Preacher rolls up the blueprint and hands it to me.
“Meet at the north point tomorrow, an hour before dusk.Full moon rises at 7:11 p.m.sharp.”
“Any chance we can finish before midnight?”Megan asks, arching a brow.
“No promises,” Esmerelda says.“But if we do it right, the mansion will be neutralized by sunrise.”
“And if we don’t?”
“Then hell bleeds through.And we all die horribly,” Preacher says.
Megan blinks.“Well.Guess I’ll bring snacks.”
Chapter17
Owen
We’ve been holed up in the office all morning.
Maps.Blueprints.Esmerelda’s salt circle diagrams.Preacher’s infernal glyph scrawlings that look like something pulled from the edge of madness.
And through it all, Megan—my mate—is laser focused.Beautifully, maddeningly focused.
She’s been hunched over an open tome on Demonic exorcisms for the last hour, her brow furrowed, one foot bouncing, her lips moving slightly as she reads.
And it’s driving me insane.
Not because I don’t love watching her work—I do.
Hell, I could stare at her lips shaping Latin for the rest of my damn life.
But because I can feel her starting to fade.
Her scent’s changed—just slightly—edges softening with fatigue.Her heartbeat’s dipping into that mid-afternoon lull.And even though she hasn’t said a word, I know what’s coming.
Her stomach growls a half-second later.
I don’t flinch.Just lean over her, palm down on the desk, and murmur, “Come on, Baby.”
She doesn’t even look up.“What?I’m almost finished?—”
“No, you’re not,” I cut in, hand already reaching for hers.“Besides, the Crypts aren’t demons.That stuff’s not gonna help.You need food.”
Right on cue, her stomach lets out another growl that echoes off the office walls like a challenge.
She lifts her gaze and narrows her eyes at me.
“How do you do that?You always seem to know when I’m hungry.”
I grin.Can’t help it.I give her fingers a squeeze.
“Because I’m your mate.That means your hunger’s my hunger now.Your tired is my tired.Your cranky?Yeah, that’s—well, that’s just cute as hell.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“And you’re starving.Let me fix that.”
She sighs like she wants to protest—but I can tell she’s hit the wall.
