hips, he looked up and inhaled deeply. The early-morning sunshine gleamed through his bedroom skylight, and its cheery, chipper brightness was a fucking insult. He should have seen this coming. He should have expected this. With a lifetime of poor luck and rejection behind him, the first woman he truly loved had been destined to break his heart, to break him. There was no way around it—they had been doomed from the start. He exhaled a sharp, humorless chuckle, shaking his head.

“Severus, please, this has nothing to do with you—”

“How can it not?” Stalking around the bed, he snatched his phone off the little side table and shoved it in the pocket of his sweatpants. “You needn’t explain yourself, Moira.”

“I feel like I do.” Now she followed him, the soft pitter-patter of her footsteps trailing after him as he crossed the bedroom to the door. “I don’t think you understand what I’m trying to say. Maybe I’m not being clear—”

“It’s clear enough,” he growled, wrenching the door open, his back to her. “It’s over. It’s done. You don’t need to say it again.”

“No, Severus, I don’t mean—”

“Enough.” He paused, his entire body tensing when her hand fell on his arm. The inner demon responded like a cat in the sun, purring at the faint physical contact. Blind idiot. Slowly, Severus looked back, his black-eyed stare falling to her hand. He could only glance at her face, at the quivering lower lip and the open desperation in her eyes. His gaze flickered to them, yet he couldn’t meet them, couldn’t hold that blue-eyed stare. Not now. With a shaky breath, Moira retracted her hand at last, but he could still feel the burn of her touch.

“Don’t go. Don’t leave.”

“I need to,” Severus exhaled sharply, ignoring the way his brain screamed coward at him, over and over again, “not be here with you right now. I need to go. Isn’t that what you want?”

“No, Severus, please…”

He knew what she wanted—to sit down and talk it all out reasonably. Now was the time for that cool, calm, rational conversation they were so adept at.

But he also knew how that conversation would end. He wasn’t ready for that. Not yet. So, he stalked out the door toward the stairs, trying and failing to ignore the sounds of Moira’s cries. He needed a breather. He needed a moment to think, to process—and perhaps to nurse his wounded pride, maybe even seek out the rationale behind her decision.

And he couldn’t do that from inside this house.

So, he blitzed down all the stairs, grabbed the key to the SUV, ignoring Malachi’s booming voice from the kitchen, and stormed out the front door.

All the while, inside his head: coward, coward, coward.

Run away like you always do. Run, you fucking coward. Run.