Chuckles ran through the guild, faces turning toward them and hands waving in greeting.

“Kier, Kaveri!”

“Whoa, they’re on time!”

The couple swept toward the group. The newcomers hadn’t spotted me, but with their entrance, others had. I couldn’t lurk in the corner any longer, not without looking like a total weirdo. Gulping, I trailed after the couple, each step carrying me closer to the terrifying prospect of social interaction.

I scanned the Crow and Hammer mythics. Ranging from eighteen to middle-aged, many of them exuded an air of toughness. Instinctively, I veered toward a group closer to my age, but when I met their eyes, hostility hit me like an icy wave.

That was the other reason I hadn’t spent any time at the guild.

“Well, well,” drawled a large man with brown hair and a thick beard that made his age difficult to guess. “If it isn’t the little contractor.”

Beside him, a guy with a rangy build and a wide smirk scanned me from head to toe as though debating whether he could pick me up with one hand.

A woman in her mid-twenties pushed between them, her pale blond hair damp as though she’d just showered. “We were wagering on whether you’d show. You haven’t turned up for anything else.”

Had I missed guild events while I’d been sick? No one had contacted me about anything.

Fighting not to hyperventilate, I dragged my gaze upward. “I didn’t mean to miss anything, but I was—”

“I didn’t hear a word of that,” she interrupted loudly. “Speak up.”

My face burned and I couldn’t stop my hunch. Gripping the hem of my black sweater, I tried to respond but my mind had gone blank. I wanted to sink into the floor and disappear.

“You’re a mysterious one,” the rangy guy said. “We haven’t heard a thing about you. How did you get into Demonica?”

I peered up through my bangs, squeezing my sweater tighter as I tried to determine if he was genuinely curious or about to humiliate me.

“Well?” the big guy demanded, stepping closer. “What’s your training background? How long have you been contracting?”

Those questions were definitely not friendly.

“You killed the unbound demon, didn’t you?” The blond woman sniffed dismissively. “How did you manage it?”

By letting my illegally contracted demon do all the work. But I couldn’t say that. They were waiting expectantly so I muttered, “The unbound demon was already injured.”

My response did not impress them.

The big guy sneered. “Why are you a contractor, anyway? What use does a little girl like you have for a demon?”

I flinched, wondering if I should make an excuse to leave. But where would I go? Attendance was mandatory.

“Who ordered the Moscow Mules?” The female voice rang out over the chatter. “Come get ’em before I throw them at you!”

Jolting, I peeked toward the bar, my view blocked by mingling guild members. Was that the bartender shouting? Was she allowed to threaten people like that?

The large man stepped closer, towering more than a foot over me. The handful of mythics looking our way wore neutral expressions, and no one was jumping to my defense. I could hear it in the undertone of conversations around me, in their aggressive questions: Outsider. I was an intruder in their guild.

Tears stung the corners of my eyes and I pressed my lips together before their trembling betrayed me.

“Hey, new girl!”

I started a second time. Was that voice calling to me? My gaze slid past unfamiliar faces and found one I actually knew. Sort of. Not really.

“Over here,” the red-haired bartender ordered imperiously.

I blinked in confusion—but I wasn’t about to argue. Ducking around the large man, I hurried past another group and stopped uncertainly at the bar. The woman pointed at the stool across from her, so I climbed onto the seat and braced my toes on the footrest.

She assessed me with sharp hazel eyes, her nose and cheeks dusted with freckles. Her wild curls were damp and shiny—why did half the mythics look like they’d just left a swimming pool?—and hung past her shoulders. Six weeks ago, I’d seen this woman during a demon attack. After Zylas had killed Tahēsh, she’d jumped into a car with three men and fled the scene.

As far as I was concerned, she was the suspicious one, but she was peering at me as though she could peel back my skin with the force of her gaze. Her eyes narrowed to amber-green slits.

Then, to my shock, she offered her hand. “I’m Tori.”

She was the first person to introduce herself.

I took her hand and gingerly shook it. “Robin.”

“Want something to drink?”

An actual polite question? “Um—”

“Hey!” The big, aggressive man shouldered a small guy with round sunglasses out of his way. His glower said all too clearly that I wasn’t getting out of our “conversation” that easily. “Where’s your infernus? Are you even a contractor or just a wannabe pretending—”

“Darren, shut your hole before you contaminate my bar with your stupidity.”

My jaw fell open, and my gaze swung to Tori.

The big guy whirled on her. “I’m just asking what everyone else is think—”

“No one asked you, dipshit.”

My eyes popped wider.

Tori glared at Darren, then leaned toward me. “Don’t let him push you around.”

Push me around? My gaze darted to him, then to the cold blond woman, the smirking guy, and the others who hadn’t made a single move to defend their new member. Again, I was struck by their understated toughness, the rough edge hidden under unassuming exteriors. I’d thought this guild was far softer than the Grand Grimoire, but maybe I was wrong.

Zylas, are you paying attention? I silently asked as I cautiously reached under the neck of my sweater and closed my fingers around the cool silver pendant. Withdrawing the infernus, I settled it on my chest. Darren’s gaze followed it, his expression torn between curiosity and derision.

“Would you like to see my demon?” I asked him. “Right now?”

He crossed his arms over his thick chest. “Yeah, let’s see it.”

I ran my thumb across the infernus. Let’s play the game, Zylas.

The pendant blazed with crimson light. Power spilled down, hit the floor, then pooled upward into my demon’s shape. The glow flared into solidity, then faded. Zylas stood still and silent, staring blankly at nothing in a flawless imitation of an enslaved demon with no autonomy.

Despite his ornery defiance, Zylas was nothing if not intelligent. He knew this moment was too crucial for disobedience. Both our lives depended on his acting skills.

At his appearance, gasps flew through the pub and I resisted the urge to shrink. We had everyone’s attention now. They were staring at Zylas, measuring him, judging him, and all he could do was stand there and endure it. At least no one laughed this time.

“Seriously?”

Or maybe the laughter hadn’t begun yet.

“This is your demon?” Darren planted his feet almost on Zylas’s toes, smirking into the demon’s face. “I’ve never seen such a small, pathetic demon in my life!”

The blond woman mock-whispered to the rangy guy, “Do you think she got it for cheap because it’s a runt?”