Zayne started forward, catching Roth’s gaze. The demon prince grinned as he came around the counter. “Come on, shortie.” Placing his hands on her shoulders, he tugged her back. “I think she knows how grateful you are without you squeezing out her insides.”

Zayne came to my side, curling his arm around my shoulders. He dipped his head and kissed my cheek. “You look so comfortable with hugs,” he murmured.

“Shut up.”

He chuckled, kissing my temple. “Sounded like you called Nic. How’d he take the news?”

“Oh, you know, amazingly well. Very level response—”

A knock from the front of the house interrupted me. I glanced to Roth. “Could we get lucky and that’s Lucifer?”

Roth snorted. “Doubtful.”

“I’ll get it!” Cayman’s voice carried from somewhere in the house.

“He’s been here the whole time?” I asked.

“He’s been upstairs, soaking in the tub,” Layla said, leaning into Roth. “It’s Tuesday. ‘Me time’ always happens on Tuesday evening.”

I shook my head. “You’d think he’d make an exception.”

Cayman appeared in the doorway, a greenish-blue clay mask slathered across his face. “Someone is here to see you—all of you,” he said. “Not me, because I have nothing to do with you all apparently losing Lucifer. Heads-up, he’s not happy.”

I stiffened. Who would even know all of us were here and that we’d lost Lucifer? It couldn’t be Nicolai. I doubted he knew where Roth lived.

I felt Zayne stiffen beside me at the same time a strange shiver of awareness skated over my skin.

A man entered the kitchen—a man who was nearly as tall as Lucifer. Dark-haired and bearded, he had a glacial gaze that sent a chilled warning down my spine. So did the fact his features were clearer to me—like with Zayne and Lucifer. He wasn’t a demon, but power radiated from this man—the final kind of power—and my grace kicked at my skin.

Roth stepped forward. “To what do we owe the unexpected and questionable honor of your presence, Grim?”

Grim.

Grim.

My eyes nearly popped out of my head as I realized I was staring at the Grim Reaper.

The Angel of Death.

27

If a year ago, anyone told me that I would meet both Lucifer and the Angel of Death in one day, I would’ve laughed straight in their face.

But here I was, staring at the Grim Reaper, otherwise known as Azreal.

And I wasn’t laughing. Not at all. This angel didn’t answer to Heaven or Hell. Or maybe he answered to both. I had no idea, but he could end any of our lives with just the snap of his finger, and I was talking the final kind of death that ended with the destruction of the soul.

“Cute,” Grim replied to Roth. “Do you think I want to be here?”