Conjuring images of calm blue skies and a tranquil lake didn’t reduce Gunn’s anxiety one fucking inch. So much for spending thousands on a therapist. Instead, he worked through his feelings old style—pacing back and forth, playing out the blackened memories inside his head.

It had been two years since Cherri-Anne’s death, and still the memory sat like a tsunami on repeat in his mind. Drowning him, killing him over and over. He vowed to never tell a soul, to let everyone believe he hadn’t been able to save her. Yeah, that made him a fucking coward. But he could barely live with himself, let alone see the judgement in everyone’s eyes. He’d fucked up, and those dark times would plague him into the afterlife.

He ran a finger across several healed cuts along his neck from where he’d ridden his bike into a concrete wall on purpose. If Chase hadn’t tracked him down and found him bleeding to death, Gunn would be long gone. Was staying behind any better?

“Choose,” the horned bastard had grunted to Gunn, licking its lips with a black tongue. It seized Cherri-Anne by the throat, lifting her off the ground.

Desperation pushed Gunn forward and he charged, his fists clenched. But with a flick of the demon’s hand, an invisible force slammed into his chest. He gasped as his lungs emptied, and he hit the bedroom wall before crumbling. The shock ricocheted through his skull.

“Cherri-Anne,” he called out. His mind started to fail, unable to formulate a plan when fear hammered into him, screaming that he’d fail.

Her face turned blue, but she thrashed and punched for freedom, never giving up. That was his girl.

The monster cackled. Gunn trembled, staggering to unsteady legs, blood coating his clothes, and a metallic tang smearing his tongue.

Her fearful eyes stayed with Gunn. The sight choked the breath from his chest, and he admitted to himself he was scared to fail. Scared to lose her. Scared that everything happened too fast for him to get the upper hand and destroy the mother-fucker. Sweat dripped down his spine, yet he trembled as if he’d fallen into icy waters.

A bony arm reached toward him, covered in dried mud, fingers clawed and tipped in blood. “Your life for hers.” A filthy smirk split its mouth, revealing fangs. It studied him with black eyes, playing a game. If it had known he was a hunter, the beast would have targeted him, but a demon never knew until it got inside your head.

The demon had caught them off-guard the first day he and Cherri-Anne had arrived at the cabin they’d rented near a snow resort. He was useless without his weapons, which had been hidden in a suitcase in the other room so Cherri-Anne wouldn’t see them.

No words formed in Gunn’s mind, no movement. The cold hard truth hammered into his skull—saving Cherri-Anne meant handing himself over, which he’d do in a heartbeat. Except once the demon entered his head, it had full access to all the hunters he knew. And each one of them would be targeted and killed, along with their friends and families.

For the greater good, his mind yelled, yet his heart locked on to Cherri-Anne. The woman he’d promised to protect. One person’s life for many. He couldn’t bring himself to speak at first, to condemn her.

“Choose now, or I’ll rip her throat out and take your soul.”

Gunn couldn’t move, but as Cherri-Anne’s life faded away, his voice came out barely a whisper. “Take her.” Those two words were Cherri-Anne’s death sentence. And before he could change this mind, she and the demon had vanished into a darkened portal that closed behind them.

Gone.

Stolen.

Alone.

He choked up and relived that tragedy every day. Could he have handled the attack differently? He should have taken his weapons with him. Should have fought harder. Should have… except that last “should have” never formed, because if faced with the decision again, he knew he’d make the same call.

His insides trembled. The only saving grace that kept him going since the attack was knowing that while he still lived, he’d dedicate every single minute to abolishing the monsters. If that was his purpose in life, then fuck yeah, he’d throw himself in one hundred percent, no matter the consequences.

And it killed him that he’d opened up to Cyra because he didn’t do pity now or ever. Problem was they were stuck together, all four of them, until they worked out a way out of the house. She’d broken through his defenses and refused to leave his mind. He figured if he told her, she’d back away. But seeing the disbelief twisting her gorgeous face had killed him.

The floorboards creaked behind him and he twisted around to find Cyra standing in the doorway holding a bottle of whiskey by the neck in one hand and four stacked glasses in the other. Silence hung between them, and her red-rimmed eyes were another knife to the heart.

“Wanna join us in the living room? We have to come up with an action plan.” Her words were soft and calm, the opposite of how he felt.

He met her gaze, barren of judgement or feeling sorry for him. And he appreciated that more than anything. With a nod, he trailed after her, but in the hallway, he grabbed her arm.

“Listen, Cyra, about—”

“I know you had to do it. You had no other choice, and that’s a fucked-up burden you’ve had to carry alone. We all have skeletons in our past, but you can’t hold on to that shit forever.” She paused for a long moment, and he was lost for words. Yeah, everything she’d said was spot on, and he’d accepted long ago that he would live with what had happened on his conscience until his last breath, but it didn’t change the fact that getting close to anyone put them in danger. That was why he had to keep his distance from Cyra. Something he should have done from the get=go.

“After my parents died,” she continued, “I tried to burn down our house with Chase and me both in it. Sure, I was only five years old, but in my mind, if we died, it meant we could be with our parents again.” Her eyes widened. “Crap, don’t tell Chase I told you that. He made me swear.” She lowered her shoulders. “Yep, a killer in the making here.” She turned and headed into the living room.

Her admission surprised him. It shouldn’t have, but Chase had only painted her as this innocent girl who needed protection. The more Gunn got to know her, the more he admired her spunk and strength. And for her to share such a secret consoled him for the time being. And it wasn’t that “suffering loves company” bullshit, but the fact that she’d revealed something to him no one would openly admit.

He joined her and the old couple as she poured everyone a glass of whiskey and handed him one. “To us getting out of here,” she said and gulped down her drink.

Henry and Nora clinked each other’s glasses and took small sips.

Gunn didn’t need to be told twice and swung back his drink, a malty taste dancing across his tongue and gliding down his throat. No burning. This was the expensive, top shelf stuff.

When Cyra offered him another, he accepted. With his empty glass on the table, he perched on the edge, facing Henry and Nora, who sat close to one another on the big sofa, while Cyra lounged on the single one with her legs crossed.

“Okay, let’s share everything we know about our situation,” he began—because getting down to business he could do. “We know there’s a demon in the house and—”

“And it’s somehow linked to the attic,” Cyra said. “That’s where I encountered it and it seemed strongest.”

Nora cleared her throat as she pushed forward in her seat. “Was that what dashed across the hall before the mistletoe ensnared our house?”

“I think so,” Cyra responded. “And I saw it through a window earlier when I was outside, but it was all static-like, as if it were struggling to hold form.”

Gunn stiffened and straightened his back. “Why didn’t you tell me this?”

“I didn’t think much about it at first because it acted like a phantom, but then so much happened afterward.”

“Oh, yes,” Nora interrupted. “The one I saw did the same. It kept flickering.”

“Good,” Gunn said. “So it’s trying to take form around the house, but it has only managed to completely do this in the attic. Which means there’s something up there it’s connected with. And considering it has shown form without sucking anyone’s energy, I’m thinking it’s using the electricity in the house. I can’t work out any other way of how it’s showing itself.”

Cyra nodded.

Henry ran a hand across his mouth before saying, “Last thing we purchased was the fridge, but that was six months ago, and the strange noises started a few weeks ago.”

“Have you put anything in the attic lately, moved furniture—or an object?” Gunn asked. “Did anyone come and stay over, like grandkids while you were away perhaps? They could have played with a Ouija board.”

Nora shook her head. “Our grandkids are only five and eight. We haven’t been on a holiday for too long.” She glared over at Henry, who didn’t seem to notice.

“Our priority is working out how to stop it,” Gunn said. “Then we find a way to break Cyra’s mistletoe spell.”

Cyra leaned forward, her elbows pressed against her thighs. “Yep, take out the danger first, then I’ll figure the rest out.” She nodded to herself in a way that told him she had no idea how to stop the enchantment. “But,” she blurted, “one thing we know is that if you see any mistletoe vines, stay away from them, as it makes everyone uncontrollably horny.” When she swung over to stare at Henry and Nora, her earlier smile turned upside down and her cheeks reddened. That had him smirking. She carried an innocence about her that drove him crazy.

“What about using another of your incantations on the vines?” Gunn suggested to cut through the awkward silence.

Cyra shook her head. “Can’t modify one spell with another. It’ll muck everything up worse than it already is. Like turning the demon into Swamp Thing on steroids.”

“All right then.” Gunn was on his feet. “We do this the old-fashioned way and set up a trap.”

“You can do that?” Henry asked, his thick white eyebrows pulled together.

“Why are you doubting him?” Nora asked. It was clear these two hadn’t patched things up. “You always do that to me too.”

Henry huffed. “Well, before today, I didn’t believe in demons. Now they’re saying one’s in our attic.”

“Cyra and Nora,” Gunn said, “why don’t you both go into the kitchen and have a quick look for ingredients that could be used for a trapping spell? I once saw someone contain a demon inside a circle thing.”

Cyra arched an eyebrow. “‘Circle thing’? Is that the technical word for it?”

He glanced at the couple, then back at her, hoping she understood his unspoken meaning that he needed to be alone with Henry, or did she need him to pantomime it for her?

She shot to her feet and took Nora’s hand. “I could use your help in the kitchen.” Her eyes remained on Gunn with an I’m-not-happy look. Sue him, subtlety wasn’t his forte.

Once the women had left the room, he leaned toward Henry. “So what’s going on with you and the wife? I’ve been noticing tension between you two.”

Henry clicked his tongue and took a deep breath. Yep, the situation wasn’t comfortable for Gunn either, but if they were going to work as a team, he couldn’t have them continuously sniping at each other. Plus, they seemed like a nice couple and reminded him of his foster parents. If anything he said helped them mend their differences, then it was worth trying to help.

“She’s been on my back about selling this house and moving closer to the kids in California and getting a smaller place. But I love it here. We’re next to a golf course, and my friends live on this street. It’s where I grew up.”

Gunn nodded, but if it were him, he’d sell the shirt off his back if it meant keeping the one he loved happy. “My foster dad once told me when I didn’t agree with someone to put myself in their shoes. So, why does Nora want to move to California?”

“To be closer to her sister. The kids and grandkids. But my brothers are here.”

“And how long have you lived here?”

His chest puffed out, as if proud of his response. “My entire life.”

“Well, then, do you think maybe Nora wants the same, but to be near her family?”

“Yes, of course. But we’re too old to start a new life elsewhere. We have everything we need right here.”

“This is a huge house and will get harder for you to take care of.”

Cyra’s voice sounded from the hallway. They must be returning. “Only you can make this decision, Henry. But if it were me, I’d live on the moon if it meant I didn’t lose the one I loved.” As the words left his mouth, the earlier conversation with Cyra swirled through his mind. He’d pushed her away for her own safety, her protection. What he fucking wanted didn’t matter, just what kept her out of harm’s way.

Henry sank into the couch, staring at him with a perplexed expression. Was he wondering if Nora would indeed leave him? He’d seen women dump his friends for less.

When the ladies rejoined them, Gunn got to his feet and turned to find Cyra carrying her bag along with a salt sack. She plonked both of them onto the table.

“So where are we setting up this trap?” she asked. “If the demon gets weak when it leaves the attic, this might actually work. Then we try to exorcise it back into Hell.”

Gunn nodded. “Agreed. The hallway in front of the stairs has a huge space we could use.”

Cyra headed out of the room with her supplies.

“What should we do?” Nora asked.

Gunn glanced over at Henry sitting next to Nora, holding her hand in his lap. He was miles away, but Nora studied and listened. Most innocents, even when confronted with evidence of the supernatural, still struggled to believe what was right in front of them. While he’d normally remove people out of such conversations, in this situation, he had to keep them close if they were about to summon the demon so he could keep an eye on them. Still, unease pressed against his gut at having the married couple so close to a demon summoning after what had happened to Cherri-Anne.

“Do you have a Bible in the house?” he asked.

“Yes, a Bible, and we’ve our crosses.” She pulled at the gold chain around her neck and was already on her feet, digging through the drawer of the cabinet.

“Excellent. Get them and don’t leave this room, no matter what you hear or see. Understand? If anything comes for you, use prayer to drive it away.”

He pondered giving them his lasso, but they’d struggle using the weapon. Marching out of the room, he found Cyra at the base of the staircase. She’d used salt to draw a large circle about five feet from the stairs with candles in four spots.

She stood at one end, her back to the front door, whispering something he couldn’t understand. A chill snaked around him, and goosebumps covered his flesh. She wasn’t messing around or even waiting for them to work out their plans it seemed. He loved her determination and how nothing much scared her away.

The moment he approached her, something black zipped down the long staircase.

Huge and swift, it charged straight for them, giving him no time to open his lasso. His breath wedged in his lungs as he flung himself toward Cyra. “Watch out!”