“Amalia,” I began sharply.

“Forget it, Robin! I’m done!” She pulled a heap of fabric off the dining table and shoved it into her suitcase’s open top. “You nearly died tonight. Xever is days away from opening a portal and possibly contracting a female demon, and you think this is a great time to mess around with Zylas? Then go ahead. Let him rough you up.”

“He isn’t going to—”

She whirled on me. “You don’t know that! Fuck! Did anything I say even register?” Jerkily turning back to her suitcase, she zipped her bag shut. “I stuck with you, Robin. For months. I’ve dealt with so much shit, so much fear, not sleeping, nightmares all the time because I’ve been living with an unbound demon, because I thought I was helping you. We were in this together.”

“You—”

She yanked her suitcase upright and extended the handle. “And for what? Why should I put up with all this when you’re deliberately putting yourself in danger?”

Tears stung my eyes. “Amalia—”

“No. I’m done.” She turned her back to me. “Have fun with Zylas. I hope he doesn’t kill you.”

She strode down the hall, her suitcase rolling nosily across the floor.

“Amalia!” I burst out, speeding after her. “Would you just stop for a minute so we can talk about this?”

“We did talk about it.” Not pausing, she flung the apartment door open. “I’m not risking my life for someone who doesn’t care about her own safety.”

Cold fear flooded me as she crossed the threshold.

“Please don’t go!” I grabbed her arm. “Please, Amalia!”

She wrenched her arm away, half turning toward me. Her face was twisted, eyes filled with tears.

“I can’t do this anymore, Robin. I just can’t.”

Turning, she sped away. I hung in the doorway, watching her go with my heart in my throat. She disappeared around the corner.

I waited, but she didn’t come back.

Chapter Twenty-Two

I slowly closed the apartment door and locked the bolt. Just as slowly, I turned around.

Tears pooling in my eyes, I walked woodenly into the kitchen. The takeout bag sat on the counter, the aroma of spicy curry drifting from the containers. I automatically picked it up, but then I just stood there, holding it.

“Vayanin?”

Zylas appeared beside me. I stared at the take-out containers.

“Robin?”

I drew in a shuddering breath. “She can’t see who you really are. When she looks at you, she sees a demon first.”

Even though she’d come to like and respect Zylas, she couldn’t accept that he was a being as equally capable of care and concern as a human. I remembered, less than two weeks ago, when Tori had suggested that Amalia wasn’t afraid of Zylas killing her. I worry about it every day, Amalia had replied.

And I’d mentally shrugged over her never being comfortable with Zylas and gone right on pretending it didn’t matter.

Gulping back a sob, I dropped the container on the counter and sped into the bedroom. Tears spilled down my cheeks as I crawled onto the bed and buried my face in the pillow. She was gone. The last member of my family who cared about me had left.

Would everyone leave me?

The mattress dipped. On his hands and knees beside me, Zylas leaned down to bring his face close to mine.

“Robin? Do you want me to bring her back?”

“No!” I accidentally shouted. “No. That won’t help.”

He studied me, his forehead crinkled, then shifted toward the bed’s edge. Retreating.

“Wait!” I grabbed his wrist. “Don’t go. I don’t want you to leave.”

He hesitated. “I will not leave.”

Pain rent my heart. Of course he would leave. Leaving was his top priority. He wanted to return to Ahlēavah and resume his interrupted life as best he could. Protect his House and mate with more payashē and raise sons and change the demon world.

My fingers tightened around his wrist, my body trembling. “Yes, you will.”

A quiet rustle—then warm solidity beside me. I blinked my vision clear.

Zylas stretched out on his back beside me. His head settled on the pillow next to mine, our arms touching.

His eyes glowed softly. “I will not leave.”

I rolled toward him, tucking my body against his side, and pressed my face into his shoulder. The tears came, and I wept, shaking.

I wept with guilt and remorse—and I wept for the terrible loneliness that awaited me once Zylas left me too and I was truly, unequivocally alone.

Bright sunlight dragged me from a deep sleep. A sweet, smoky scent filled my nose, and my front was warm while my back was very cold.

Only half awake, I cracked my eyes open.

I’d fallen asleep curled against Zylas’s side, and we’d scarcely moved. He lay on his back, head on the pillow beside mine, eyes closed and breathing slow. Had he stayed with me all night?

My usual reaction—leaping up and running away with my face flaming—ran through my head, but I was too exhausted. Judging by the quality of light leaking through the window, it was just past sunrise, and I’d only been asleep for five or six hours.

Instead, I studied his face. The way that dull morning lit his cheekbones. The straight line of his nose and curve of his lips. He was all I had left, and soon he would be gone too.

His eyes slid open. Dark pupils contracted in the light, then he turned his head toward me, our faces a breath apart on the pillow. My forehead touched his.

Staring into his eyes, I longed for the connection we’d had, for that precious insight into his incomprehensible thoughts.

I didn’t decide to reach for his face. My hand moved on its own, fingers brushing across his cheek. Eyes half closed, drowsy but strangely electrified, I traced his ear to its point, then slid my fingertips along his jaw. Down his neck. Into the hollow of his throat.

His collarbones fascinated me. Hard bone just beneath the skin. Taut tendons above. Firm muscle below.

My hand drifted along his impossibly smooth skin. I pressed my palm against his sculpted pectoral, surprised by its hardness. Its resistance to my push. I splayed my fingers, eyes closing.

His heart thumped under my palm. Solid and steady. After a moment, I slid my fingers farther down.

There were far more muscles to discover across his abdomen. Those perfect abs. He lay still, breathing slowly, as I moved my hand across his stomach, exploring every dip and curve. My hand continued its unhurried journey until it discovered the thrilling line where his lower abdominals and hipbone met to form that sexy V.

My fingers touched fabric and my heart gave a sudden, hard throb. He wasn’t wearing his belt. Just sturdy fabric. I knew, from past occasions spent studying his clothing, that his shorts laced at each hip. I’d never seen him take them off.

My hand hovered at his waistline … then I slid my palm back up, away from that forbidden fabric. Back to his abs, exploring them all over again.

I was still tracing his warm skin, my forehead resting against his, when a furry weight with razor-sharp claws pounced on my hand.

My yelp rang out as Socks clamped onto my wrist and tried to disembowel my palm with her back legs.