“I . . .” He squinted at me. “I’ve secured the building with my magic so, unless you invite something in, it’ll be safe from humans, my brothers, and most supernatural creatures. I wasn’t sure what you’d had planned for the evening, and thought you might like to see where we’d be staying. I’ll be out for a little while, so please look around, make yourself comfortable, and grab your things.”

I stared at him, ignoring the whole “moving in together” scenario. “Where are you going?”

“To meet one of Pride’s messengers.”

“Is he the one who gave you Giulia’s name?”

Wrath nodded. “My associate has been watching him since late last night, and witnessed him passing information this morning to someone wearing a hood. I believe whoever he spoke to is our murderer.”

“Why didn’t your associate follow the hooded figure?”

“He tried. When he closed in, the person crossed into a crowd and disappeared.”

I blew out a breath. Of course. “What’s the plan?”

“I’m supposed to meet Pride’s messenger to retrieve the next name soon. Instead, I’ll interrogate him, and will hopefully discover the identity of the robed figure that way.”

“Or I could just use a truth spell.”

“Too dangerous. Plus, you’ll be grabbing your things. I won’t be gone for long.”

“I see.” Something in my tone made him sit up again, a wary expression on his face. So, he could be a smart demon. “You know I won’t stay when there’s a chance we can find out who killed my sister,” I said. “Either take me with you, or I’ll follow you.”

He studied me for a long minute then sighed. “I will not be pleasant. I can have the meeting, and tell you about it. I promise to not hunt down the murderer without you.”

“Wait . . . are you suggesting you’ve been pleasant?” I snorted. “I pity your enemies.”

His grin was anything but friendly when he said, “That might be the wisest observation you’ve made yet, witch.”

A clock in the city square chimed the hour. He stood, then ran his golden gaze over my clothes, appraising. “We leave in forty minutes. Try to wear something less . . . pedestrian. Better yet, I’ll have something more appropriate sent to your home.”

I glanced at my dress, frowning. It was a modest cotton gown I’d dyed a deep lavender last summer. It didn’t have a corset, which I was very pleased with, but it still had a pretty shape. I liked how it was fitted through the bust and waist and then dreamily flowed down to my ankles. It was hardly pedestrian, and yet . . . “What if I don’t want to wear your fancy clothing again?”

He didn’t bother responding.