As she slid the stone into her pocket, he gazed up at her, his face a picture of innocence. “Any excuse to get your hands on me.”

She opened her mouth to protest, before closing it again. His hand slid around her back. God, he was beautiful. And right now, she could kiss him, feel his soft lips against hers again. But even with the thrilling sensation of his hand on her back, his thumb moving slowly up and down—something stopped her.

She couldn’t unsee the sadness in his eyes. Her own brush with the shadow void had chilled her to the bone, and she couldn’t shake her mind of that soul-crushing emptiness. She slipped off Kester’s lap, hugging herself. Maybe Bael was in that shadow void now, tormented by complete and utter abandonment.

“Are you all right?” he asked, studying her closely.

She nodded. “My brush with Nyxobas left me a little unnerved.”

“The lord of the shadow hell has that effect on people.”

She touched his cheek. “I’m glad to have you back. Even if you kidnapped me the first time I met you.”

“Sorry about that.”

She rose, pulling on her coat. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Just remember to knock, like I did.”

“I wouldn’t dream of barging in.”

Smiling, she pulled her coat tight as she stepped out into the icy winter air. She slipped her hand into her pocket, pulling out her white stone to roll between her fingers, its smooth surface comforting her as soon as she touched it.

She had to admit, some things weren’t looking good. Emerazel planned to use her as a double agent, Nyxobas had his own devious agenda, and Bael remained a prisoner, possibly dead.

The cold wind rushed off the East River, biting her skin through her coat as she walked to the Bentley. But at least she was alive, and so was Kester. That was certainly a better outcome than she’d expected last night. And maybe it wasn’t so impossible to fight the gods.

Moreover, with every day she spent among the demons, she was one step closer to learning the truth about herself, to learning the story behind her memories of the flame-haired woman, and the person who’d taught her to fight.

Sometimes, the utterly improbable did happen. After all, if Kester could find a tiny white stone in a sea of angry fae warriors at a dance party—maybe there was a chance to free the hellhounds.

She pulled open the back door of the Bentley, stepping into its warmth. As Joe turned on the engine, she let her eyes drift shut, soothed by the car’s soft hum. Before she took on the ancient gods of wrath and death, she’d need at least a few hours of sleep.

* * *