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When I tell her about the bargain I struck with Salios, she backhands me across the cheek. The smack rings out as I go stumbling into the crowd of witches—the audience to my humiliation. Pain I can handle, but being reprimanded in front of all of them… It makes me want to crawl out of my skin.

Eyes watering, I cup my stinging cheek, barely noticing the person I’ve bumped into. Mom has never hit me before, but she raises her hand to strike me again. Christopher steps between us. “That’s enough, Sarah. What’s done is done.”

She glares at him, but lowers her hand.

“I’ll do what I can to help her prove Daemon’s innocence,” he says, and Mom laughs at him. It’s a cruel and humorless sound.

“Don’t you get it, Christopher? He isn’t innocent.” Her lips form a hard line when she peers down at me. “After everything I’ve done for you—defending you to the others, tolerating that demon in my household… Get out, and don’t bother coming back.”

“Sarah, you don’t mean that,” Christopher says, his voice placating and soft.

“Oh yes, I do. Samantha is right. If she wants to spend her time fucking demons, the Septem can have her. And as for you, I would tread very, very lightly. I appointed you to this position, and I can take it away. Now, get her out of my sight.”

Mom’s words penetrate deep, the accusation just as embarrassing for him as it is for me. He’s my mate, and my mother is effectively confirming what the witches have all suspected and accused me of for years. This time, Christopher doesn’t argue or defend me. Doing so would weaken his position, but it doesn’t sting any less.

Quietly, he places his hand on my lower back and guides me toward the house, past the spiteful, hate-filled eyes of the coven. A thousand apologies form and die on my tongue. None would be enough. I’m like a cancer here, and my malignancy has spread to him, ruining his relationship with the people who’d been smiling and conversing with him just hours before.

We continue up the steps in silence, toward a bedroom that’s apparently no longer mine. Christopher helps me pack a suitcase, though I’m not sure where I’ll go. My eyes flick to my rolled-up shirtsleeve and exposed tattoo. The black infernal lines look different now, tinged with pink slashes from whatever magic Salios placed inside me.

The need to summon Daemon pulls at every fiber of my being, but I don’t want him to see what I’ve done—not yet. Besides, calling him here would only make things worse for Christopher. It’s not like he could help me anyway. His mother would have a conniption if I moved into their house.

“You can stay with me,” Christopher says, and I blink up at him, a crease line forming between my brows.

After everything that’s happened, why would he do that? I just offered my soul to save another man’s life, and he—

“No sex or anything. I mean, not unless you want to. I just want you to be somewhere safe. And I’m not sure Daemon is that for you.”

Staring at my fully packed suitcase, I realize he’s right. Daemon is a lot of things, but I wouldn’t classify him as safe. Familiar? Yes. Kind? Sometimes. But safe? When I called on him at the baptism, he brought me to Hell. He feeds on people to sustain his magic, and half the time I’m with him, I’m worried he’ll spend eternity torturing me.

I want to summon Daemon, but he isn’t what I need right now.

Grabbing my suitcase, I nod to Christopher. “I’d like that very much.”

Christopher’s house isn’t like Daemon’s or my parents’. For starters, it isn’t a house. It’s a penthouse condo in the city—a little sterile, but still beautiful. There are no walls on the outside, just giant windows overlooking downtown. Past the windows, comically small people cross back and forth between shops and restaurants. Congested traffic waits at stop signs. I’m used to large estates and privacy, but there’s none of that here.

Christopher takes my suitcase from me and carries it into a white and black bedroom that looks more like a hotel suite. A downy comforter hugs a large mattress that, again, overlooks the outside. He sets the suitcase beside the bed. “This is the guest room. Mine is across the hall.”

“What do you do?” I ask him, because I know this place isn’t exactly cheap.

“Stock trading. I dabbled in law for a bit during the sixties though.” His age still shocks me, though it shouldn’t. Plenty of coven witches are in their hundreds. A few have even reached one thousand, though I’ve never met them personally. “Feel free to unpack and settle in. I’ve got a few phone calls to make.”

Shit. My phone is still at Daemon’s house.

Outside of social media, I barely use it. The only person I ever text or call is Daemon, and I can just as easily summon him through the bond, but still, it feels awkward not having one. Again, I peer at the tattoo, and again I decide against using it. Summoning Daemon to Christopher’s home would be unacceptable on the best of days, and after this morning… nope. It’s not going to happen. Even if it means going no-contact with the rest of human civilization.

Phoneless, I do exactly as Christopher suggested and settle in. I open my suitcase on the bed, then place my toiletries in the adjoining bathroom, which is just as unpersonalized as everything else. The room is white, and clean, and smells of lemon disinfectant. It has a large walk-in shower with multiple shower heads that I’m sure feel amazing. But it isn’t home.

I don’t have a home anymore.

It’s a bitter realization.

Maybe proving Daemon’s innocence will fix things. Then again, even if I succeed, my soul will still be bound to him, and I’ll still be marked for Hell. Why the angels haven’t taken my magic yet, I’ll never know. Sighing, I close my eyes and feel the gentle thrum beneath my veins—it’s stronger now than ever. Whatever Salios put into me roars to life as I step up to a dresser in the corner of my new bedroom, and whisper a short incantation in Latin, ending it with the word aperta—open.

The drawers heed my command and burst off their hinges, clattering to the ground.

I cringe.

That wasn’t supposed to happen. It’s never happened before.