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“You’re going to kill her if you keep going at it like this,” Minerva says bluntly, staring at her son. “And although that would make my life much simpler, I doubt that’s what you want.”

“We—” Daemon opens his mouth, then closes it. He swallows. “I know.”

Sighing, Minerva approaches us. Her perfectly manicured nails wrap around my arm as she drags me from the couch like a petulant child. “Come on, now,” she says, only releasing me once I’m steady on my feet. “Follow me. If you’re going to be with an incubus, it needs to be done the right way. The safe way.”

My brows furrow as she walks toward what I can only assume is her bedroom. When I glance at Daemon, he shrugs. Hesitant, I follow closely behind her, and Daemon follows behind me, his dress shoes scuffling on the tiles. At the end of a long hallway is a shining, gilded door that Minerva pushes open.

Every room in this house is beautiful, but hers is something else. We might as well be in Versailles with how rich and elegant it is—or maybe gaudy is the better term. It’s gold and green, with high ceilings and emerald-encrusted trim.

The greed faction, I remember.

She strolls through it like it’s nothing special, heading straight for a renaissance style painting hung up on the marble-paneled walls.

Behind it is some large, complicated safe with a dial that she spins. “When you sleep with an incubus, it’s important that you use protection,” Minerva says, speaking to me rather than Daemon. Actually, she’s not even looking at him, pretending as if he weren’t here at all. For a moment, all I can do is blink at her.

She’s not having the sex talk with me, right?

I squirm uncomfortably. “I’m on birth control,” I mumble.

Minerva rolls her eyes. “Not that kind of protection. No matter how old an incubus is, or how trained they are at feeding, mistakes happen.” She yanks on the safe’s metal door, and it yawns open, revealing jewels, banknotes, wads of cash, and shiny items I don’t recognize. Minerva grabs a delicate golden choker with a simple emerald attached to the center. When she looks at it, her eyes turn watery. But she blinks, and her normal, hardened expression returns.

She takes a deep breath, then passes it to me, like it pains her to part with it. “Daemon’s father made that for me when we were on better terms. It’s one of a kind. The magic is very complicated and it cannot be replaced or remade, so don’t lose it.”

“What is it?” I eye the jewel skeptically. The chain hums with magic, almost as strongly as the grounding stone does.

“It’s a protection charm. It will stop an incubus from feeding on you. I don’t know the context of your relationship, and I don’t want to,” she clarifies, still ignoring Daemon. “If you’re shooting for monogamy, he has to feed sometimes. It’s inevitable. From my experience, you can have three orgasms without it… or maybe one really long one.”

God, she is not discussing her son giving me orgasms right now. I want to curl up in a ball and die.

“For the love of God, Mom,” Daemon says, his face equally red for a change. “You can’t talk about orgasming in front of me.”

“If you’re old enough to have sex, then you’re old enough to talk about having sex,” she says. “Now stop being such a baby and put the necklace on your… whatever she is already.”

Daemon doesn’t argue. Carefully, he takes the chain from me and slips it around my throat. The stone is heavier than I expected—solid and sleek and his. It marks me as Daemon’s every bit as much as the tattoo does, and putting it on doesn’t just feel like a betrayal to Christopher—it is one. Wearing it is all but saying I plan to fuck Daemon. A lot.

God, it’s got to be the sex-demon equivalent of a promise ring.

Swallowing, I touch the stone, and it hums against my fingertips.

I should give it back.

I should tell Minerva I don’t need it.

I should…

But fuck, I’m tired of doing what I should do, and I’m tired of pretending I don’t want the things I want. The idea of spending my whole life living up to coven expectations is unbearable. So, I keep quiet as Daemon finishes locking the necklace into place and steps aside.

Whatever the two of us are, I’m ready to find out.

26

HIS

“Don’t tell me how to parent my son,” Minerva snaps.

“I wouldn’t have to if you actually parented him,” Dad says, his voice a low hiss.

Both of them are whisper-yelling in the entryway, their voices echoing throughout the house. I think Dad is trying to come inside, but she isn’t letting him. Meanwhile, I’m hiding in the kitchen, sipping on some much-needed coffee while Daemon uses the restroom.