1
MEREDITH
You didn’t pay the full amount.
I stared at the letter, which had been signed by Nero himself. My hand shook, my stomach twisted, and the room did one slow spin around me.
I could barely pay the minimum each month. I couldn’t afford an extra 35% on top of my current payments.
It had taken meyearsto climb out of the financial hole I’d spent most of my life in. And it was only recently that I could sleep at night without dreaming about losing my bar.
“You okay, boss?”
I smiled at Orin, who was floating a heavy crate of wine toward the back room. He was always happy to lend a magical hand.
“I’m fine.”
Orin studied my face for a long moment. Finally, he nodded, guiding the crate into the stock room.
I turned my attention back to the letter.
I knew what dried blood looked like, and the paper was covered in it—an obvious warning. Whoever’s blood decorated this paper had likely not paid up in time.
I glanced at the sign above the old, polished wooden bar.
Meredith’s.
The scuffed floors were mine. The wobbly barstools were mine. The constantly busted plumbing and continually broken door handle were also mine. I loved every inch of this place. And I wouldn’t let anyone take it from me.
I shoved the letter into my pocket and swiped up the rest of my mail. Then I took a deep, steadying breath.Thesebills were no longer in the red, but my heart still raced, my body still stiffened with remembered anxiety each time I opened them. I paused as I opened a handwritten letter.
The High Coven. Again. I tore it into pieces and threw it in the trash.
Orin wandered back out and unlocked the door, switching the sign toOpen.I could have my breakdown later. For now, it was time to get ready for the paranormals and humans who would soon trickle in.
“Are you sure everything’s okay?” he pressed.
“Yeah,” I assured Orin, who narrowed his eyes at me. I turned away from his steady stare and stalked to the bar, where I wiped the already clean wooden surface.
I would deal with this. It was just more fuckery on top of an already rough few years.
The door opened, and I lifted my head to smile at my first customer of the day. My gaze slammed into whiskey-colored eyes, and my heart stuttered in my chest.
Vassago.
My mouth went dry.
I hadn’t seen the demon for months. Not since we went to war against Lucifer. Not since Lucifer’s assassin killed Ag—Vassago’s uncle and the man he considered a father.
That same assassin had also killed Vas’s parents when he was a baby.
Vas raised one eyebrow at me, and I took him in. He used to be the most “human” of Samael’s demons, but now he looked harder, the planes of his face sharper. His eyes, once warm and dreamy, were often cold, shuttered.
And yet, I still itched to bury my hands in his curly brown hair. Still longed to slide my palms to the back of his neck and pull his mouth to mine. Ugh.
I turned away, busying myself with repolishing a tray of spotless glasses as Vas prowled toward the bar. It had been a while since I’d seen him, and this unexpected visit made my hands shake.
Vassago: Known for discovering a woman’s deepest secret, finding lost things, and foretelling the past, present, and future.
