AI The third deadbolt scraped open as I yanked the door inward, ready to tease Eva for forgetting her wallet for the second time that morning. The flickering stairwell light caught on rain-slicked platinum blond hair instead of Eva’s neon pink roots, and my throat locked. Ptolemy, the tabby that had been kneading a hole in Eva’s hand-knit throw on my lap, hissed so loud his whole body vibrated , then bolted, sending a stack of Mary Oliver collections tumbling off the hall side table.
Lucien Moreau stood in the doorway, water beading on the shoulders of his tailored charcoal suit, his ivory-handled cane propped against the toe of his scuffed leather boot. A thin cut split the skin of his throat, crusted with the same inky black blood I’d seen only once before, the night he’d torn a demon Evan summoned apart in the alley behind Silas’ bar. His heterochromatic eyes—one burnt amber, one endless black—locked on mine, and for a second I thought I’d hallucinated him, that the sleepless nights and the half-bottle of Eva’s gin I’d finished the night before had finally broken me.
You tracked me to Eva’s safe house? That’s a new low.
I stepped back, hand curled around the doorframe hard enough that my scabbed-over knuckle, split open when I’d smashed Evan’s car window two weeks prior, split again. Warm blood trickled down my wrist, over the small crescent scar I’d earned falling off my bike at eight, and I wiped it on the leg of my jeans. I slammed the door shut, shoving each deadbolt home one by one, the metal clanging loud enough to rattle the stack of grimoires teetering on the arm of the couch. The smell of cumin and garam masala seeped up through the floorboards from the curry house below, mixing with the cold rain and cedar smoke that clung to Lucien’s clothes, the same scent I’d replayed in my head for three months, convinced I’d made it up.
Evan hired a wraith to track anyone close to you. I traced it here first. Killed it two blocks back. Your ex doesn’t leave loose ends.
Lucien stepped further into the flat, his boots squelching on a loose scroll that had slipped off the coffee table, every surface of the small space crammed with Eva’s research, notes scrawled in red ink, half-empty mugs of cold tea, salt and vinegar crisp packets crumpled in the gaps between books. He bent to pick the scroll up, his fingers brushing the edge of Eva’s notes about Evan’s occult ties, and set it gently back on the pile. The blade concealed in his cane rattled soft when he leaned his weight on it, the same weapon he’d used to gut that first demon, the one I’d thought I’d never see again.
You don’t get to show up here after three months of radio silence and act like you’re some savior. You left. You vanished the second we— I cut myself off, jaw tight, the words we slept together, you promised you’d never leave me stranded burning a hole in my tongue. I’d spent three months telling myself I was an idiot for trusting him, that the cool, untouchable information broker would never waste time on a human delivery girl with an abusive ex and a rap sheet for petty theft. I’d paid a witch in Camden fifty quid to scry him, and she’d come back with a vague reading that he was six feet under in a Kent ditch, and I’d spent three nights drunk enough to cry into Silas’ beer. I’d even gone back to Cardiff for a week, just to feel something that wasn’t the empty space he’d left behind.
I couldn’t stay. Malphora found me. He said if I didn’t leave London, he’d burn every place you’d ever lived. Start with the flat above Silas’ bar. Then your childhood home in Cardiff. Then he’d go after your parents, slow. Lucien’s voice was rough, like he’d spent months not speaking, the black of his left eye dilating until only a sliver of amber showed in the right, a tell I’d learned meant he was one wrong move from lashing out. I wasn’t going to let that happen. I left to keep you alive.
You thought leaving me in the dark was better? I spent three months thinking you got bored. That I was just another fuck you tossed aside when the fun ran out. I tracked all your old contacts. I memorized the blueprints for that warlock’s vault you asked me to case. I lied to his secretary that I was a temp cleaner, got the whole layout of the trap systems, did everything you asked. Then you vanished, left me holding the bag if the cops or the warlock came for anyone who’d helped you. I pushed off the wall I’d leaned against, my straight shoulder-length black hair falling in my face, and I brushed it back hard enough that my scalp stung. I even used that stupid alias you gave me, Malphora, to get into the warlock’s office. I did all of it for you, and you left me.
I couldn’t take you into that vault. The threshold trap would have incinerated any human that crossed it. I went in alone, stole the relic I needed, used it to open the gate to Avaros. I paid the warlock two hundred grand to hush up the break-in. I sent that secretary you lied to a thousand quid to keep her mouth shut. I covered every loose end. I never left you holding anything. Lucien stepped toward me, his hand lifting like he wanted to touch me, then dropping back to his cane before I could flinch. I spent three months fighting through my father’s court. I killed him. I locked his soul out of every realm that touches Earth. He can never hurt you. I came straight from the gate. I didn’t even go to my flat to shower. I tracked the wraith’s scent first. I was never going to let anything happen to you.
The room went quiet , the only sound the rain lashing the window of the small flat, the clatter of pans from the curry house downstairs. I stared at him, at the dark circles under his eyes, the strands of his usually perfectly slicked-back hair that had fallen loose from the rain, the scratches on his cane’s ivory handle that hadn’t been there three months prior. All the anger, all the hurt I’d carried for months melted into something soft, something sharp, that ached in my chest. I’d never had anyone choose me like that, not Evan, who’d only ever seen me as something to control, not even my parents, who’d pushed me into pre-law like my life was a box to check. Lucien had gone to hell, literally, to keep me safe, and he’d never said a word.
You could have told me. I would have waited. I would have gone with you. My voice came out thinner than I wanted it to, and I twisted the crescent scar on my left wrist, the nervous habit I’d had since I was a kid. I’m not some fragile thing you have to hide from the world. I can fight. I smashed Evan’s car window with a tire iron. I killed a poltergeist Eva and I ran into last month with a iron poker. I can keep up.
I know you can. That’s why I couldn’t ask you to come. You just left Evan. You were building a life here. I wasn’t going to yank you into my mess, not when I could end it alone. Lucien reached into the inner pocket of his suit jacket, pulled out a small silver locket, cold and rain-damp, and held it out to me. I got this before I left. Was gonna leave it on your flat’s step if I chickened out of talking to you. Didn’t think I’d have to crash your safe house to give it to you.
I stepped forward, my fingers brushing his as I took the locket. His skin was ice cold, the same as it had been the night we spent together in my flat, when I’d laid my head on his chest and counted his slow, half-demon heartbeat, thought it was the safest sound I’d ever heard. I flipped the locket open, and a blurry photo fell into the palm of my hand, taken on his phone the night at Silas’ bar, me covered in cheap lager, laughing so hard I was snorting, Eva’s arm thrown around my shoulders. I let out a wet, rough laugh, wiping the back of my hand across my eyes to keep the tears from falling, my bright blue eyes burning. You got a photo of me covered in beer? That’s the best you could do?
That’s the only photo I had. You stole my phone that night and deleted every other one I took of you. Said you looked terrible in all of them. Lucien set his cane against the wall, reached up, and brushed a strand of hair off my face, his thumb brushing the apple of my cheek. I didn’t delete that one. It was my favorite.
Don’t ever leave me like that again. If you even think about running off to hell to kill your dad without me, I’ll hunt you down and stab you with your own cane blade. I leaned into his touch, my hand coming up to wrap around his wrist, and I pulled him toward me, until his chest pressed against mine, his arms wrapping around my waist tight enough that I could feel that slow heartbeat against my own. I mean it. Next time you take on a demon court, I’m coming with you. I bring a mean tire iron.
Lucien laughed, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated through his chest, and he tightened his arms around me, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. I won’t. I’m never leaving again. Evan’s got nothing left to throw at you. We can stay here as long as you want. Or go back to your flat. I even brought your mum’s favorite Welsh cakes from that bakery in Roath, stashed in my bag. I planned to stay. For good.
Ptolemy crept out from behind the stack of grimoires he’d hidden behind, rubbed his head against Lucien’s ankle, and curled up on the floor at our feet, his purr loud enough to cut through the rain. I flipped the locket shut, clipped it around my neck, and pressed my face into Lucien’s chest, the first time I’d felt safe in longer than I could remember. Somewhere downstairs, the curry house’s front bell jingled, and I pulled back enough to look up at him.
Order us a chicken tikka masala. Extra naan. And if you even think about trying to pay for it with your fancy broker money, I’m hiding your cane.
Deal.