The fog in Gunn’s brain tugged him in every direction. His attraction to Cyra had intensified to the point where he was ready to throw her over the table and take her. He wasn’t thinking straight with the mistletoe messing up his head, and the danger of a demon in the house. Not focusing was how mistakes happened… guilt-ridden mistakes that lasted a lifetime.

A year ago, he’d cornered a possessed man, only to discover he’d been taken over by two demons. Gunn had underestimated the situation and ended up with two broken ribs and had been unable to walk for a month. But what had saved his skin from death was his ability to react fast to the situation. How was he supposed to do that now when he kept turning into a horny bastard?

For two months, he’d kept his distance from Cyra, told himself she wasn’t his, she could never be his, because if he’d lost Cherri-Anne to a demon, then could he really protect Cyra? But since their first kiss, he was fighting a losing battle. She was everything to him. A second chance.

He tensed at how foolish he sounded. Except his past had changed his life. He’d cut ties with all friends outside of Argos, and focused on destroying demons. Happy endings didn’t happen to people who got their loved ones killed. For that, Gunn deserved to burn in Hell.

“It’s the mistletoe.” Cyra’s soft voice broke through his thoughts.

He glanced up and found a green strand dangling just above his head. The second he moved out from under it, his brain sharpened at once. But beneath the surface of his mind, his intensity for Cyra remained. Despite the magic imprisoning this house, the overpowering attraction he carried for Cyra choked him. He reached for the mistletoe and wrenched it off the ceiling, ripping it free of the tiny gap it had crawled through in the windowsill.

Cyra pointed to her spell bowl on the counter, filled with burned rubbish. “I think the mistletoe twisted the spell. So when two people stand close, they’re drawn to each other. The plant is an aphrodisiac, and when used in enchantments, it brings out people’s true intentions.”

Despite their situation, he couldn’t help but smirk at Cyra’s explanation. “So you’re into me.” Hell, shake it off, stick to the game plan.

Cyra cocked an eyebrow. “It works both ways.”

“Baby girl, I’ve never denied my attraction to you, just never acted on it.”

Her gaze narrowed as if deciding if his words carried a double meaning, which they didn’t. He said it as it was, though in all honesty, his simple confession would lead to more questions. She seemed the type of girl to prod until she unraveled the mysteries to the universe.

“Why didn’t you act on it?” she asked, chewing on her lower lip.

And there it was, her question delivered with a dollop of vulnerability. This wasn’t a topic he wanted to discuss at the best of times, let alone now. Still, she studied him, waiting, and those earlier recollections of them in the bathroom swamped him.

Chase had once called him broken, and maybe he’d been right. And Cyra wasn’t a woman he’d enjoy for a single night, but someone he’d want to take his time with.

“You’re too good for me,” he admitted and he meant every word.

She tilted her head, studying him. “Bullshit!”

Okay, he hadn’t expected that. He ran a hand across his mouth, ready to change the topic. This wasn’t the place or time to talk about feelings or anything that reminded him of his failures, his mistakes, his regrets.

“Listen, I—”

But a deathly hiss screeched through the house, stealing his words. Every muscle stiffened as he turned toward the hallway. A goose emerged from within the shadows, easily reaching his thighs. It stood erect, wings spread, hissing like a goddamn cobra.

Gunn rubbed his eyes. Was he seeing right? Had it gotten into the house when the door had been open? Except something was wrong with the animal. Its cloudy, dark eyes locked on Gunn, and its neck had a kink the size of his fist. But how was it alive when half its feathers were plucked, revealing prickly yellow skin? Was this a joke?

“It’s the dead goose,” Cyra declared, recoiling, and her reaction raised the hairs on his nape.

“What dead goose?” He reached for the lasso on his belt just as the bird charged him.

Gunn retreated deeper into the kitchen as he clicked open his weapon.

He flung an arm over his head for protection at the same second the goose slammed into his chest. Air emptied from his lungs and he crashed into a chair, bringing it down with him. No bird could be that powerful. The fucker definitely had supernatural strength.

The bird pecked across his arm and brow, pinching his skin as it fluttered in his face.

With a backhand, he shoved it aside and scrambled to his feet.

It honked and struck again.

This time Gunn tossed the loop of his weapon, catching it on an outstretched wing midflight, and tugged it backward.

The bird twisted around and rushed toward him.

Talons tore at his forearm. The lasso’s handle slipped out of his grasp and fell off the bird. He backed away, shoving against the wings flapping him in the face. He was going to barbecue this thing.

As it flew at him once more, he ducked. It landed on the ground behind him, and he whirled around.

Cyra darted past him, holding an oversized metal spoon over her head She swung after the goose, but it hissed and scrambled out between her legs. He threw himself after it, his fingers touching the feathers as it slipped away and across the room.

“What does it want?” Cyra blurted.

“My blood!”

Footfalls sounded down the corridor, and he yelled out, “Henry, Nora, whatever you do, don’t come in the kitchen!”

The goose lowered its long neck and charged him once again. This time, Cyra sprung up onto the counter, and Gunn threw himself across the table, bringing down two chairs as he landed.

“Hold it still,” Cyra called out, crouching on the counter.

“Easier said than done.”

A dark shadow buzzed over him, and a razor-sharp beak pinched his neck. “Shit!” He whacked it in the head. As it dropped, he seized its scrawny neck. Writhing in his hand, the possessed animal bucked and hissed, loosening from his hold.

He scanned the room, needing a holding spot. The pantry or under the sink?

A blade-like stab pierced the flesh between his thumb and index finger, the pain torture, hitting his nerves. He bellowed and darted to the closest thing—the fridge. Cyra was there, opening the door, and he tossed the bird inside. He slammed it shut and jammed his back against the door. “Fucking son of a bitch.” His breaths raced and every inch of him ached, but nothing compared to the bite between his thumb and finger. Hell!

The refrigerator thumped behind him, shaking on its feet.

Cyra’s breaths labored. “Should have shoved it in the freezer.”

“Get my lasso, please.” He gasped for air because this was a first for him. He’d fought a hellhound and barely survived, even a possessed marionette doll, but never a goose.

She swiped the weapon off the floor and handed it over. “So what’s the plan?”

“Now, we destroy it. On the count of three, open the door, and I’ll strangle the demon out of it.”

He grasped his loop in two hands, his muscles taut. Blood dotted his arms. All because of a goose. His friends would never let him live that down. “It’s getting vanquished, now.”

“One. Two. Three.” Cyra flung open the fridge.

He lunged forward. But the goose fluttered to the ground between them. Before he could hook his lasso around the head, the animal swept out of the kitchen.

“No, you don’t.” He chased after it, but it vanished into the hall and swung left toward the living room. His fear spiked, and he careened into the corridor, having lost sight of the bird.

Skidding into the living room, he found Henry and his wife on the couch, their eyes huge. Nora gasped.

“Son, what happened to you?” Henry asked as Cyra came in and stood alongside Gunn, still gripping the spoon.

“Goose attack,” he replied. “Did you see it going this way?”

Both shook their heads. “How did a goose get in the house?” Henry asked.

“It’s the dead one,” Cyra piped in. “From the laundry room.”

“The laundry room?” Gunn asked, still confused how Cyra knew about the bird. Was it part of her misfired spell?

Nora stiffened and placed a hand on her chest. “I was told the bird was dead, and I’d even half plucked it, ready for baking tomorrow morning.”

Cyra placed the spoon down on the coffee table. “It’s dead, but we think a spirit is controlling it.”

Right. That made more sense in Gunn’s head. Especially now that he had two seconds to think, he was convinced whatever had flown out of the attic after he’d rescued Cyra now possessed the bird. On the bright side, the speck demon couldn’t leave the goose and attach itself to anything else, as those leeches tended to get trapped inside the object they took over.

He wiped his neck and came back with blood on his fingers. He needed two seconds to clean himself up, but for now he wiped his cuts and would have to live with a bit of blood dribble.

Henry was on his feet, squaring his shoulders, as if preparing himself for the worst. “Why is the house wrapped in mistletoe? What is happening to our home? We only had a small spirit problem, and now everything is wrapped in vines. And what is this talk about an undead goose, and why are you bleeding so much? Are we in danger?”

Nora sniffled and hugged a cushion to her chest, but the terror scribbled over her face said it all.

Gunn frowned. God, if he had access to his bike sitting outside, he’d grab the spare lasso and holy water vials, along with a couple of blessed knives. But that wasn’t possible. One thing was irrevocably true: they were fucked until they worked out how to leave the property.

Cyra approached Henry. “To make sense of this, first we need to know about anything you’ve brought into the house in the last few months. Furniture, artwork”—she counted them on her fingers—“creepy dolls, rocking chairs, old boxes found at archaeological digs. That kind of stuff.”

Henry and Nora exchanged looks and then shook their heads. “Nothing. We’ve been trying to de-clutter,” Henry said. “We’ve been selling a lot of our belongings.”

Okay, that was a dead end, but they must have missed something. Gunn stared over his shoulder, expecting the bird to attack again. He wiped his brow and came back with a bloody hand. Shit. He needed to get bandaged up too.

A loud bang erupted upstairs, and everyone glanced up to the vibrating chandelier.

He turned to Cyra. “Stay here with them.” Before she could respond, he rocked on his heels and rushed out of the room. With his lasso in hand, he was ready to hunt, and he was targeting the upper floor first, betting his life that was where the speck demon had gone.