Guilt ate at Dougal when he spotted Jonathan slumped over in a chair at the kitchen table. His laptop along with several books spread across the table. The man’s new wings folded around him like a warm blanket. They were black and long enough they draped to the floor.

Dougal quietly pulled out a chair and sat. He couldn’t stop staring at the man who’d changed their clan. They’d survived centuries before their new prince joined them. It was almost funny how Dougal couldn’t remember depending on anyone more. The moment Lire had dumped him back with his clan, Jonathan had been the first person he’d sought. Even though he’d been half out of his mind, he remembered clearly he wouldn’t accept blood from anyone else, and Jonathan had saved his life. Pain sliced through Dougal. Lire felt farther away by the second. It was as if he could physically feel Lire slipping away. He had to stop himself from waking Jonathan. It was black inside his head. No matter how hard he tried holding his shit together, his thoughts and emotions continued their downhill spiral.

Dougal tried concentrating on something else. He eyed the man who was mated to his prince. It had been close to five hundred years since angels had walked the earth. Jonathan’s new wings were the same, but Lire had called him a Nephilim. That explained a lot. Most of his kind didn’t come into their powers until later in life, if at all. Most grew stronger every day once the first powers showed themselves. Mentally, Jonathan seemed to be holding up well. Physically, Jonathan looked exhausted. He had dark circles under his eyes. Jonathan was truly a beautiful man inside and out. Dougal wasn’t surprised he’d snagged two of his clansmen’s hearts.

“There he is,” Niall said, setting his hands on Dougal’s shoulders and squeezing. Dougal immediately cleared his mind. As their prince, Niall could hear everyone’s thoughts. No one could keep him out. Dougal didn’t want anyone inside his head. “I wondered why he didn’t come back to bed last night.”

Jonathan shot up straight in his chair at Niall’s words. His wings immediately disappeared as he blinked at the room as if trying to figure out where he was. The sheet he’d been wearing the night before pooled in Jonathan’s lap, barely hiding anything. Against his will, Dougal’s gaze swept Jonathan’s body. Jonathan wasn’t his type, but he was beautiful, especially lightly glowing like a god as he was now.

Jonathan focused on Dougal while still looking slightly confused. “Hi.”

Everything fell away. A smile tugged at the corners of Dougal’s mouth. “Hi.”

Jonathan’s green gaze moved to Niall. His features softened. “Sorry. I must’ve fallen asleep.”

A loud weary-sounding sigh filled the kitchen. With one sound, Niall managed to sound like the most put-upon husband on the planet. “No more work for you,” Niall said, circling the table and sweeping Jonathan into his arms. “You’re going to bed and I don’t care if the house is under attack. You’re not leaving until you’ve had a full eight hours of sleep.”

After wrapping his arms around Niall’s neck, Jonathan buried his face against it. The move did nothing to muffle his voice. “Okay, baby, but Dougal has to go back to bed too.”

Dougal bit back a groan as Niall paused beside his chair. Niall’s golden gaze locked on Dougal. “You heard the man. Back to bed. Everyone in this house is on their last leg. I’m declaring this a lazy day. Everyone get in the bed.”

Faolan passed through the kitchen, obviously catching the last of Niall’s order. His usual faked bright smile made an appearance. He clapped and rubbed his hands together. “Sweet. I’ve been waiting for the annual orgy.”

Niall scoffed. Jonathan’s low chuckle filled the room. It was all the encouragement Faolan needed. “I’ll grab the lard and eggplants.”

“Oh, god,” Jonathan choked out, burying his face tighter against Niall’s throat. “I don’t even want to know.”

The chuckle escaping Dougal surprised even him. “He’s just fucking with you, sweets.”

“Or am I?” Faolan asked, waggling his eyebrows. Since Niall had his back to Faolan, heading for the door, obviously done with his antics, a lump formed in Dougal’s throat. It had been a damn long time since Faol tried making him laugh.

Faolan moved to the table and claimed the chair Jonathan vacated. “Let’s see what our genius has been researching.” Dougal chewed on his nails as Faolan flipped through the books. “Demonology. Four demon-themed romance books. Two on demon sickness. These are all fiction. He needs to find a local Catholic Church if he wants to research demons.”

Dougal pressed his palm on the table, trying to focus on Faolan’s words and hang on to his shit. Jonathan was trying to fix him. Dougal wasn’t as sure there was a cure. A slash of red caught his eye and Dougal dropped his gaze to the table. His fingernails were gone. The tip of his fingers bled freely. He stared at his hand—detached. The silence of the room penetrated his fogged mind. Dougal glanced up to find Faolan staring at his hands. Their gazes met.

Anger flashed in Faolan’s eyes. “You’re always a slave to some monster’s dick.”

There it was—Faolan’s hatred, stabbing him through the heart at the perfect moment. The air rushed from Dougal’s lungs as Faolan’s mental blow hit its mark. Hot tears pressed at his eyes. Dougal flew to his feet. His chair crashed to the floor.

As Dougal hovered over him, Faolan deflated before his eyes. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

Dougal’s chest burned with too many painful emotions for him to choose one. “Aye, you should’ve. You’re right. All I’ll ever be is a slave.” If Faolan had a retort, Dougal would never know. He dissipated and reappeared inside his bedroom. His gaze flew around the room, searching for something to destroy. Nothing looked satisfying enough. The only thing in the room that would bring him relief would be demolishing himself. Dougal unwound his kilt and dropped it to the floor before moving to stand in front of the mirror hanging on the back of his bedroom door.

Today, he looked different—diminished. Without Lire feeding his addiction, Dougal’s rough treatment showed. Vampires rarely scarred. They healed too fast. Unfortunately, a demon’s bite left a mark. Their venomous serrated teeth tore at the skin and poisoned the blood, leaving behind scarred skin. Those light white marks marred his neck. Proving how sick and twisted Dougal had become as Lire’s captive, Dougal’s dick stirred at the sight of them. He could still feel Lire’s teeth tearing into his neck as his cock stretched his ass. There was so much pleasure in the pain.

A thin layer of sweat broke out across his body. Dougal stared at his reflection as he ran his hand down his stomach. His eyes followed his hand’s progress as it headed for the erection tapping at his navel. It wouldn’t be the same. Lire wasn’t there, coating the air with his magic. Dougal’s mind wouldn’t fog with Lire’s whispered spells and dirty talk. He smoothed his palm down his cock. His nerve endings sang. It mattered Lire was gone, and he was alone, but then again, it didn’t. Lire had done his job as a lilin demon. He’d addicted Dougal to sex, corrupting his mind from all purpose and ruining his body for all others. The addiction to sex would be lifelong and that was a damn severe punishment for a vampire. He’d agreed—a life for a life. At the time, he hadn’t known what he’d promised. All Dougal wanted was to save Jonathan. Demons were tricky. Wording was everything. Lire hadn’t said a death for a death or a soul for a soul. No, he’d said a life for a life. Jonathan had lived. So too would Dougal—forever cursed to the madness.

Pre-cum rolled down Dougal’s dick. He rolled his hips into his touch as he two-handed himself. Dougal jacked his dick and squeezed his balls. He needed a second of peace. The only place he’d find it was in the seconds of release when he died a little.

Loosening his knees, Dougal fucked his fist. He was shameless as he watched his cock slide up and down in his tight hold in the mirror. His teeth sank into his bottom lip, stifling his cries. He could do this forever—stay on the edge where pain didn’t exist. There were toys packed away somewhere. He could break them out, lock himself away, and fuck himself until he passed out from exhaustion. When the torturous addiction woke him, he could start all over again. He didn’t need Lire. He didn’t need... his heart cried out in denial before another name could cross his mind, but it left his lips as the growing pressure exploded into waves of ecstasy, coating the mirror in cum. Dougal gasped through each wave, squeezing out each drop until his shoulders heaved from the effort.

For a moment, he stared at his jizz-covered reflection. A familiar thought sneaked in. He was home. This was the real him. The way men saw him—broken and with cum coating his face. As Faolan had said—always someone’s cock slave. A burst of rage exploded from him. Dougal’s fist connected with the mirror and kept flying out until his knuckles ripped to shreds and the mirror turned to dust. His entire body shook, but his mind cleared. Dougal was done. He’d given almost seven hundred years of service, and too many pieces of himself to count. It was over.

* * *

All Jonathan could find to wear was a pair of workout shorts. He didn’t bother with a shirt. The second he’d put one on, his wings had popped out, shredding parts of the material while getting trapped by the remnants. If he’d thought his body had behaved like a hormonal teenager’s after turning vampire, that was nothing compared to this. He intermittently got taller, and then shorter. When he’d walked past the bathroom mirror and caught sight of his reflection, his eyes had been two different colors—one green and one gold. Not just any gold either. His eye had looked like a melted pot of leprechaun gold. It was eerie as hell. One day soon, he’d never be allowed in public again, except at conventions and on Halloween.

He’d taken to pacing the den. Cin and Niall watched him, walking a hole into the carpet, while wearing matching stoic expressions. Jonathan wasn’t fooled. He knew he looked like something out of a cartoon—one wing hanging out and fangs refusing to retract.

“I’d say you look more like a drunken angel coming home from one hell of a party,” Niall said, obviously reading his thoughts.

Jonathan shot him a dirty look. “Now’s probably not a good time to be in my head.”

“Aye, I skimmed that fuck you that you sent my way right then, but you know I can’t help it if you’re not blocking me.”

“I don’t have the energy to block you.” Even Jonathan heard the exhaustion in his tone. His cellphone rang once, then fell silent. Jonathan crossed the room to where he’d left it on the table. Any distraction at all was welcome. A New York area code from an unknown number showed on the face. He swiped it away. “Wrong number, I guess.”

Cin patted the empty spot on the couch. “Come sit with us. Faolan is making us coffee. There’s nothing you can do but wait out all the craziness your body is putting you through. Stressing isn’t helping anything.”

Faolan appeared in the doorway, carrying their drinks, before Jonathan could respond. He handed Niall and Cin coffee mugs before passing him a juice box. “And juice for the young one in the bunch.”

“Ha. Ha,” Jonathan said, stabbing the straw into the box. “Shows what you know. I like juice boxes.” Jonathan moved to the window and looked out, because literally no one looked like an adult, taking the high road, while drinking from a tiny straw. His vision automatically switched to night mode, lighting the back yard outside the window like it was noon.

“It’s a good thing you like sucking on small things since you chose Cin and Niall over me.”

A movement beneath the window caught Jonathan’s eye. He leaned closer to the pane. “It’s a good thing you...” Dougal carried a pile of wood to an already blazing inferno of debris. “What the... Um, why is Dougal building a bonfire out back?”

“What?” Faolan snapped, sounding panicked.

“In the back yard,” Jonathan repeated, motioning toward the window. “He has a fire—” A loud crash sounded behind him. Jonathan spun. Three coffee cups were smashed upon the floor and the men were gone. Spinning, Jonathan checked the backyard. Niall, Cin, and Faolan appeared on the lawn, running full speed in Dougal’s direction. After tossing his juice box aside, Jonathan ran for the back door, nearly ripping it off its hinges. He got there just in time to see Faolan snag Dougal from behind, lifting him off his feet at the edge of the fire.

Faolan kept Dougal in an iron grip with the man’s back against his chest while Dougal fought against his hold. Jonathan watched the entire scene with two parts confusion and one part horror.

“You can’t do this to me,” Faolan yelled at the top of his lungs as if trying to break through Dougal’s madness. “I lied, okay. I lied. All those times I said I hate you, it wasn’t true. I hate me. Not you. I hate me.”

Dougal went limp in Faolan’s hold. “It’s a warrior’s death. There’s no shame in that,” Dougal whispered. Jonathan heard the words as if he’d screamed them. Everything clicked inside Jonathan’s head. His shock slowed his brain. Dougal had intended to kill himself. While they’d all stood inside the den, drinking coffee and joking, Dougal had intended to burn himself alive. Jonathan bent at the waist, set his hands on his knees, and sucked air. It was a shot to the chest. He hadn’t helped. All the digging into Dougal’s brain the night before, hoping to bring the man relief, had done nothing. Lire was right. Dougal couldn’t be fixed. Lire couldn’t help him and Jonathan couldn’t fix anyone. He was useless. Faolan kept speaking in low tones, trying to talk Dougal off the ledge. “No, baby. There’s no shame in that, but I’m not ready for you to go. You can’t leave me behind. We’re supposed to go together. Remember? We swore we’d go together.”

“I’m tired, Faol. No one sees me. I can’t be the slave anymore.”

“Shhh,” Faolan soothed. “I never should’ve said that. You’ve always been our guardian, sacrificing yourself for us. Let us take care of you for once. You’ve always taken the punishment so the rest of us would be spared. Let us fix you. Don’t leave me.”

Jonathan, it has to be you. Dougal won’t let anyone else help him. Niall sounded so calm, as if he knew for a fact Jonathan could help Dougal. Jonathan straightened. His mind cleared. Niall believed. It didn’t matter if Jonathan did. With every step in Dougal’s direction, Jonathan grew larger. His wings unfurled, dragging the ground behind him. By the time he faced Dougal, he was staring down at the man. As usual, Jonathan pretended it wasn’t happening. He was still himself, only different.

Dougal met his gaze. There was so much pain and hopelessness in the man’s eyes, it broke through something inside Jonathan. The puzzle inside Jonathan’s head snapped together. He saw everything for what it was. “You need to come with me, Dougal.”

As if further proving how far gone Dougal was, he didn’t question Jonathan. Faolan released the man, and he walked into Jonathan’s outstretched arms. Jonathan’s wings engulfed the broken vampire. The air sizzled and popped around them. He closed his eyes and took Dougal away. The moment the air turned cool and their feet touched solid ground, Jonathan released Dougal.

“Why did you bring me here?”

The dead note to Dougal’s voice had Jonathan questioning his reasoning. He couldn’t back down now. “Lire isn’t here,” Jonathan promised. “Now is your chance. Do what you want. Smash his shit. Get angry. Want to burn his house to the ground? I’ll help. Just get mad at the right person and stop torturing yourself.” With every word Jonathan spoke, he felt like the world’s biggest asshole. That was what Dougal needed right now.

Dougal turned in a circle. Everything was the same in the bedroom as it had been the last time Jonathan had been there, making him wonder if Lire had returned at all since he’d dumped Dougal back with the clan.

Dougal’s silence was too much. Jonathan didn’t have the same self-control. “I’ll find some scissors if you want to shred his clothes.”

Rather than laughing or exploding as Jonathan hoped, Dougal set his knee on the mattress and climbed onto the bed. On his stomach, he hugged a pillow to his chest and inhaled. Jonathan’s eyes burned. Dougal’s pain was real and choking. Jonathan climbed in next to him, hugged the man’s waist, and hung on.

“He’s not real,” Dougal said, finally breaking the silence and saying what Jonathan already knew. “Not really.”

“I know.”

“What did he look like to you?”

Damn, Jonathan hated this. “Shaggy brown hair, ever-changing eyes, and tattooed chest.”

Dougal swallowed so hard Jonathan heard it. “He had long dark curly hair and copper eyes. They were unnatural and beautiful. Sleeve tattoos. Lip, nipples, and crown piercings. That was the real him, but I was the only one who saw him.”

Jonathan nodded—unsurprised. “He told me to touch his hand while we had him trapped, and he’d show me everything. I did.”

Dougal glanced over his shoulder. His expression called Jonathan a fool before his lips had time. “Idiot. He could’ve ripped you to pieces.”

“I know,” Jonathan said. He smiled, hoping he looked contrite. Honestly, he regretted nothing. “He didn’t show me anything. Instead, he gave me a rose that transformed into a slip of paper. All it said was ‘Port of Southern Louisiana.’ At the time, I thought that was everything. It wasn’t until after you were gone I realized the truth. He showed me nothing and gave me nothing. That was everything. Lire was showing me the truth. He is nothing.”

Dougal settled back down. He nodded. “I noticed on the second day of torturing him. His reactions didn’t match the situations. Sometimes, he would heal immediately. The next, it would take him a while. Sometimes, he would scream in pain. Other times, he’d laugh. He pretended ignorance about things any demon would know, even a spawn, which is exactly why we thought he was a younger and more human than demon.”

“When, in truth, he’s the seventh son of the seventh prince of hell,” Jonathan finished for him. “A pure demon with no corporeal body.”

“Aye,” Dougal said, sounding as if he’d turned inside himself. “He’s no more than smoke, taking on whatever form we want to see. That’s probably why—to you—his eyes were ever changing. You didn’t know what you wanted to see when you looked at him.” Dougal fell silent for so long, Jonathan didn’t think he’d say anything more. Finally, he sucked in a deep breath. It sounded loud in the otherwise silent room. “Most of the time, when we were together, he looked like Faol.”

Jonathan had never been more thankful in his life for someone not looking at him. He knew his shock showed. Rather than screeching about how he must know, Jonathan massaged Dougal’s shoulders and searched his mind for a response. He’d known, after picking through the man’s memories, Faolan’s face stood out above all others. Jonathan had also seen Faolan’s reaction when he thought Lire had killed Dougal. He needed more details. This wasn’t something he could fix. Lire had been right about that. Dougal’s soul was broken. Jonathan couldn’t mend that. But he could be here and learn as many details as possible. Information is power. Jonathan intended to use it as such.

* * *

Even though Dougal could feel the shock rolling off Jonathan in waves, he didn’t ask right away. Dougal had no idea why he’d confessed to such a thing. He was heartbroken and his soul ached. Those things had been true for centuries. This new thing—the damage he’d suffered from Lire—it broke something different inside him. It was like a dam bursting. Until now, he hadn’t realized he’d possessed a single thing left to destroy. Lire had known and smashed him to bits with it.

Dougal wanted to roll and confess his weakness. He needed to look someone in the eye and say the words, making some part of Lire real. He’d loved him. It was stupid. In truth, his feelings were probably some form of fucked up Stockholm syndrome, even though he’d never been a prisoner of anything other than his word. No one would ever know what happened in this bed. By becoming Faolan, Lire had soothed his soul—his conscience. It wasn’t Lire’s fault he was addictive. No one could help how they were born. Lire was the son of Lust—literally. It was an inescapable fate. A curse. The true test of any man or beast was the choices he made. Lire had chosen to serve Goddess Celeste, but no matter how much good he did, Lire would always be nothing at all. Just a bodiless soul that tormented men. Fate had been so damn cruel to them both. Now the peaceful half of being with Lire was gone. All Dougal had left was the itch he couldn’t scratch. Mental pain was a hell of thing. It was so real Dougal could damn near touch it, but he could never wipe it away. Since the madness was in his head, it seemed as if he could tell it to stop. He should get to choose what his brain thought and felt. Instead, he didn’t belong to himself at all. Dougal was a slave in more ways than one.

When Jonathan’s question finally came, it was almost a relief. “Tell me about Faolan.”

Dougal soaked up Jonathan’s touch. With his eyes closed and Jonathan rubbing his shoulders, Dougal thought over the question. “I’m not sure where to start with that one.”

Jonathan’s fingers dug into his shoulders. “Anywhere you want. Just say the first thing that pops in your head. I’ve found when writing a news story, that’s where everything truly begins—with that first random detail.”

Dougal took a deep breath, cleared his head, and tried not to think about it. An image of Faolan appeared in Dougal’s mind. They’d been much younger and living in the stronghold. His smile was untainted. Dougal pressed his hand to his stomach to quell the butterflies. A smile tugged at his lips. He could remember every ridiculous skit the man did every night, entertaining the clan like a stand-up comedian. “He was once the greatest love of my life.” Tears pricked at his eyes as he made the confession. He could still feel Jonathan’s surprise. Dougal didn’t let it slow him. “I don’t know how much Niall has told you about our clan or our race, but being gay isn’t acceptable. Not for blood mates anyhow.” A derisive snort escaped Dougal. “Now that didn’t stop Niall’s father, Adair, from using his position as king to demand sexual favors from whoever he chose. I was his favorite.” A chill raced down Dougal’s spine. He shivered. The pressure on his shoulders increased as if Jonathan was trying to massage the memory away. In truth, it helped. He kept talking. “He would say my name.” Dougal swallowed the bile rising in his throat at the memory. “I can’t even describe it. Adair would caress my jaw and say my name. I knew immediately I’d be on my knees for the rest of the night.”

“Was there any hope of saying no? Didn’t he have a mate?”

Dougal shook his head. “Our world is different. There’s no such thing as being born a bastard. Kings have children with the strongest women, hoping to create strong future kings. The rest of the time, they do as they please.” Dougal had a thought and shrugged. “I suppose not all kings are that way, but I’ve only ever known the one. As one of the king’s warriors, I was no more than a slave. I belonged to him in any way he chose to use me.” Dougal swallowed as he tried not to consider all the possibilities. Still, he found himself confessing them to Jonathan. “If he was to show up tomorrow and demand I return, I’d have no choice but to go back to that horrible life. Except, this time, there’d be no Faolan to ease the pain. I’d watch him and dream,” Dougal admitted, smiling in spite of the horrible topic. “One night, Adair had that look in his eyes, so I ducked into an empty alcove and hid. I knew it was only a temporary reprieve, but I couldn’t stop myself. Adair is evil. He liked to make me hurt, and I was tired.” A tear slipped from the corner of his eye as he made the confession. It landed on the arm beneath his head before dropping onto the bed. He’d never told anyone that before. Even though he was certain people had guessed what went on in Adair’s bedroom, Dougal had never said the words. Adair was his king. It should’ve been an honor, but Dougal wanted to choose. He swiped his face on his arm. “I stood in the dark, trying to be me for half a second.” Dougal snorted. “I guess that sounds ridiculous, but when you belong to someone else, you’re never you. You’re whatever they say you are.” An unexpected smile touched Dougal’s lips. “Faolan appeared in the doorway.” Dougal could still remember the way his heart had skipped a beat.

Are you waiting for me?

Dougal’s stomach muscles clenched at the memory. He hadn’t been that time, but every other time after that, he’d been Faolan’s man. The small amount of warmth he’d found at the memory slipped away. “If you think no one can hide anything from Niall, he doesn’t hold a candle to his father. He could’ve chosen to kill me or Faolan, but he’s too cruel for that. Instead, he made an arrangement with Faolan’s sister. She would get me as her husband, a much better match than she could’ve hoped since I was a royal guard and she was a commoner. In exchange, she would look the other way when it was only his bed I warmed.” It had been one hell of a calculated move. “He’d known, as his sister’s husband, Faolan would never touch me again.”

“Except Faolan did,” Jonathan said, obviously taking a stab in the dark.

“Yes. Rose, Faolan’s sister, caught us. She chose to walk into the fire and move on to the next life rather than face the humiliation. Faolan has never forgiven me. Nor should he. We’ve guarded our prince under the same roof for hundreds of years, but he doesn’t stay in the same room with me for longer than five minutes at a time. He doesn’t look at me or joke with me. For hundreds of years, I’ve been dead to him.” Another tear joined the first on the bed. “When I was young, I would see old warriors willingly walk into the fire and it never failed to shock me. I couldn’t imagine wanting to leave this life badly enough to endure that pain. Now I get it. Physical pain is nothing. It’s the mind that controls your torture.” Dougal closed his eyes and absorbed Jonathan’s warmth. He didn’t want the man to stop trying to comfort him, but they couldn’t do this forever. “I’m fucked up, Jonathan. It’s not your fault I can’t be fixed. You’re an amazing person. If I had to do it all over again, I’d still go with Lire. You will be an amazing king. I would’ve proudly served you.”

“I won’t be king, but thank you, and stop talking like you’re leaving me.”

Dougal swallowed, barely holding it together. “You will. Lire said that’s why you’re so important. I assumed you knew.”

Jonathan’s hands froze where they rubbed Dougal’s back. “That’s the first I’ve heard of it.” He heard Jonathan take a deep breath behind him—like he was practicing meditation. “I can only deal with one issue at a time,” Jonathan said, sounding like it was meant more for himself and he was giving himself permission to not be perfect. In spite of everything, Dougal smiled. Jonathan was amazing and funnier than he realized. Jonathan blew out a sigh. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s get back on track.”

Dougal rolled. Jonathan needed someone too, but he spread himself thin for everyone else. “Are you scared?”

The man’s usually green eyes glowed gold. His mouth lifted in one corner. “I’m fucking terrified. One day, I might not be me anymore. Niall and Cin don’t think they can stop loving me, but…” Jonathan paused and shrugged. “Who knows?”

Dougal eyed the man’s features. Right now, in all his Nephilim glory, Jonathan barely resembled the human Cin had introduced to them years ago. Dougal couldn’t solve his own problems, but he understood loving someone, and it wasn’t so easily broken. “If Niall or Cin woke up tomorrow with wings, two feet taller, and capable of controlling everything with their minds, would you feel differently about them?”

Jonathan’s features remained blank. “Can I control everything with my mind?”

“What do you think?”

“I think Lire confessed more to you than you’ve let on,” Jonathan said. “But I understand what you’re getting at,” he added. “I wouldn’t feel differently about them. My love runs deeper than appearances and abilities. But, if what you say is true and I control everything, everyone will come for me. Not just Mammon, but everyone. That’s a whole other reason for me to worry. Niall and Cin are already so worried about protecting me that they haven’t been dealing with anything else.”

Dougal nodded. It felt good to concentrate on someone else. His heartache eased with his focus on Jonathan. “You need a personal guard staying with you, so Niall and Cin can focus on figuring out Mammon’s game.”

Jonathan smiled. His eyes changed back to green. A lump formed in Dougal’s throat. Jonathan felt like his friend. In truth, no one had felt like his friend in a long time. It wasn’t anyone’s fault but his. Still, he soaked up the moment. “Are you volunteering for the position?”

A sense of purpose rose in Dougal’s chest. He’d been out of commission, playing the sex slave for too long. The clan had continued without him. He didn’t have a place any longer. Jonathan offered him one now. Dougal hadn’t lied earlier. He would be proud to have Jonathan as his king. The man was kind and would bring peace. “If you want my life, it’s yours—such as it is.”

“If you’re giving me your life, you have to actually live.”

Dougal smiled. It disappeared as quickly as it appeared. “I’m not one hundred percent. In truth, I’m not even fifty percent. It’s pretty much fucked up monkeys clanging on drums in my brain right now while spiders crawl on my skin.”

“Just give me time,” Jonathan said, his heart in his eyes. “Promise to stay with me, and I’ll find a way to make you better. I’d take ten percent of you over all the warriors in King Adair’s clan.”

“Okay.” Even as Dougal agreed, he prayed he could keep his word. He felt halfway human right now, but he knew it wouldn’t last.