The skin across my back was still raw—tender and stretched as it healed—but the pain had dulled. The pounding in my skull was nothing more than a stubborn throb.
It hadn’t been long.
I was still recovering.
And I was still in his arms.
The second I reached up to touch my nose, my captor yanked my hand away.
“Stop. Your wounds haven’t healed,” he said.
His voice was low, almost bored—but there was a sharpness I couldn’t ignore.
“Where’s Melinda?” I asked, pushing myself up slightly.
Something slipped off my chest.
I froze.
The Devil’s eyes dropped, jaws tightening, when he saw what had fallen—
My shirt was gone. Only my bra remained, the pale fabric stark against the surrounding shadows.
He reached forward, claws glinting.
I sucked in a breath and stiffened.
But instead of touching me, he grabbed the sheet and pulled it over my chest with a sharp flick, hiding the exposed skin. The fabric settled between us like a curtain drawn, and somehow, that small motion made my heart beat louder than it should have.
Oh, yeah. The portal Sebastian had taken us through had burned most of my clothes. I quickly snatched the sheet from his hand and clutched it against my chest. What little remained of my shirt hung in scorched scraps around my midsection. My pants were nothing but charred threads. The exposed skin of my thighs and abdomen was pink, tender—still healing.
I didn’t know what unsettled me more: waking in his arms or the fact he’d allowed me the dignity of covering myself.
“Melinda, as you call her, is in Heaven.”
Oh, no.
My chin wobbled, and before I could look away, he caught it between his fingers.
“Don’t feel sad,” he mumbled. “She’s exactly where she belongs.”
I squeezed the sheet tighter to my chest, throat thickening. “I don’t understand. How am I here if she’s…” Shouldn’t I be dead, too? “What happened?”
“You left Hell. You left me. That gave Harvest enough time to reach you.” His voice dipped—low, guttural, almost feral. The sound rumbled through me. “Melinda took the blade meant for you.”
I didn’t move. I didn’t blink. I held myself perfectly still.
Not because of him.
But because something inside me had cracked open.
Melinda had died for me.
She had thrown herself between me and death without hesitation—and the ache that settled in my chest wasn’t just grief. It was guilt.
And I didn’t know what to do with it.
The Devil tilted my chin, leaning in until I felt the heat of his breath against my lips. “Don’t worry. The witch is where she wants to be.”
