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“I am insulted by the hierarchy.”

I loosen my grip on Vesper and she immediately takes the opportunity to launch herself out of my arms, landing on the carpet with a soft thud before delivering a sharp, warning bap to Chain-Chewer’s massive nose. The hellhound-turned-Dane just wags his tail, delighted by the abuse.

I don’t wait to see the outcome of the interspecies negotiation. I scramble up from the floor, abandoning all dignity, and practically launch up onto the couch.

“Oof—careful, you menace,” he grunts, but his arms are already there.

He catches me easily, pulling me right into the cradle of his lap, his hands spanning my waist with a familiarity that makes my head spin. I bury my face in the crook of his neck. He smells different—no longer just smoke and burning spice. He smells like cedar, expensive wool, and something distinctly, warmly alive.

“You’re here,” I whisper into his collar, my hands fisting in the lapels of his jacket. “You’re actually here.”

He brings a hand up to my face, brushing a tear from my cheek. “Have you slept at all? Have you been eating adequately? You don’t feel as soft.”

“I missed you,” I choke out, leaning into his touch like a plant seeking the sun. “I thought... I thought Veraxia and the Wardens and those guards in the Archives… I thought I’d never see you again.”

“Hm, yes. Well, it’s a rather long, boring story,” he scoffs, though his thumb keeps stroking my cheekbone. “I was involved in a dramatic tram crash, was tortured rather boringly for quite some time, and then met Satan. It was a whole thing. Lots of shouting. Very noisy.”

“You... you met the Devil?”

“Yes,” he says casually, adjusting his collar. “She was a delight. We hit it off immediately. Turns out, my particular set of skills were exactly what the management structure of Hell was missing. So, I received a job offer.”

He shifts, settling deeper into the couch, looking for all the world like he’s discussing a transfer to a new cubicle rather than a full-blown promotion in Hell.

“A job offer?” I whisper.

“Direct report,” he says, a dangerous, sharp grin cutting across his handsome human face. “I work for her now. I operate between both realms. I’m a... Headhunter, of sorts.”

He smooths a hand down my back, sending a shiver through me.

“You remember what I did to that Harvester in the back alley?” he asks.

I shudder. “Vividly.”

“That,” he says, his voice dropping an octave, dark and rich with promise. “But on a corporate scale. Satan has her eyes on the rogue elements. The ones parading as higher-power mortals. My job is to find them, audit their existence, and remove them from the board. Permanently. It comes with excellent benefits. Flexible hours. And, most importantly, a residency permit for the mortal realm.” He leans in, his nose brushing mine. “Which means I don’t have to leave. Ever.”

The words bounce around the inside of my skull, too big to fit, too good to be true. I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“You don’t have to leave?” I whisper.

“I don’t have to leave,” he confirms, his expression shifting to reveal something that looks dangerously, terrifyingly like devotion. He leans in further, his forehead resting against mine. “Hell was boring without you. Nobody there appreciates my humor. It’s all wailing and gnashing of teeth; very little banter.”

He pauses, pulling back slightly. “Ah. Wait. I almost forgot the narrative protocol.” He shifts his weight, reaching into the inner breast pocket of his suit jacket to reveal a single, slightly crushed, velvet-soft, dark red rose that looks like it’s been snapped straight from a bush.

“Chapter nineteen of Shattered Desires,” he says mockingly, twirling the stem between his fingers. “He presented his love with a flower.”

He tucks it behind my ear, his fingers lingering on my jaw. “Consider yourself wooed. I stole it from your neighbor’s window box. Chivalry may be seen as dead, but theft is thriving.”

I let out a wet, shaky laugh, my hands clutching the lapels of his jacket so hard my knuckles turn white.

“Now,” he rasps against my lips. “Stop crying on my expensive suit and kiss me, you catastrophic woman.”

I collide with him in a desperate crash of tongues and teeth and reclamation.

He growls against my lips, sending a buzz all the way down between my legs. His arms lock around me like iron bands, crushing me against his chest, holding me close enough to bruise.

“Out,” he growls—a command meant for the animals, not me. I hear the pad of paws as Chain-Chewer and Vesper scramble to vacate the room, but the sound’s distant, muffled by the blood thundering in my ears.

My hands are frantic, clawing at his suit, hating the fabric that separates skin from skin. I want to peel him out of it. I want to tear him open and crawl inside his ribcage.