Gunn shoved Cyra aside, sending her out of the demon’s path. But it was too late for him. Invisible claws tore into Gunn’s back, and he arched, a groan escaping his throat. Piercing white pain flashed across his vision, and panic scrambled his thoughts as he imagined the demon trying to climb into his head. It tightened his chest, robbing him of his senses. Something kicked his knees, and he fell, hitting the ground. A fire seized his flesh, reminding him of the time he’d fought the demon that had claimed Cherri-Anne. How useless he’d felt. The bastard with blades for fingers had used Gunn as a pincushion. That familiar terror squeezed his heart, but he wouldn’t let Cyra down. He’d kill any monster that dared touch her. He scrambled to his feet, curling his hands into fists and gasping for air.

In front of him lay the salt circle, broken, granules scattered across the floor. Where had the dickhead gone? He twisted toward Cyra, who climbed off the floor near the door. There was no silvery aura to reflect she’d been possessed. His pulse thrummed with urgency to finish this now and get everyone to safety.

“Where’d it go?” She scanned the hall, her voice cracking, her eyes wild.

Alarms rang in his head, and dread locked up his gut tight. Henry and Nora! He bolted into the living room, Cyra’s footsteps close behind.

The bastard towered seven feet tall, gangly with tentacles on either side of its body. A rancid stink assaulted Gunn’s nostrils, and he swallowed back a gagging reflex. Gunn’s insides curdled.

The couple remained on the couch, both clutching the Bible between them. They stared at the black form hovering near the window.

The silhouette flickered. Yellow pupils stared at him, clawed fingers flexing, and it wore a spiky, pattered necklace. The fucker wore jewelry. He was going to kill it. It would pay for everything its kind had stolen from him.

Gunn threw himself forward, lasso unclipped from his belt and extended in a second flat.

Inches before he collided with the brute, it launched at him, fists slamming into his solar plexus, shoving him backward. Gunn’s legs tangled underneath him, and he crashed onto the coffee table. The thud of his pulse screamed in his ears. But he was a fighter, a hunter. And giving in to dread wasn’t an option. So he balled up the fear and shoved it deep.

Someone yelled nearby.

With his fingers digging into the lasso hilt, he swung the weapon into the fiend’s face, except the demon backed off too fast and dissolved into a haze.

“No, you don’t.” Gunn charged, his fist hitting the speck, but he stumbled forward as his punch fell right through the apparition. He caught himself and rushed after the black wisp that zipped toward the back wall. It funneled into a tight tail and curled into an electrical outlet.

“Fuck! I knew it.” He gasped for air and spun to find Cyra against the window, holding a vase over her head. Nora and Henry peered out from behind the couch, their cheeks ashen white.

He approached them and placed his lasso across both their arms as they huddled together for over six seconds. Clean. They sat down on the couch. Cyra set her vase down before clutching at his weapon, running the cord across her forearm with shaky hands. No reaction.

“It’s using electricity to travel through the house,” he said.

“And that’s why the circle didn’t work,” Cyra blurted. “It used the power grid to charge itself.”

“Also explains why it kept fading in and out, as it couldn’t hold a solid form. It must only have a small amount of time to take form.” Gunn put his lasso away, and he exhaled loudly. Finally, a real clue. He turned to Henry. “Where’s the electrical box?” Time to shut down the monster hiding from them.

“Outside at the side of the house,” Henry replied. “Including the circuit breaker.”

Hell, there went that idea of switching off the power.

“The demon was solid when I saw it in the attic.” Cyra’s voice drew his attention to the way she gripped her hips, her lower lip caught in her teeth.

Gunn rubbed his lower back, where it felt as if someone held a flame against his skin, well aware the demon had scratched him. It had happened before and he’d survived the attack. So he focused on Henry and Nora. “What are you storing up in the attic?”

“Junk. Furniture we meant to get rid of. The kids’ text books from college.” Henry inched to the edge of the couch. “But what was that thing?”

Nora released a whimper and trembled. “The devil. It looked right through me.”

Henry wrapped an arm around his wife and brought her closer, but his attention never left Gunn. “Give it to us straight. How much time do we have before it returns?”

“I’d say not long.”

Nora curled in on herself. Scaring people wasn’t his thing, but they had to understand the truth. “Unless we stop that demon,” he said, “it will end up possessing one of us, then jump to the next person and the next, killing us.”

Henry nodded his head as if Gunn had simply spoken about the weather, but the trepidation splashed across his face screamed that he was feeling the opposite. “What can we do to help?”

If Gunn knew, he would have done it already. “Grab a piece of paper and jot down everything you stored up on the top floor, especially electrical gadgets or appliances. Also, do you have an electrical socket there as well? Where and how many?”

Henry was on his feet, brushing down his puffy vest with shaky hands covered in liver spots. The man resembled his foster dad, who despite his age, had always been up for a challenge. “Only one outlet in the attic, near the back wall. We’ll get right on the list.”

Gunn patted Henry’s shoulder as he headed to the cabinet. “I’ll protect you all with my life.”

“Son, I would never ask you to give your life for mine. We do this together.” He turned to rummage through the drawers and pulled out a notebook and pen. His words rolled through Gunn’s head. It was a first to have a victim offer to fight. Most froze with horror.

The fireplace in the hearth tossed shadows across Cyra’s sweet face. Both turned toward the curtained window, and he asked, “What’s up?”

The floorboards creaked upstairs, followed by a loud boom. Cyra stared up at the ceiling as the chandelier shuddered, crystals swaying. “It knows we’re trapped in the house. So we need to act first.” Her arms wrapped around herself.

“It’ll be okay, you’ll see.” He had to believe that he’d get Cyra and the old couple out alive.

Cyra glanced toward Henry and back at Gunn. “Why didn’t the demon attack you when you rescued me upstairs, or throw you inside the portal as well?”

“No idea.” He wasn’t sure where she was going with this, and in all honesty, with one problem after another, it hadn’t crossed his mind.

“What if it was calling its hellhounds? How else would those creatures have found me so quick? Maybe it’s a Legion and we’re the sacrifice? What if this time, a Legion made it out of Hell? It would definitely plan to cause mass destruction.” Her voice lowered, and he noted the quiver in her words.

He ran his fingers across his stubbled jawline. “So why didn’t it toss me in there as an extra snack?”

“Maybe it’s only after me.” She curled a finger around a lock of her silver hair. “Every time I’ve done a spell, I’ve felt watched. Downstairs when I blessed the house. Outside in the yard when I prepared the reversal spell. Even when I cursed that darn goose, something prickled my flesh. I think my magic is calling it.”

An Argos demon specialist had once told him about how the mutts and magic worked. “For hellhounds to leave the underworld, they need enormous amounts of pure, human energy and an enchantment. You’re a walking explosive for them. If it brought a pack of the hounds into our world, it would be impossible to defeat.”

Cyra’s lips pinched.

“That’s why we’ve got to bring down the bastard now.” He pushed the long sleeves of his T-shirt to his elbow. His first idea was the straightforward approach. March up there and duke it out, take out the beast. He had his lasso and a vial of holy water left, which wasn’t enough, but it had to do. Unless Cyra would give him some magical protection or weapons. He needed to tag the demon upstairs where it was trapped with fewer electrical outlets to recharge from.

The lights overhead flickered and died.

Nora cried out, and only the blazing fireplace lit up the living room, crackling and spitting like an angry volcano. Yep, the demon was readying to attack again.

“We need to bait it,” Cyra suggested, her words quickening.

“Exactly my thoughts. I’ll need any magical help you can provide. Then I’m taking it down. You keep the old folks safe because I don’t know how this will go down.”

Her eyebrows furrowed. “We’re facing the demon together.”

He reached out to take her hand, untangling her folded arms. “Please, Cyra. Nothing you say or do will make me change my mind. You are not coming with me. I won’t put you in danger. Ever!”

Cyra’s nose wrinkled, and she wrenched her arm back. “I’m not letting you kill yourself.” Her voice climbed.

When a startled intake of breath came from behind him where the old couple were, he gritted his teeth.

He grasped her elbow and guided her out into the hallway near the front door.

She pulled free. “You can’t stop me from helping you.” The pleading and her dejected expression tugged on his heart, but this was not a point of negotiation.

“Cyra. I can’t control what will happen. And I don’t want to put you… us in that situation.”

Her chin trembled, but still, she stiffened her posture. “And do you think I can live knowing I let you die? It’s a Legion, Gunn! What if you can’t take it down? It’s better to have reinforcements.”

“Fuck, I get it, but I’m not budging on this.” Having someone have his back for this would be incredible, but it wasn’t possible. “This conversation is over. I’m going alone. And you can help by creating a spell that will help me against the demon.”

Cyra scowled, her wry frown jabbing daggers into his chest.

Time was running out, so he said, “I’ll do what I’ve been trained to do. You focus on your specialty.”

She didn’t respond, just studied him with glossy eyes, and the sight of her fear sent a shiver down his spine. But standing there only weakened his resolve, and he needed his head straight. No distractions. Nothing but a blinding rage to get revenge for Cherri-Anne’s death and for every other innocent who’d lost the fight. But the longer he stayed near Cyra, the quicker he’d give in to her.

When he pulled away, she said, “You’re not broken, you know?” Icy hostility sailed across her face.

“What would you know?” he asked, a grunt rolling through his chest. This was why he never told anyone the truth because they’d try to psychoanalyze him, and he didn’t need anyone inside his head.

“Chase once told me the death of Cherri-Anne broke you, and now you’re like an empty shell who goes through life. But he’s wrong.”

Her words carried a scorpion’s sting, as if no matter how hard he railed against them, she wouldn’t change her mind. Everyone thought they understood his past, saying to give the hurt time, to go see another therapist, but they were all fucking mistaken. He had lost part of himself two years ago and kicking demon butt was the only thing that got him out of bed.

“You should listen to your brother.” He turned away, not prepared to deal with this now or ever. Pretending something else was possible between them was a foolish dream. He’d always carry the self-hatred and guilt for what he’d done to Cherri-Anne, and no one could unshackle the cold hard truth from him.

Cyra seized his wrist and pulled him closer. “You’re such a stubborn ass, saying you don’t deserve a good life because a demon took your girlfriend. Get over yourself. You did what any smart hunter would have done. You sacrificed one person for the greater good, for the majority. That doesn’t make you broken.”

“Fuck that!” He retreated, breaking their hold. “You try living with that mistake and tell me you’re all rainbows and unicorns. This shit is real. This industry fucks you up and then spits you out half the person you were. If you were smart, you’d leave Argos, forget demons and witchcraft. And me. Enjoy a normal, simple life.” His words came out cold as they sliced through the air. The admiration and attraction he had for Cyra remained, but his feelings distorted into thorns, reminding him of his failure and how he deserved to suffer.

Her shoulders lifted. She stepped closer and punched him in the arm. “Stop being a pussy. Open your eyes to what’s right in front of you. Take what belongs to you. Don’t use excuses to hide from the world.”

She trembled, distain twisting her lips. The same fire scorched his brain. He had to remember he had nothing in the world to take or offer. He wasn’t blind; he knew Cyra referred to herself, but so what? He wondered when he’d let her down and end up sacrificing her for the so-called greater good. He fucking hated the greater good.

Fury boiled through his veins, churning within, and the pressure allowed darkness to swallow him whole. He’d promised himself that after he’d lost Cherri-Anne, he’d never endanger another. No relationships. No feelings. That promise was his safety belt in life.

“We can’t be together. Don’t you get that?” he blurted out, and at once he wanted to retract his anger.

Staring at Cyra’s glistening gray eyes, the cracks in his strength wavered. She’d gotten under his skin like no one before, not even Cherri-Anne. But he didn’t deserve Cyra. The error was on his part for letting himself go there with her, giving her false hope, believing she belonged to him. This was the goddamn reason he’d kept his distance. She’d infiltrated his thoughts and penetrated his heart.

“Listen,” he began.

But she swung another fist, for his face this time, crying out, “I hate you.”

He snatched her wrist midair and pushed her up against the door, pressing up against her, holding her arms by her side. Their rushed breaths merged, and he stared deep into her eyes. Terror and despair swirled behind them, and a single tear collecting at the corner of her eye rolled down her cheek.

“Let me go,” she cried.

His insides shattered like glass, ripping him to shreds. Before him was a girl who’d given herself to him, who’d demanded his attention, who carried so much love she melted through his barriers. No one had done that before. Not a fucking soul. Except Cyra with her caring nature, her spunk, her passion. He adored everything about her, but he should have stopped himself from getting close. He never should have agreed to keep an eye on her.

“Your brother’s right. I am broken,” he stated, his voice deep and sharp. “And no glue in the world can put me together again.” Without hesitation, he pulled back from her warmth and walked away before he crumbled. He loathed every inch of what he’d become, the scum who teased Cyra, took her innocence, and now left her. Regret and guilt chewed on his sanity, but he could live with the self-hatred consuming him if it meant keeping her alive. And maybe throwing himself at a Legion was exactly what he deserved.