Doing yard work, Rhun found, was a most excellent way to distract himself from a problem. Even one as large and looming as how to get Merle to cancel the fucking deal with Arawn and send Maeve to the Demon Lord.

That stubborn—he yanked out a weed—big-hearted—he hauled out another—damnably caring witch of his. He threw the weeds on the ground and trampled them for good measure. He’d have to hog-tie her after all, wouldn’t he?

Blinking at the morning sun, he weighed the risk of Merle hating his guts for the rest of their lives if he forced her to surrender Maeve, versus losing their baby. Damn it, the entire mess didn’t even make sense.

Maeve was promised to Arawn anyway, and sooner or later he’d claim her, and Merle would have to let her go. So why not give her up now? Keeping her around for a few months longer…it was not worth risking the life of their baby.

He jerked out another plant that didn’t belong. He’d always been a fan of ripping off a Band-Aid in one second instead of sloooooowly peeling it off over several minutes. It has to be done, it’s inevitable, so let’s get it over with.

“Uh, Rhun?”

He turned toward Merle’s voice, saw her standing on the back porch, her eyes still red from crying. Fuck if that sight didn’t punch him in the guts and shred them for good measure. If he could take her pain and make it his instead, he’d do it in a heartbeat. He enjoyed verbally sparring with her, but this? Fighting with her about Maeve bruised her soul, and he hated himself for it.

“You’ve got a visitor,” she said.

Frowning, he looked behind her to the door leading into the kitchen—where Maeve appeared. She nodded at her big sister, and Merle kissed her on the cheek.

“I’ll be in the library,” Merle muttered and went inside.

Rhun blinked at Maeve, tilted his head. “You’re here to see…me?”

In all the months since he helped rescue Maeve, had lived here in the old Victorian with Merle—Maeve having moved to the Murrays’ because she hadn’t been able to be around Rhun without having a panic attack, what with him being of the same demon species as the bastard who tortured her—Maeve had never truly talked to him, especially not alone. In fact, he couldn’t recall that they’d ever been in the same room without someone else present.

He understood, of course. He’d seen first-hand what that fucker of a demon did to her, and in his darkest moments, images of Maeve’s bloody, beaten, sliced-up body still flashed across his inner eye, rivaling the gruesome memories of his sister’s death.

Maeve nodded and pushed her hair behind her ear, then froze. Looking down, she pulled her hair back over her face again. But it wasn’t enough to hide the nasty scar running from one side of her chin and over her nose to the opposite temple.

Rhun gritted his teeth. He wanted to kill that motherfucker again so badly, his whole body hurt.

Taking a deep breath, he calmed himself, made sure his voice was gentle when he spoke. “What can I do for you?”

“Accept my apology.” She still sounded so husky.

He raised both eyebrows. “You didn’t do anything.”

“Exactly.” When he frowned, she elaborated. “It took me all this time to realize…I never thanked you.”

“For what?”

“You saved me.” Her tone indicated she was quite baffled about needing to explain it to him.

He shrugged, put his hands on his hips and looked to the side. “No need to thank me.”

“But I want to. You deserve—” She took a deep breath. “I should have thanked you sooner. I was just…too much of a coward to talk to you. I’m sorry—”

“You’re not a coward.” It came out harsher than he intended, and he grimaced. “Look, I get it. You don’t have to apologize to me. I never even expected any thanks—”

“Is it true you ripped his heart out?”

He paused, his chest heaving just from the memory of being in that blood-drenched warehouse. “His tongue, too.”

The corners of her mouth twitched.

“Broke every single bone in his body.”

Her eyes sparkled.

“Flayed the skin off his hands.”

The smile taking over her face was an echo of the one he loved to see on Merle, similar, and yet different. The fire in her amber-gray eyes, however, flared with a ferocity born of ancient times, far beyond anything he’d ever witnessed in Merle.

“Thank you,” Maeve said emphatically. “Thank you, Rhun.”

“You’re welcome.” His throat felt thick and raspy.

When she blinked, that age-old glint left her eyes, and she was again the little sister of the witch he loved, reminding him so much of his own baby sister…the one he hadn’t been able to save.

“I’m doing a lot better now,” Maeve said, her hands in the pockets of her jeans.

“I’m glad.”

And he was. He’d watched her make tremendous strides in her recovery, especially recently. She was able to go out more with her friends, could even stand to be in crowds despite her disfigurement—hell, he knew it couldn’t be easy for her to brave the looks and reactions of strangers.

And yet she did, every single day.

She’d come so far since the night they pulled her out of that hellhole, and it was amazing to watch her take charge of her life again—and the realization was like a hot blade to his heart. Gods fucking dammit.

It had been so much easier to insist on sending her to Arawn when she’d been a distant concept, more present in his mind as the leverage they needed to use than as a real person. He’d barely seen her over the past months, much less spoken to her. And now here she was, come to thank him, while he was planning to hand her over to the monster who wanted to enslave her—

Hell, it made him feel like the shittiest person on earth.

He had trouble breathing past the ache in his chest.

After all the progress she made in her recovery, he could only imagine what surrendering her to Arawn now would do to the ember of spirit that had just begun to rekindle. If she had to leave at this point, it might very well send her straight back into a tailspin of despair and misery. And while she’d offered to go with Arawn when he first came to claim her—in order to prevent Merle from making that deal with him to keep her safe from him a bit longer—would she still be willing to surrender herself, now she’d just begun to piece herself back together?

“I was wondering,” Maeve interrupted his dismal thoughts, “now I’m…better, would you mind if I move back in with you guys?”

Well, fuck. This couldn’t be real. This was too cruel even for those fucked-up, sadistic Powers That Be.

“I think,” Maeve went on, unaware of his inner turmoil, “I’ve reached the point where I can handle my anxiety and be around you without freaking out. I…miss home. I miss having Merle around. And…I’d love to get to know my…brother-in-law.”

Eyes of fire and smoke met his own, and the sincerity in them slayed him. Inwardly, he cursed so hard it wouldn’t have surprised him if his guts turned blue.

Don’t show, don’t show, don’t show. He felt like fucking Elsa, what with how much he had to keep stuffed down right now, and it took everything he had not to smash something in front of Maeve.

He must have failed, however, because her face reddened and she took a step back. “I’m sorry. I mean, I don’t want to impose—if it makes you uncomfortable—”

“No!” He flinched, gentled his tone. “No. It’s all right. I don’t—” He closed his eyes, dragged every last bit of his species’ masterful ability to lie and deceive to the surface, smiled, and said, “I’d be happy to welcome you back home. I’ll tell Merle, okay?”

She let out a breath, a small smile lighting up her face. “Okay.” She turned to go inside, stopped, faced him again. “I’m looking forward to getting to know you, Rhun.”

Her words clawed him bloody.