He leads us down another long hall with dark wallpaper lining the walls and gold sconces interspersed.
There’s only one door at the end of it.
He pulls out a new key card and swipesit.
“You lot in first,” he commands, ushering us through.
I look around and find that we’re in an incredibly elegant penthouse.
The door shuts behind us, and a trace of terror snakes down my spine. Something tells me we’re not leaving until this guy lets us, and I don’t like that thought. I don’t believe he wishes harm upon us in this moment, but that’s not to say he won’t down the line.
“This looks pretty nice for a holding cell.” The demon smirks and Zavier snarls.
“The only reason you’re not in one is because I wouldn’t do that to Luna.”
Luna smiles and murmurs, “I appreciate it.”
Grey circles around to stand in front of us again. He looks the four of us over before his warm-toned eyes settle on Zavier.
“You said it was an undeveloped witch who summoned the demon?”
“I believe the word I used was immature,” Zav replies, looking at his nails.
“Hey,” I snap. “She’s not immature.”
“She definitely is.” He coughs into his hand.
I slap the back of his head, and he reaches up to rub the spot. “Not nice, Dad!”
Grey rolls his eyes. “I’ll take you to Cyfrin, and he can see what he can do about this.” He gestures at the demon and Luna with exasperation.
Luna scratches at her wrist like she can feel the bind holding her to the demon.
We follow behind Grey again as he leads us farther into the penthouse. Eventually, he stops in front of a wooden set of double doors and knocks before swinging them open.
He gestures for us to go in first and then closes thedoor behind us without joining.
We’re standing inside a large, beautiful home library. If I wasn’t worried about the demon beside me, I would take it in more, but just a cursory glance tells me this is a collection I envy.
“Cyfrin,” Zavier singsongs. “Come out, come out, wherever you ahh!”
The warlock materializes out of the shadows to our left.
“Warn a guy next time,” Zav gripes.
The warlock looks him up and down and replies with a simple “No.”
The warlock—Cyfrin—flicks dark, almost black hair from his eyes. His hair is a little shorter than Grey’s, his skin olive toned. His eyes are an unusual shade of blue, almost navy, with a hint of purple and gold.
He waves his hand through the air around us and seems to be reading something we cannot see.
“I thought you said a protection spell was used?” he questions Zav, who turns to me.
She’s my mate, so it’s only right that I reply. “That’s what she said.”
“Hmm,” he hums. “It appears she actually used a summoning spell.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. Leave it to Ava to summon a demon instead of doing a protection spell like she planned.
