But the near-miss wasn’t the only thing making his balls tight in a bad way. The other half of it was where Jim was at in his aftermath routine: in spite of what Devina had done to him, the guy was making like he was all tight in the membrane . . . and yeah, fine, maybe that was the case right now. Hell, the fact that everything with Isaac and Matthias was coming to a head tonight was probably a good thing, because it gave Jim something to focus on. The only trouble was, as Adrian knew firsthand, this crisis was going to pass and then the guy would be facing a lot of long, quiet hours by himself with nothing but those ugly memories pinging around his skull like stray bullets.

The hardest thing, at least in Ad’s opinion, was knowing that it was going to happen again. When the situation called for it, Adrian would go back down there to Devina’s Playgirl Mausoleum . . . and so would Jim. Because that was the kind of men they were. And that was the kind of bitch she was.

Next to him, Eddie smothered another sneeze.

“God bless you.”

“Fucking lilacs. I’m the only immortal with allergies. I swear.”

As the guy glared at the blooming whatever next to his head, Adrian took a deep breath thinking at least his best friend didn’t have to go through hell down on that table. Then again, he’d been marked by that demon, which was hardly a lifetime pass to Disneyland.

Ten minutes, three more sneezes, and a whole lot of nothing else later, Adrian took out his cell phone and dialed up Jim. The guy answered on the second ring.

“Tell me,” he barked.

“Nada. We’ve been out here in the lilacs—I guess they’re called—staring at Grier eating with her dad. Looks like a pair of pork chops.” The exhale that came across the connection was pure frustration. “Nothing on your end, either, I take it.”

Man, sometimes bad action was better than this stalled-out, thumb-twiddling shit.

Jim cursed. “I spoke with Matthias about an hour ago, but I have no idea where he was. Definitely in transit, however.”

“I think we should come back in.” Adrian frowned and leaned forward in his boots. Inside the rustic kitchen, Grier got up, snagged some dishes out of a cupboard and lifted the glass cover off a cake plate. Looked like a whole lot of chocolate. With white icing.

Fuck it. Maybe they should stay a little longer. Invite themselves in for dessert.

“You hang tight,” Jim said. “But maybe I do need to come out there. I’d prefer to keep the showdown well away from the Childes, except I’m not sure Grier won’t be the target. At this point, I don’t know what Matthias is thinking—I could only get so far with him on the phone before he cut me off.”