Page 27

His jaw tightened. "I've burned cities."

"I know."

"I've hunted souls."

"I know."

His eyes searched mine. "I'm not trying to frighten you, Poppy."

"I know." I let out a slow breath. "I'm not saying what you've done doesn't matter."

He went completely still. "I can't pretend burning cities isn't terrible. I can't pretend taking lives doesn't matter."

"It shouldn't."

I took an exasperated deep breath. He fell quiet and I continued. "But..." I looked down at the hand still carefully holding mine. "I also can't pretend that the same demon who says those things spent a year making sure I didn't step on a rattlesnake."

He had no response.

"You chased off a mountain lion."

His wings shifted almost imperceptibly.

"I don't know how those two things fit together yet." His gaze never left mine. "But I believe they're both true."

Something flickered across his face. Gone almost before I recognized it.

"I think..." I smiled softly. "...you're giving me every reason to be afraid of you..." I squeezed his hand. "...because you're terrified I'll discover that there's more to you than you let others see."

His fingers tightened instinctively around mine. Only for a heartbeat. Then he caught himself and loosened them again. I took another step down the trail, forcing him to walk with me.

"But until you give me a reason to judge the demon standing beside me..." I looked up at him. "...I'm not going to judge him for the man he used to be."

She was finally asleep. Silence settled over the little cottage like a blessing. I closed my eyes and inhaled slowly. Peace. At last.

Five sunsets. Five mornings. Five increasingly perplexing trips into Screaming Woods. Three visits to Mrs. Wilton. Two magical disturbances that refused to obey any law I had ever known. One exceptionally irritating squirrel.

And approximately four thousand questions. Five days since I'd allowed Poppy Hale to see me. Five days of conversations that somehow began with mushrooms and ended with whether demons preferred rainy weather. Five days of watching her greet every passing creature as though they'd been close friends for years. Mortals possessed a remarkable ability to speak without ever exhausting a subject.

Life had been considerably simpler when Poppy hadn't known I existed. Back then, she talked to herself. Or sang. Or narrated every step of whatever culinary disaster she attempted. None of it required my participation. Now... apparently every passing thought deserved discussion.

I pinched the bridge of my nose. "I preferred the silence."

The words echoed through the empty living room. I frowned. No. I had not. I had not just spoken to myself. That realization irritated me far more than it should have. Conversation was inefficient. Distracting. Entirely unnecessary. And yet... the cottage felt strangely... hollow without her voice drifting from one room to another.

Ridiculous. I was an infernal hunter. Not an elderly mortal in need of companionship.

My tail — traitorous appendage that it was — had taken to flicking against whatever surface was nearest whenever her scent lingered in a room she'd already left. I chose, firmly, not to examine that either.

A movement to my right caught my attention. One amber eye regarded me from beneath the coffee table. Reggie.

The enormous orange menace emerged with all the dignity of an emperor inspecting his kingdom. His left ear bore the scars of a hundred battles. Half a tail twitched lazily behind him, and his single good eye narrowed the moment it landed on me.

He hissed.

I sighed. "You again."

Another hiss.