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Part of me wants to apologize, but I don’t even know what I’d be apologizing for. For as long as I’ve known him, he’s had a steady stream of one-night stands occupying his bed, and the one time I find something that might be meaningful—

I shake my head. This isn’t a fight I want to have with him, and I shouldn’t have to. Christopher is my mate. I owe Dameon nothing. Not an apology. Not an explanation. Nothing.

I hold my ground. “I need to talk to you about Martha’s murder. Did you do it?” It’s a pointed question that I already know the answer to, but still I need to hear it from his lips.

“Of course not,” Daemon scoffs. “I’m not that stupid.”

I let loose a shaky breath and try to ignore how relieved I feel. “Well, Salios believes you are. The elders summoned him and—”

“Salios was here? On the mortal plane?” Wide-eyed, Daemon scans the alleyway again and backs up into the shadowy wall. “Fuck.” He slams his fist against it, that perfect composure gone. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

“You’re safe, Daemon,” I say. But he doesn’t hear me. He’s spiraling, raking his fingers through his hair, muttering under his breath in the Infernal tongue.

Pocketing my phone, I sling my purse over my shoulder and walk up to him, the cobbles scraping underfoot. I stand on tiptoes and place my hands on either side of his face, forcing those red eyes to meet mine. They shutter.

“You’re safe, Daemon,” I whisper. “Salios isn’t going to hurt you.”

He’s going to hurt me.

Daemon’s brows furrow with understanding, and his pupils dart toward my concealed wrist as if he can feel Salios’s magic pouring through it. He grabs my arm and yanks the shirt sleeve up. “Fuck, Annie. What did you do?”

Daemon sits across from me inside the ice cream parlor, eating a monstrosity of a sundae. It’s stacked with gummy rings, strawberry boba, popping candy, and a large round sucker—the kind my elementary school used to sell at fundraisers. I’m not sure what ice cream flavor he got, but it’s clearly overpowered by all the toppings. Meanwhile, I’m quite content with my double scoop of chocolate chip.

The parlor isn’t full; it’s early spring and most of its patrons are probably in school. We should be in school too. Daemon and I take part-time classes at the local university—Gen Ed majors, both of us—but all this business about eternity in Hell and murder investigations has really put a damper on that. Not that either of us were excellent students to begin with.

“So, let me get this straight,” Daemon says, munching on one of the gummy rings—a bright orange one covered in sugar granules. He talks between bites. “Your mate wants me to take some magical stone to Hell, wave it in front of a bunch of demons’ faces, and see if it vibrates.”

I grab a spoonful of ice cream and lick it clean, the sweet and bitter dark chocolate everything I hoped it would be. “Don’t be ridiculous. The stone will vibrate for anyone with infernal magic who Martha saw that night. That means you too.” I point toward him with the spoon. “Christopher wants you to take me to Hell so I can wave it in front of a bunch of demons’ faces and see if it vibrates.”

Daemon snorts. “Not happening. I’m not bringing a light witch around any incubus, let alone a crowd full of them. They’d eat you for dinner.”

He grabs the sucker and plops it in his mouth, licking and sucking on it. And suddenly being eaten for dinner has a whole new meaning. My mouth dries and I clench my thighs together as I watch him. God, it’s so fucking profane what he’s doing, and I don’t know if it’s intentional or not, but it’s all kinds of distracting.

My mind drifts back to that dream of him, and Daemon grins as if he can sense my dirty thoughts. It’s awful.

I shake my head to clear it. “I should remind you that I’m around an incubus every day. We even have the same class schedule.”

“That’s different. I know I’m not going to hurt you.”

That makes one of us.

I scoop up more ice cream, except this time I return Daemon’s attitude when I eat it. Slowly, I slide my tongue around the spoon, absorbing the cold and moaning at the taste. Admittedly, it’s probably more awkward than sexy, but that’s okay. This is Daemon after all, and we’re just screwing around.

Still, his eyes home in on me, tracking the movement. “My God, Annie. We’re in public,” he teases.

I moan again to fuck with him. “You started it. I’m just stooping to your level.”

But then a waitress passes by, and I drop the spoon like it’s made of lava, shoving the ice cream away from me. My metal spoon clatters to the table, and the vanilla chocolate chip spatters everywhere. At first Daemon tries to stifle his laughter, but then the waitress shoots me a dirty look and it booms out of him.

I sink into the booth, wishing I could just curl up and die already, then cover my face with my hands. Once I’ve collected myself, I kick him underneath the table and he hisses, dropping his sucker.

“We need to be serious,” I say, because I’m a giant hypocrite. “I need you to take me to Hell as soon as possible. Both of our souls depend on it.”

That sobers him up.

Leaning forward, Daemon lowers his voice as if we haven’t been talking openly about Hell this entire time. I’m sure the waitresses think we’re nuts, doing some weird kind of roleplay or something. “Annie, there are things you don’t know about Hell.”

“Then enlighten me.”