Brushing my fingers across a scar, I murmured, “You’ve been a demon mage for over nine years, which means you were fourteen when … that’s really young.”

His expression had gone poker-face blank, tension still gripping him. I gauged his reaction, then pillowed my cheek on his chest.

“It’s okay,” I said softly, withdrawing my hand from under his shirt. “Forget I asked.”

He pulled me closer, and I released a slow breath, burying my disappointment that he still wouldn’t—or couldn’t—tell me the whole story. My eyes closed, my thoughts drifting to other dilemmas and worries.

“The scars are from another demon mage.”

My eyes popped wide. His words were a dry whisper, his normally silk-smooth voice hoarse.

“I was fifteen, and I’d been a demon mage for a year. She was fourteen, and she’d had her demon for three months. Sometimes … some people aren’t …” He stopped to breathe. “The first year is the hardest. The demon tests you constantly, but it’s worse than just the mental attacks. Your own emotions …”

I lifted my head. Ezra was staring at the ceiling, ghosts in his eyes.

“It isn’t natural,” he whispered, “sharing your body … sharing your mind. Sometimes, I don’t know which thoughts are mine and which are his. When I’m angry or afraid, it feels like I’m drowning, like I’m disappearing. It feels like my emotions aren’t my own anymore. They reflect off him, and everything starts spiraling and I can’t stop it …”

My hand closed around his upper arm, gripping hard.

“You’ve seen it … the cold and dark. It happens when I start losing control of my emotions. That’s when Eterran tries to take over—or sometimes, he pushes me back from the brink to save us both.”

His fingers tangled in the hem of my tank top. “That’s what we’re all afraid of. If the demon takes over, we can fight back—retake control. But if we lose ourselves … if our emotions overwhelm us and we disappear and all that’s left is the fear and the rage …”

He trailed off, and all I could do was hold him as desperately as he was clutching me, as though the closer we were, the less terrifying his words would be.

“She’d had her demon for three months,” he whispered, “and she couldn’t handle it. Either her demon or her emotions, or both. I was trying to help, but what the hell did I know back then? One night, she … she was crying, afraid they would kill her because her control was so poor. I was trying to reassure her, but her fear was getting worse and worse, that awful feedback loop, and she … went berserk.”

“Her demon took over?” I murmured hesitantly.

“No. The human mind isn’t the only one that gets messed up. She and her demon went mad together. Rage and fear and power and magic, all unleashed without reason or restraint.”

“That’s what you meant when you said you would lose your mind to your demon?”

“It’s how all demon mages go. Eterran might survive it, but I won’t.” His hand slid gently up my back and into my hair. “I knew what was happening, but I thought I could save her. Maybe I could restrain her, or knock her unconscious, or do something to snap her out of it, but when I tried, she … ripped me open. I only survived because Eterran healed my injuries. He couldn’t fix my eye properly.”

When he said nothing else, I asked softly, “What happened to her?”

“I couldn’t do anything. I was fighting Eterran, trying to get up because they were coming to kill her …”

He trailed off again, and I didn’t ask for more. I could guess what had happened—I’d seen it already. Ezra had begun to lose consciousness, which allowed Eterran to take over and heal his injuries. And they, whoever “they” were, had killed the female demon mage.

Now I knew who the girl in his hidden photo was—the blond girl with her arm around a young and unscarred Ezra, the Oregon Coast Range spread out behind them. At only fifteen years old, he’d tried to save her, and instead, he’d watched her die.

Her fate was his. In her, he’d witnessed the madness and violence that would be the last experience of his life. Aaron and Kai had promised to end his life before that happened, and I finally understood how they could make such a terrible, merciful promise.

I opened my mouth—but I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t promise that we would save him, but determination burned through me, scorching my bones with its intensity.

I would not fail him.

Unable to say anything, I brushed my fingers across his cheek, trailing them down to the soft scruff that edged his jaw. Then I smiled and asked brightly, “How about some breakfast?”

For a heartbeat, it didn’t look like he could respond, the despair dark in his gaze. He inhaled, and as he let the breath out, his soft smile returned. “Only if you’re cooking.”

“Deal.” I sat up, and for one wonderfully torturous moment, I was straddling him, my hips pressed into his, a hand braced on his chest. But I kept moving, swinging off the sofa and straightening.

Leaving him in mid-stretch, I locked myself in the bathroom. Aaron’s house had one of those old, weird layouts that didn’t have an upper floor bathroom, which was normally inconvenient but worked in my favor this morning. It gave me a quick escape where I could compose myself.

I took care of business, brushed my teeth—yes, I had a toothbrush here—and gave my curls one helpless look before giving up. No fixing that mess without a lot of water and hair product.

My hazel eyes stared at me from the mirror. Zak had promised to look into demonic artifacts. Robin was sharing her lead on rare Demonica knowledge. And I had the demon amulet. Between the three of us, we would figure it out. We had to.

Chapter Fourteen

Speaking of Kai, I mused as I pushed the bathroom door open, the fourth musketeer in our quartet needed saving too. Maybe not quite as urgently, but I wasn’t abandoning him in Makiko’s loving care. One night was already too long. He belonged with us, and we would get him back.

Humming thoughtfully, I passed the empty living room and started up the stairs. Makiko and I were due to exchange some words. Or fists. A good ol’ catfight could accomplish quite a lot under the right circumstances—though the way she’d flung Aaron across the yard with a single blast of aero magic concerned me. So maybe I wouldn’t punch her, but I should probably go for my leather combat pants today, just in case.

Still considering what wardrobe options I had stored in Ezra’s closet, I pushed his bedroom door open and walked in.

He stood in front of his dresser, halfway into a shirt. His jeans were undone, barely clinging to his hips, the black waistband of his dark gray boxers sitting just above them.

My brain short-circuited, all thoughts disappearing in a wave of hot longing. I jerked my gaze off his midriff and up to his face. With his shirt partway down his mouthwatering abs and one hand holding the fabric, he watched me ogling him, a hint of bashfulness in his expression.

And that, somehow, was even hotter.

Heat flushed through me, and I wanted so badly to take another step. One more. Then I would be close enough to touch him. To peel his shirt off and run my hands all over his beautiful body. To give his jeans the little nudge they needed to get the hell out of my way.

Shiiiiiit.

I gulped hard, choking back the dirty thoughts. Geez, I was awful. He’d asked me for one thing and one thing only: to be his friend. It wasn’t even a difficult request. All I had to do was not jump him. Was that so hard?

Well, yes. But I would restrain myself anyway.

“Sorry,” I said, embarrassingly breathless. “Should’ve knocked. I’ll come back.”

I turned for the door, mentally congratulating myself. Yeah. Being a good friend, no matter how much I secretly wanted to—

A warm hand closed on my wrist. Ezra tugged me backward and I swung toward him, brow scrunching with confusion, ready to ask what was wrong.

He pulled me into him—and then his mouth was on mine.

For an instant, I couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t believe his hands were gripping my arms, our bodies pressed together, our lips locked. Except it was definitely, absolutely happening and holy freaking shit.

A wild gasp rushed through me. My arms were around his neck in an instant, my fingers sinking into his hair. His mouth pressed into mine, hot and urgent. I parted my lips, and the first touch of his tongue sent me reeling. I pushed into him, deepening the kiss, demanding more.

He jerked back with a sharp breath. Wide eyes flashed across my face with horror.

“Shit,” he said, almost as breathless as me. “I’m sorry. I just—I shouldn’t have—”

I seized his hair as he tried to back away from me. “Don’t you dare.”

He blinked. “I—”

“Don’t make me explain all the reasons you don’t need to stop.”

“But—”

Dragging his head down, I stretched up as far as I could, our lips tauntingly close. “Stop thinking for once, Ezra. I want you. Kiss me, damn it!”

He stared at me. I glared at him, still trying to get his head down that last inch but unable to budge his stupid superhuman strength. His lips twitched—and he laughed, soft, husky, and so unexpected that the sound lit my core on fire.

Then he kissed me again.

As I kissed him back just as fiercely, his arms slid around me, his hand cupping the back of my head to pull me up to his mouth. I ran my hands down his sides and under his shirt. My palms pressed against his warm skin. Yes. Finally. I dragged my hands up his abs, his muscles tensing in delicious response to my touch. Lifting his shirt with my arms, I moaned against his mouth as I traced his hard pecs.

A low sound in his throat answered me. He pushed into me so hard I stumbled back a step. My back bumped the wall beside the dresser—and he grabbed my thighs, heaving me up with easy strength. His warm weight pinned me against the wall, and my legs clamped around his waist, my core pressed against him. I couldn’t breathe from need.