Anger flashed in his eyes. “That’s quite the statement from someone noble-born and raised in a mansion. I’m guessing this is the first terrible thing to ever happen to you and that’s why you have no idea how to handle it.”

“You’re guessing wrong.”

Caine studied her with an unreadable expression.

Tammi cleared her throat. “This conversation is fun and everything, but I can’t really go back to the Thorndike campus without getting arrested, so….”

Rosalind touched Caine’s arm. “Can she stay with us? Please? Just until we get the spirit out. Then we’ll figure something else out, and we’ll get out of your life.”

“Another human to look after?” he asked. “It’s not a good idea.”

“What else is she supposed to do?”

He traced his fingers over his jaw, considering her plea. “Fine. At least she’s more sensible than you are.”

Tammi wiped away another tear. “And then what? Where can we go that the Brotherhood won’t find us?”

Rosalind turned to her friend. “It’s going to be okay. Josiah said he’d help work on my case. I know the Brotherhood are unreasonable, but Josiah isn’t. He said he’d help look for a precedent. If they’re not after me, they’ll stop harassing you.”

Tammi crinkled her brow. “You think Josiah can do that?”

“I can’t guarantee it, but…” Her sentence trailed off. It’s the only option we have just didn’t sound very reassuring. She glanced at Caine. “How soon can we go to Elysium?”

“We can go as soon as you want.” His cold gaze met hers. “But if you want to come with me, you’ll have to learn to act submissive for a few minutes. The only pedestrians allowed in Elysium are there as courtesans to offer pleasure to the demons.”

She crossed her arms. “You have got to be kidding me.”

Chapter 19

Rosalind wasn’t sure which was worse: the fact that she was willingly going into the demons’ night club—pretending to be a courtesan—or the ridiculous outfit Caine had created for her, using magic.

After studying her body to take her measurements, he’d transformed her ragged outfit into a tiny white dress. Now, she tottered along the road in six-inch heels, practically tripping over her own feet.

For a demon associated with pleasure, he’d created bizarrely sadistic shoes. Still, as he’d pointed out defensively, the heels contained actual stiletto blades in case things got messy, and the hair sticks pulling her locks into an untidy bun were fashioned from large hawthorn spikes, inset with iron. Perfect for staking vamps if anyone got bloodthirsty. As an extra precaution, she’d collected a vial of iron dust, now tucked in her cleavage. This time, she wasn’t going into a demon lair totally defenseless.

Elegant in her slinky leather dress, Tammi had already mastered the art of walking in heels. In fact, her new ensemble had almost brightened her morose mood. As they walked, she smoothed her hair over her shoulders.

Draped with stunning silver jewelry, Aurora took a swig of something from a flask—blood, probably. “You sure it’s a good idea to bring the pedestrians into these places? Demons get hungry. Shit. I’m hungry.”