He studied me for a long moment, then relaxed against the tub and closed his eyes. His fingers curled around mine, and I held his hand against my stomach, trying not to wonder how long this closeness would last before he was gone … forever.

I stood over my link chart. Socks had knocked the flashcards askew, but they were close enough to their original positions. Claude’s name sat in the middle, the short list of facts I knew about him mocking me.

I lifted his card out of the arrangement and set my pen to it. Jaw tight, I added new notes.

Stole grimoire pages to open a portal.

Forced Zylas into a contract.

Involved with something called “the court.”

What is his goal???

I underlined the last line three times, then added a star for good measure.

Claude’s goal. His ultimate aim. Whatever it was, it was driving everything that had happened to me since my parents had died. My fear now was that Claude was getting close—dangerously close—to achieving his goals, and I still had no idea what his plans were.

Whatever he was up to might not have anything to do with me. Maybe our paths had only crossed because of the grimoire, but the grimoire was my responsibility, and he was using the stolen pages. Not to mention he’d killed my parents, and I wasn’t about to forgive and forget.

I replaced the card in the center of the chart, then pressed my pen to the one where I’d detailed the albino sorcerer, who’d turned out to be three sorcerers. Feeling vaguely sick, I drew an X across the card. They were no longer threats, though we might have eliminated them too late. The “missing piece” they’d devised to fill in the gap Anthea had left in the portal spell hadn’t worked well, but it’d worked well enough.

If Claude had that missing piece, he could open the portal again.

Rising, I lifted my arms over my head in a stretch, and a yawn popped my jaw. I’d stayed up most of the night watching over Zylas, and it’d been nearly dawn by the time he could heal my ankle. I’d slept a few hours after that, but fatigue was clogging my brain.

Stifling another yawn, I traipsed into my room. Zylas was sprawled across the bed, sleeping off his exhaustion. His eyes opened as I heaved out the grimoire’s metal case and murmured the spell to unlock it.

“Vayanin?”

I slid the grimoire out. “I want to see if the portal array the sorcerers used last night is in here somewhere.”

“Hnn.” He rolled onto his back. “Tell me if you want help.”

“Help?”

His eyes hooded with drowsy lassitude. “I remember things I see, na? Better than a hh’ainun.”

“Right.” I smiled, feeling strangely warm and fuzzy at his offer. “I’ll check for likely matches, then you can help confirm them. Rest for now, and I’ll wake you later.”

His eyes drifted closed. He’d stripped off his armor and leather, leaving only the cloth of his outfit. My gaze lingered on his chest before sliding down across his abs.

He cracked an eye open again.

Flushing, I hurried out of the room. Retreating from him wasn’t necessary. If I went back in there, I could do more than admire his physique. I could touch him if I wanted.

After all, we’d already … he’d … and I’d … My blush deepened as I sat on the sofa and set the grimoire on the coffee table. With effort, I made myself think the words: I had … kissed … my demon.

I swallowed hard. Had it really been just yesterday afternoon that I’d offered him a bite of strawberry in bold invitation? The thought alone made my head spin.

I’d kissed a demon. A demon who didn’t plan to stick around, who wanted away from my world—and me—as soon as he could manage it. It was insane, and I knew exactly how Myrrine had felt when she’d wondered whether she was losing her mind.

The heat in my cheeks reached radioactive levels as I replayed everything that had happened between us yesterday afternoon—discovering that our contract had never bound him, my shy invitation, his response. Then I replayed it all again, dwelling on each moment as though analyzing it would provide me with greater insight. It was an entirely scientific analysis. Yes. Scientific.

At a glimpse of movement, my exhilarating reverie evaporated. I looked up.

Zylas stood in the bedroom doorway. Hair mussed from sleep, half naked as always. He pushed off the frame and glided toward me with slow, silent steps.

Predatory steps.

He stopped at the sofa, towering over me while he surveyed my pink cheeks.

I blinked up at him, intimidated despite myself. “Why are you up? You should be resting.”

“You are thinking very loud.”

“Thinking …?” My mouth dropped open. “You said you couldn’t hear those kinds of thoughts!”

“I couldn’t before.” He canted his head, a wicked glint in his eyes. “Now I can. Maybe you want me to hear.”

“N-no—I mean—I didn’t think—” My cheeks threatened to combust from the buildup of heat, and I buried my face in my hands. “Oh my god.”

He’d heard all of that? All my breathless reminiscing?

A warm exhale stirred my hair—then knuckles rapped lightly against my skull. “Zh’ūltis.”

Parting my fingers enough to see past them, I glared up at him.

He leaned down. “You are being zh’ūltis, vayanin.”

I scooted sideways on the cushions, opening more space between us. “I thought we were past the insults.”

He put a knee on the sofa, moving into the spot I’d vacated. “Don’t be zh’ūltis and I will not call you zh’ūltis.”

Shuffling farther along the cushions, I increased my glower. “And how am I being stupid?”

“You need me to explain?”

He was on the sofa, and I was scooching across it as he followed, that predatory gleam in his eyes intensifying. My shoulders hit the armrest—nowhere left to retreat. My breath rushed through my lungs.

Now he was kneeling over me, hands braced on either side of my torso. I stared up at him, eyes wide. I was trapped.

His slow smile returned. He lowered his head, and I pressed back into the cushions. His nose grazed my cheek—then he abruptly sat up, his attention turning to the door. Annoyance flitted across his features.