Sweat dotted my brow while I stood in the shadow of Zayne’s building. Even though my tank top and jeans were thin and my heavy, still-wet hair was pulled up in a knot, I was about a minute from stripping off all my clothes.

It got hot back in the Potomac Highlands, but with the mountain air and open fields, there was always a cool breeze. Here there were only smoggy, hot and stinky drafts passing between the tall buildings.

Nervous energy buzzed through my veins as I shifted my gaze from the sidewalks to the congested street full of yellow cabs and black cars. The warm tingle along the back of my neck alerted me to the presence of demons, but none seemed close.

But I was about to get all up and personal with one.

For a favor.

A favor I owed the Crown Prince of Hell.

Crap.

I hadn’t exactly forgotten that Roth had said he’d help Zayne and I find Misha because he wanted a Trueborn to owe him a favor, but it hadn’t been at the forefront of my thoughts.

I had no idea what I could do for Roth that the demon prince couldn’t do for himself. He had all kinds of nifty abilities I was envious of, and whatever it was, I doubted Zayne would be happy to hear about it. I should text him, in case he got back before I did and found me MIA, but if I did, then Zayne would have questions. Questions I obviously couldn’t answer. Not only that, he’d probably intervene and stop whatever favor Roth needed from me, and admittedly, I was more than just a little curious.

Distraction and avoidance were the two best coping mechanisms out there. I didn’t care what therapists across the world claimed.

Plus, Zayne was busy doing top secret stuff, so, whatever.

I just hoped whatever Roth wanted didn’t involve anything too...evil.

Shifting my weight from one foot to the other, I crossed my arms as a hot whirl of wind caught the hem of my long shirt, playing with the edges. The slim, lightweight iron daggers currently attached to my hips stayed hidden. Roth might be a cool demon 99 percent of the time, but I wasn’t stupid. Not that I needed the daggers when I had my grace, but I wouldn’t just whip out my grace willy-nilly and start a party with it.

I’d end a party with it.

The blur of vehicles slowed down as a sleek fancy-looking car stopped at the curb and the shivery heat along my neck and shoulders increased. One tinted window rolled down and I heard, “Hey, Angel Face, want a ride?”