Fuck this. She reached out, grabbed his arm, then yanked back when his fist burst into flame.

It spread up his arm and across his back, eating his shirt, leaving his bare skin covered with blue-white fire. Heat so intense sweat broke out on her forehead, and made her step back, but she didn’t stop speaking.

“Greyson, please stop, we didn’t really do anything, it was my fault, please stop hitting him, please—”

He jumped back. She caught one glimpse of his stricken face, his glowing-coal eyes, before he buried them in his hands and fell forward.

His flaming skin touched the carpet. Megan started to scream, ready to leap over him to fill tiny hotel glasses with water, but the flames died, both on the carpet and on his skin.

“Oh fuck, oh God, no, tell me you didn’t. Not with Meg, Nick, tell me not with her.”

“Wait a minute.” This was probably one of the dumbest things she’d ever said, but at that point she didn’t care. Not when Nick was still on the floor, his nose and eyes already starting to swell, staring at the ceiling.

And it was her fault.

“Don’t I have some responsibility here? This was my fault, Greyson, I made him—”

“What . . . You—what?”

Oh, shit. She was supposed to be an intelligent woman. How the hell had she managed to fuck everything up with such brutal efficiency?

“I kissed him,” she said, as calmly as she could. “I started it. But that’s all it was, a couple of kisses, it didn’t go—and what the fuck are you so mad about anyway? We broke up, remember? You went off with Leora tonight. What were you doing with her?”

“With—what the hell do you mean, what was I doing with her?”

“I mean exactly what I said. You certainly made a big enough show of leaving with her tonight. What was I supposed to think? You think I didn’t—”

He sprang to a stand. Those burning eyes focused on her; she had to look away. She couldn’t stand to see the pain in their depths, the anger and disbelief. The shattered pieces of his trust in her lay in those eyes like mirror shards. “Are you—is that why you did this? Some kind of revenge? You dragged Nick into—because I left with Leora?”

“You hurt me,” she said, and it sounded so lame she wanted to smack herself. “You left with her, and you made sure I saw you do it, and you—you—”

“So you used Nick?”

“Didn’t you use Leora?”

“That’s different. I don’t give a fuck about Leora!”

“So you did use her.”

“Maybe I did,” he snapped, “but I didn’t run off and leap into bed with her. I didn’t even touch her.”

“We didn’t do anything,” she said again. She wanted to say it loudly, to sound strong and confident, but she just couldn’t manage it. “Nothing really happened. I kissed him—we kissed a few times. That’s all. Greyson, I’m sorry, and I’m drunk, and I feel sick, and I was so mad . . . Can’t we just forget it? Can’t we just move past it?”

His head jerked back, as if she’d waved ammonia under his nose. “I can’t believe—I can’t do this right now. I can’t be here. Not now.”

“I—”

“I never thought you would do something like this.”

“And I never thought you would lie to me like you did.”

“Right. This is my fault. Because I’m such a fucking beast, how dare I try to wait until the right time—”

“If that’s the way you feel about it, why come here to apologize? If you were right all along, why do that?”

“You’re right. I shouldn’t have fucking bothered.”

He glanced down at Nick, who was struggling to sit up. “Sorry, Nick,” he muttered, and turned and sped out of the room.

The pounding of her head woke her up. For one dizzied, horrified moment, her nightmare followed her into waking, and she thought the pain came from the angel, perched on the head of her bed, squeezing her temples in vise-tight palms.

No such luck. With full consciousness, memory flooded back, and all the bright morning sunlight in the world couldn’t chase Greyson’s horrified black gaze from her mind. Her groan sounded more like a sob; she rolled over and buried her face in the pillow.

“That’s not a happy morning face,” Tera said.

Tera? What the hell— Megan looked up to see Tera perched on the edge of the bed, holding in each hand a mug of what Megan could only hope was coffee. Or hemlock. She’d be happy with either at that moment.

“Hear you had some excitement last night,” Tera continued.

“Oh God.” Megan slumped back to the pillow. “Does everyone know?”

“Um, yeah. It’s all over the hotel. Are you surprised? It’s not like people wouldn’t hear about something like that. The demons are all in an uproar.”

“Because I kissed Nick? How—”

Tera almost spluttered her coffee. Almost but not quite. “You kissed Nick? What in the world?”

“Isn’t that what you’re talking about?”

“What the hell happened? You kissed Nick? You mean like a real kiss, with tongue? Was it good? He looks like he’d be a good kisser. Look at you, all racy gadabout. Didn’t take you long.”

“Racy gada—what century do you live in?” Megan reached for the coffee and took the biggest gulp she could manage. It burned her tongue. She didn’t care.

“Hey, I’m not the one running around kissing people. Does Greyson know?”

She cringed. “Yeah. He knows.”

“Ooh. That good, huh.”

The bathroom door opened; Nick emerged in a cloud of listless steam. His chest was bare above jeans. “Oh. Hi, Tera.”

“Wow. I guess it didn’t go well.”

Demons healed very quickly as a rule; only the faint est shadows of bruises remained on Nick’s face. But it was enough, the tinge of darkness around the slight swelling of his nose.

He cleared his throat. “Morning, Megan.”

The words made her want to cry. How could he still be speaking to her? Still be willing to greet her in the morning after what she’d done to him? Every tiny discoloration on his face, every bit of swelling, every second of pain he’d suffered since the moment Greyson saw the smear of lipstick on his throat . . . her fault, all of it. Entirely her fault.

Something told her this wasn’t the time, though, not with Tera there. Instead she forced herself to say “Good morning,” in what she hoped was a tone cheerful enough to let him know she appreciated him acknowledging her but subdued enough to let him know she was sorry.

Tera turned back to her. “So how much sleep did you get, then? I thought you might want to go shopping with me, but if you’re too tired, that’s okay. I don’t suppose you slept much, what with the kissing and I guess Greyson beating Nick up or whatever he did and the murder—”

“Murder?”

“What?”

She and Nick both spoke at once. They glanced at each other, a glance that gave her a bit more reassurance, then he nodded for her to continue.

“Murder? Tera, what are you talking about?”

“You don’t know?”

Nick sighed. “She’s a genius, Megan. I can see why you’re friends.”

Tera gave him a sour look. “I’m just surprised. It never occurred to me that you wouldn’t know. I thought it was a huge deal when a Gretneg died.”

Megan’s heart stuttered in her chest. It couldn’t be Greyson. Couldn’t be. Even Tera wouldn’t be so blasé if it was Greyson dead, Greyson murdered. Would she?

“Tera, who was it? It wasn’t—was it? Who?”

“Oh. Um, what’s-her-name, the bitch. What’s her name?”

Megan swallowed. “Justine.”