At least when she’d thought she was watching a man die. And being fervently and purely grateful that it wasn’t her.

“Can’t we do it in the morning?”

He stopped walking, touched her cheek. “You’re that tired?”

She nodded.

“I guess it—Actually, that might be better. We’ll keep an eye on her. Maybe we can . . . hmm.”

“What?”

They’d reached the car; not Greyson’s Jaguar, which was back at the Bellreive, but the Mercedes SUV the brothers had driven to the hotel. Spud opened the door, then closed it behind them and climbed into the back. Malleus and Maleficarum sat up front. Megan had gotten used to it, the feeling of always being under observation, but she’d also gotten used to saving some discussions for later, when the brothers weren’t around. One of those popped into her head as she fastened her seat belt. She made a mental note not to forget again.

“I was just wondering,” he said as they left their parking spot. The air conditioning kicked on, reviving her a little. At least, instead of feeling like her limbs were overcooked pasta, she felt fairly al dente. “Why a demon, or a witch, would want to get what’s-her-name involved with some silly faith healer.”

Megan had been wondering it too, but in an abstract kind of way. Now she realized it was the biggest question, the one she should have been asking all along. The answer she came up with sent cold chills down her spine and woke her up far more than she’d thought possible. Without much hope, she asked, “Because they thought it would be funny?”

He smiled. It was too dark in the car to see his eyes, but she could picture them just the same, that combination of pride and amusement that flooded her with heat every time. “I do wish that were the case. But I somehow doubt it is.”

“So do you know why?”

His hand found hers on the seat, closed around it tightly, as if he was trying to keep it from escaping. “No. But I intend to find out.”

Chapter 12

By mutual consent, they didn’t discuss the subject anymore, sticking to lighter topics such as which drive-through restaurant to go to, since Megan had effectively missed dinner and they didn’t want to wait for room service. The food revived her a bit, as did the call from Tera informing them that she was all checked in and asking if they needed her to come down now, but Megan still felt half dead. She told Tera they’d see her in the morning and slipped between the sheets on the big, soft bed.

Perhaps “half dead” wasn’t the best analogy. She shivered. Outside the wide picture window lights glowed yellow against the dark sky, like candles in a cave. Walling them in, watching them.

Greyson’s arms closed around her, pulled her tight against his warm chest. They’d turned the thermostat down earlier; she didn’t think it was necessary. It didn’t feel as though anything could truly warm her. The entire night since those frantic minutes on the roof seemed to have taken forever and yet less than the space of an eyeblink at the same time.

She was too tired to sleep; her entire body hummed with nervous tension. He wasn’t sleeping either. His breath stirring her hair was too shallow and fast for it.

For a second she considered slipping off the little nightie, letting him take her mind off what happened. Probably make it easier to fall asleep too. But . . . shit. She didn’t want to, she realized, because she was afraid of what might happen if they let their attention drift, if they weren’t alert and aware, ready to go after anything that tried to slip through the walls and into their room.

They weren’t safe there. They weren’t safe anywhere. A being that could fall off a roof and somehow disappear before landing, that could get from the first floor to the roof in a thick tangle of words and magic, could get her anywhere. Her body tensed, ready to jump off the bed and hide if the room’s energy changed, if the witch—if it was a witch—came after her.

“Spud is on the balcony.” Greyson brushed her hair back from her face. “Malleus is in the hall. He won’t get to us.”

She relaxed a little. Not just from reassurance but because she didn’t want him to feel her tension. She didn’t like to think she’d been so obvious. Even after almost a year, she hated looking weak in front of him, even knowing he didn’t see it that way. Didn’t see her that way. It was oddly difficult to get used to, the way she couldn’t quite adjust to calling a servant to bring her a snack instead of invading the Ieuranlier’s big kitchen herself.

“But a witch could still beat one of them, right? Didn’t you tell me once—”

“We’re not sure it’s a witch,” he reminded her. “Unless you’ve remembered something.”

“What else could it be? I mean, are there demons that can walk through walls?” She bit her lip, unsure what reply she was looking for. If it was a demon, she wouldn’t worry so much. The hotel was full of demons; surely some of them would help out—although now that she thought of it, she doubted Greyson would approve of her asking them for help, and he’d be right. If looking weak in front of him made her uncomfortable, after eleven months of . . . well, of having a fantastic time and spending more and more time together . . . if that made her uncomfortable, the thought of looking weak in front of the other Gretnegs made her skin crawl. Greyson would never take advantage of her weakness. They would, the way a cat would take advantage of a mouse with its tail caught in a trap.

“No, not as far as I know,” he said. “But I can’t figure out why a witch would carry you onto the roof and attempt to throw you off. A witch could—”

“Yes, I know. A witch could kill me with just a few words, a snap of the fingers, or whatever. Tera told me.”

“I imagine she did.” The amusement in his voice slid over her bare skin, as intimate as a kiss. “That sounds like something Tera would say.”

“You don’t sound as irritated as I expected you to sound.”

“Well, she’s here. Of course, she didn’t come for free—I shudder to think what that bill’s going to be like.”

“No, you don’t.”

“You’re right, I don’t give a shit. I hope she hits the damn jewelry store downstairs and buys herself a diamond tiara. It’s worth it if she can help.”

Megan shifted her position, lifted her head to kiss him. The hair at his nape was soft and smooth under her fingers; in the room’s half-light his eyes glittered faintly when she pulled away, the barest tinge of red visible.

It wasn’t that kind of kiss, though. Not that kind of moment. At least not yet.

“Thank you,” she said, sitting up to face him.

He held her gaze; his hands slid up her arm, so lightly it was more like the suggestion of a touch. “I figured out some time ago that you and Tera were something of a package deal,” he said. His smile made her heart give a little leap in her chest. “Since I don’t plan to give you up, I’m stuck with her. Might as well make the best of it.”

“You don’t plan to give me up, huh?”

His eyes reddened a bit more. “No.”

“And you think it’s up to you?” She leaned forward, scraped his throat lightly with her teeth. “Don’t I have a say in it?”

“Hmm? No. No, I don’t think so.” His hands moved with more purpose, over her shoulders and collarbone, down to caress her breasts through the silk. “I think it’s best if you let me make those decisions, don’t you? You just smile and look pretty, and I’ll buy you more diamonds and a car.”

She gasped, a sound halfway between laughter and something else, as his hand moved farther down her body and found its way under the hem of her nightie. “A car? Aren’t you afraid I’d leave?”

It was a flippant joke, nothing more. A joke in the middle of a joking conversation, like the ones they had often. She didn’t expect him to stop, to place his hands firmly on her upper arms. The red light left his eyes as if she’d flipped a switch. “Yes,” he said.