Maeve rose on wobbly legs from the chaise lounge and everything else fell away—the game of mahjong Lucía had suggested playing with her here in the Grove, the presence of the demon-shifter hybrid next to her, the beauty of the floating lights drifting about the room.

Everything but the sight of her sister, on her knees on the moss-covered ground, tears streaking down her face.

Maeve rushed to her. Tackled her with a hug that toppled them both to the floor in a tangled, hugging, sobbing mess. They clung tight to each other for achingly long moments, and Maeve’s lungs burned from her happy crying.

Sniffling, Merle drew back, both hands cupping Maeve’s face, her sky-blue eyes—reddened now from crying—searching Maeve. “Are you okay? Are you hurt? Did he—”

Her attention snagged on Maeve’s forearm. Pushing up the sleeve, Merle scowled, magic crackling in the air around her. “Did he do that?”

“What?” Maeve glanced down at her arm, at the bandage there. “No! That was a bobcat. It was injured, and I tried to help it, and it freaked out and scratched me.” She shook her head. “Arawn hasn’t laid a hand on me.”

Merle’s eyes narrowed, her features pinched tight. “Right.”

Tension locked Maeve’s muscles, and her stomach knotted. “No, seriously. He treats me very well.”

The doubt didn’t dissipate from Merle’s expression. If anything, she seemed even warier than before. And it hit Maeve that not too long ago, she would have been just as unconvinced and mistrustful. Merle still believed Arawn to be the ruthless monster they all made him out to be, as Maeve had done when she walked into his lair. How much her impression of him had changed…it was even more apparent, more striking in its realization, when contrasted with Merle’s lingering resentment.

Deciding to leave it be for now, to allow her sister’s suspicion to fizzle out over time when faced with the reality she couldn’t yet accept, she asked, “So how come you’re here? Are you okay? Do you need anything?”

Merle frowned, glanced at Lucía, who had retreated to another corner of the Grove, giving them some privacy. “No, I… Arawn summoned me. Ordered Alek to bring me here.”

Surprised, Maeve drew back. “He invited you. To come see me.”

Merle’s wary expression deepened. “I don’t think that’s the only reason he—”

“Such doubt,” Arawn said, emerging from the shadows between trees.

Maeve’s stomach made a cute little flip-flop, and her pulse kicked into high gear. She hadn’t even known he was around. And did he own any shirts that did not mold to his muscled frame like a sensual caress?

When she saw Arawn, Merle stiffened, moved in front of Maeve in a not-so-subtle gesture. Maeve’s chest drew tight while fine-clawed irritation raked along her nerves at her sister’s reaction. She very deliberately stepped out from behind Merle to stand next to her.

Arawn’s eyes flicked to her, some dark appreciation flashing through them, before he turned to Merle. “I did indeed invite you to see your sister. You are free to visit her anytime, as are her friends. Just request it, and Aleksandr will bring you here.”

A muscled ticked in Merle’s jaw. “And is Maeve free to leave and visit us anytime as well?”

“Careful, fire witch.” His voice lethally quiet, he tilted his head, regarded Merle with a primal warning lurking behind his focus. “You would do well not to push me. She is mine, and I will keep what is mine close to me.”

Maeve should have bristled at his words, his tone, the insinuation in his statement. She waited for some form of dread to chill her limbs, or anger to snap at her composure. But all she got was a wayward prickle of excitement that stole her breath for a moment. So wrong.

“Now,” Arawn said, dismissing Merle’s patented death glare as if swatting away a fly, “enjoy your visit. Aleksandr will escort you back out once you are finished.”

After signaling Alek, who’d been watching the entire exchange with a rather uneasy look on his face, Arawn strode out of the Grove.

“It’s good seeing you,” Alek said to Maeve with a small smile before he followed Arawn.

Merle watched Arawn’s retreat with narrowed eyes.

Not in the mood to combat Merle’s mistrust, Maeve opted for redirection. “How are things at home? Have you heard from Basil and Hazel?”

Merle’s features darkened even more. “They’re back. In one piece, and they brought Rose with them.”

“But?”

“Juneau kidnapped Rhun.” Her eyes bore a hard glint. “But we’re going to get him back, and when we do, I am going to burn that bitch alive.”

* * *

Arawn waited outside the Grove for Aleksandr, turned to him as soon as the pranagraha exited.

“I have a new assignment for you.”

The young demon tried to keep his expression neutral. Failed. Resentment hardened his features, the grudge he bore Arawn too embedded in his mind, his heart. “I’m at your service, my lord.”

Ten years now he’d been taking care of Aleksandr, provided him and his family with safety and the means to lead a good life, and it was still not enough to balance out what Arawn had unwittingly taken from him. Might never be enough.

That didn’t mean Arawn would stop providing for him the only way he could without breaking the proud demon’s spine. Aleksandr had spit on Arawn’s offer to pay for his and his brothers’ living expenses after their parents’ death. He wouldn’t accept charity. So Arawn made him work for it instead.

“You will guard Maeve with Lucía from now on,” he said. “You will have your usual nights off, but your shifts will be spent at Maeve’s side. Close to her if she wishes for company, from a distance if she wants to be alone.” A pause, a pointed look. “From a great distance whenever I am near her.”

Flecks of red glimmered in Aleksandr’s eyes, quickly extinguished as the pranagraha wrestled his temper under control. “I will not stand by,” the demon said quietly, “if you hurt her.”

Arawn stared him down until the other male lowered his eyes.

“In the time you have worked for me,” Arawn said with the precision of a sharpened blade cutting into flesh, “did I ever force you to act against your conscience?”

Aleksandr’s nostrils flared. “No, sire.”

“Did you ever hear or see me mistreat a female I courted?”

“No, sire.”

“Then you might understand,” he said while his powers clawed at him from the inside, “why I might consider snapping your neck for that comment alone.”

The muscles in Aleksandr’s jaw tensed. “My apologies, my lord.”

He glowered at the young demon for another long moment, then added, “Make sure you use that protective streak of yours to guard her well.”

“Yes, sire.”

“Go back inside.”

Aleksandr bowed and stalked back into the Grove.

The night wrapping gently around him, Arawn lingered, his footfalls cushioned by moss and shadows as he walked around the Grove, his attention caught by the gleam of red under the will-o’-the-wisps’ lights within. Even though two fire-haired women now sat inside, only one drew his focus like a flame lured a moth. Through the gaps in the latticework of the tree-wrought walls, he watched Maeve while she talked with her sister.

They hugged again, and Maeve’s eyes darted down to Merle’s belly, her face alight with happiness.

And then she smiled.

His world ground to a halt.

He froze where he stood, everything, everything within him grown still, hushed into awe. He’d seen innumerable sunsets over snow-capped mountains and glittering seas, he’d seen civilizations rise and fall, merciful deaths, and the tender beginnings of life. And yet nothing compared to the resplendence of Maeve when she smiled.

The transformation of her features was striking, the way she seemed to glow from within, and that scar she so desperately tried to conceal…it should have been a contradiction to the radiance of her beauty, only it wasn’t. Far from a disfigurement to be hidden in shame, it turned into a statement all its own, a fitting piece in the puzzle of her flawed perfection, a stark proclamation of beauty inherent in strength and survival.

His powers whispered out into the night and reached for her, hungry, craving, seeking. He yanked them back with a low snarl. Not yet. There were steps yet to take in this dance of instinct and reason, before he could glom on what—who—kept him awake even in those few hours he liked to devote to sleep.

He’d had thousands of years to learn the virtue of patience. He’d perfected it to an art form. And the anticipation of his reward…it hummed over his nerves, infused his blood with a sweet thrill. He was on the prowl, with slow, measured steps, his leash the ever-present awareness that if he pounced too soon, he’d lose her. But he’d begun his hunt. He would see it to a close. Unhurried, he would coax her until she felt safe enough to tumble into him in spite of the horrors ensnaring her mind.

And then he’d recreate that dream she had of them together. Every. Single. Detail.

He wrenched his gaze away from the allure of her, turned his back on the Grove, and went in search of one of his most trusted enforcers. Finding the shifter in his apartment belowground, he cut to the chase.

“I need you to find something for me,” he said to the male who was the most skilled of all Arawn’s enforcers at locating or retrieving even the rarest oddities that struck Arawn’s fancy.

“My lord.” The fox shifter bowed his head, listened to Arawn’s description, and vowed to bring the object to him by tomorrow night.

Knowing the wily male, Arawn would have it by morning.

Leaving the fox’s den to ascend to the surface again, Arawn decided to check on another project. He pulled out the cell phone Lucía had pestered him to get, dialed a number.

He didn’t like this piece of technology. Far from being averse to some of modernity’s more useful inventions, he still didn’t see much sense in getting used to a communication device he had to leave lying around more times than not, considering how often he shifted and roamed in his animal forms.

However, Lucía had poked him until he agreed to at least carry—and use—it when he was in human shape and fully dressed.

It did have some perks. Long-range communication far beyond the reach of his magic. Access to the Internet and its wealth of knowledge. The Fruit Ninja game.

The demon on the other end of the line picked up. “Lord Arawn.”

“Stasya. What is the status?”

“I was just about to call. She accepted your offer, sire.”

“Good. When is she coming?”

“She’ll arrive tomorrow.”

“Excellent. Make sure she has everything she needs, and let me know when she gets here.”

“Of course, my lord.”

He disconnected the call, just as another of his enforcers—a storm demon on border patrol—approached him.

“Lord Arawn,” he said, bowing deep from the waist. “There is an alp here to beg for a favor.”

“Bring it into the lower chamber. I will be down in a minute.”

Another creature willing to bind itself to him for assistance with whatever issues plagued it. Another brick in the empire he was building.

Hands in his pockets, he strolled underground, his thoughts on a witch with an ancient beast waking inside her.