Feeling gutted, I left the room, rushing out into the long hallway. At the end, Deacon was coming out of the room he was sharing with Luke, his expression pinched with concern as he tugged a clean shirt on over his head. He joined us as we hit the steps.

I was sick to my stomach, even though I’d done the right thing by telling Josie, and discouraging her from making a deal she’d regret.

Shit. I’d tasted fear the moment she said she planned on making a deal with the gods for me. They would’ve flipped it back on her so fast her head would be spinning. There was no way I could allow her to do that.

So I did what I should’ve done weeks ago, when she’d told me that she loved me. I’d told her the truth, exposing who and what I really was to her. If she never spoke to me again, I wouldn’t be surprised.

But I couldn’t focus on that right now. I had to compartmentalize, shut down the turmoil. There’d be time later to dwell in that shit, roll around in it.

Our feet pounded off the hardwood steps of the stairs. The foyer came into view. I saw Hercules’s massive ass first, and then Aiden. He had a Covenant dagger in his right hand.

“What’s going on?” Josie asked, her voice hoarse. The muscle along my jaw tensed.

“He’s . . . he’s dead,” murmured Gable.

Not seeing whoever he was talking about, I stepped down into the foyer and found Gable standing nearly under the stairs. His face was as white as a daimon’s. Not a good sign.

“Who’s dead?” Deacon walked past Josie, joining Luke where he stood off to the side, near the entrance to the living room. Or the sitting room. One of the dozen needless rooms in this house.

“Look outside,” Alex replied as she strolled in from the kitchen area, the duffel bag of weapons clenched in her hand. She placed it on the floor, just behind the table in the middle of the atrium.

My gaze tracked the length of the atrium to the double doors. There were glass panes, and in the center of the left door I could see a rough circle of spiderweb fissures in the glass. The cracked glass was smudged with what looked like a mixture of blood and some other kind of fluid.

Then I looked down. The porch light was on, casting a yellowish glow on the prone body. I could make out sandals, pale white legs, and dark shorts.

“He k-knocked on the door,” Gable said, lifting a hand and thrusting it through his hair. He tugged on the ends. “When we came out here to see who it was, he saw u-us through the glass and . . .”