I made terrible noises. Far worse than my usual loud moans and barked commands. I made sounds that had me worried for myself. Like there was something seriously wrong with me. But a few thrusts more, and it didn’t matter. His in-laws could walk in on us, and I wouldn’t blink an eye. I’d reached that point of madness, the dangerous headspace where nothing else mattered but his breath, hot on my cheek.

God, God! I was just too far gone to care about anything else but us. And when my body clenched around him, it was so intense—so much of everything, all at once—that I tried to retreat. My hands struggled against his iron grip. I attempted to buck him off of me, but it only encouraged him to go deeper. I was trapped. Pinned. Impaled.

His.

I came endlessly. I came until I couldn’t breathe. Until I thought I might pass out. Seconds later, he surrendered and bellowed my name, shuddering violently above me. And everything that had been upended that night—all the sanity I thought I’d lost came floating down and clicked back into place.

He released my hands and pulled out of me with a grunt. Tiny shocks of pleasure continued lazily pulsing through me as I dissolved into the mattress. He collapsed on top of me, cheek flattened against my breast, one spiraling horn lightly digging into my clavicle, and his damp, wavy hair spilling everywhere.

I was alive, and I was okay. The world wasn’t falling apart.

• • •

“Your halo looks normal now,” Lon said a few minutes later.

My hand went to my head, as if I could feel it. “Yeah?”

“Mmm-hmm.” He ran a hand down my hair and tucked it behind my ear. “Where’s your phone?”

“Mmm?”

“Phone.”

“In my jeans.” The ones with the big rip in the back. Because I had some freaky-ass tail. No big deal. Totally normal.

Lon kissed my forehead and pushed himself off the bed. I watched him appreciatively as he strolled into the bathroom. After some fumbling noises, I heard his deep voice echo around the tiled walls, but I couldn’t make out what he was saying. The shower came on briefly. After a minute or two, my cell rang in the bathroom. More talking, but this time it was brief. The bathroom light shut off, and Lon returned.

“I called Hajo,” he said, tugging a pair of charcoal lounge pants over his narrow hips. “He checked the parking garage. Your guy was gone. Parking attendants didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary, so no ambulance.”

“I didn’t kill him.” Relief washed over me.

“And your car’s still there. We’ll get it tomorrow.”

“Thank you.”

He tossed me my favorite robe—a kimono with wide, gaping sleeves and a black-and-white poppy pattern. “Hajo’s curious about your abilities now, but you can deal with that.”

No one could lie like I could.

I got the call from Hajo early on Christmas Eve. When I answered, all he said was, “I found what you were looking for. Meet me at noon at the usual spot.”

The “usual spot” was a dirty pub called the Palm and Cypress in a rundown Morella neighborhood. Hajo liked it because the pub was dark and smoky, filled with shadowed booths, and it had a back door for easy escapes. And the small parking lot in back was not only surrounded by a tall brick wall, but also possessed a secondary exit. A drug dealer’s wet dream.

Lon and I waited in the SUV in that small parking lot, in the same spot I’d waited for Hajo a couple times before when I’d done some bindings for him. The ones I’d owed him for finding Jesse Bishop’s bones in the cannery last October. He was always punctual, which I suppose is a nice quality for a dealer to possess. But it was ten past noon already, and he hadn’t shown.

After pulling his dark blue peacoat closed, Lon lit a second valrivia cigarette and cracked his window. A chilly breeze sifted in. It was colder today. A real winter day. That somehow made things slightly more miserable.

A knock on my window scared the bejesus out of me. Hajo’s long face peered inside, backlit by his blue halo. I thumbed toward the back and hit the button to unlock the door.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said as he compacted his tall frame to duck inside. Plopping down in Jupe’s usual spot, he pushed dark hair out of his eyes and shivered as he set a silver motorcycle helmet on the seat next to him. He was wearing his trusty black racing jacket with the mandarin collar zipped to his throat, three gray stripes running down one sleeve. “Cold as shit today. What the hell’s up with this weather?”

“It’s warmer on the water,” Lon said, offering him a cigarette. “La Sirena’s always ten degrees better than Morella in the winter.”

Hajo took the valrivia and nodded his thanks. “I’d die a slow death out there. Too many hippies in the Village. No money in weed. Though I could probably make a fortune selling coke to all the rich suits.” He loosely slapped my shoulder with the backs of his fingers before flicking a lighter in front of the cigarette dangling from his lips. “Wanna go in business together, Bell?” He turned his head to the side and blew out a cone of smoke, a smile playing on his lips. “You can be my enforcer.”

“Pass.”

“Too bad. That binding shit you do is effective. I can’t tell you how much it’s boosted my reputation—no one owes me money right now. You still doing side jobs for someone in La Sirena?”

Lon gave me an askance look. Yeah, maybe I shouldn’t have told Hajo that, but I hadn’t mentioned Dare or the Hellfire Club. It was easy to open up to Hajo. God only knew why. Maybe it was because I thought he was high half the time I saw him and assumed he’d forget. He never did.