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Oh.

Oh no.

Not a demon. Abort. Abort immediately. This is just a grandmother.

“I…” I run a hand through my hair, pulling back slowly, my mind scrambling for a way to explain why I just insulted her flesh. “We’re all in therapy for a reason, right?”

Before I have to debase myself further, the door to the office slams open and Eden bursts through, followed by the doctor and her sister.

“Eden!” Piper pleads. “Eden, stop! We have twenty minutes left!”

I rise from my hostile chair and smooth the front of the coat, keeping my expression one of mild, supportive curiosity for the sake of the audience.

I take a half-step toward her, leaning in until my lips are inches from her ear. “Have they caused you distress?” I whisper, my eyes flicking toward Piper and the doctor. “Just give the word and I can end them both. I’ll make it look like a tragic, albeit very messy, accident with a plastic chair.”

“No,” she gasps, her hand flying to my lapel and bunching the charcoal fabric in a white-knuckled grip that I find entirely too endearing. “No. No. I just need to go. Right now. We’re leaving.”

It seems the head-shrinker’s office didn't provide the catharsis she was hunting for; it provided a breakdown.

“I’m so sorry, Piper,” Eden stammers, her voice cracking as she begins to physically haul me toward the exit.

Piper is on her tail in an instant, her face a mask of horrified confusion. “Eden, wait! You can’t just—we aren't finished! Dr. Aris was just getting to the breakthrough! You need help!”

My little summoner gives no fucks—or perhaps she gives too many. Either way, she drags me through the lobby without looking back. We burst through the glass doors, right into the unforgiving street.

The mediocre cacophony of city sirens, exhaust fumes, and poisoned street meats attacks my senses in one fell swoop. It is a sensory assault of the highest order, a symphony of mortal filth, and it is certainly not doing any favors for Eden’s currently stuttering lungs. She stops near a concrete planter, her chest heaving, her eyes darting around the sidewalk like she’s looking for an alleyway to disappear into.

What in the Pit did they do to her in there?

I stop dead, letting a commuter slam into my back, and before she can protest, I reach down and haul her up into my arms.

“Put me down!” she gasps, her hands instinctively flying to my shoulders as I hoist her up like a fair maiden, her thighs pressing against my chest.

“I shall not,” I say simply, hiking her higher.

“Malachi, people are staring! Drop me!”

“Let them stare,” I purr, beginning to stride down the pavement, adjusting my grip to ensure my forearm is pressed firmly against the perfect swell of her ass. If I’m to be chivalrous, I’m certainly going to enjoy the architecture while doing so.

“You’re being ridiculous,” she hisses, though she’s stopped kicking, which I take as a victory.

“I am not. I’m being your sanctuary, baby girl,” I say, pitching my voice to what I’d imagine the velvet-cocked protagonist of her book would sound like. “You are safe now. My arms are the only fortress you require.”

She pulls back just enough to look at me, her eyes narrowing through the messy, tear-streaked thatch of her hair. “Is that… are you quoting Shattered Desires? Are you actually trying to ‘hero' me right now? Malachi, you look like a kidnapper.”

I click my tongue, my smirk sharpening. I am nothing if not a quick study, yet the student remains unappreciated.

”Yes,” I say simply, leaning down so my breath fans the shell of her ear. “This, apparently, is ‘The Grand Gesture.' I’m protecting your honor and signaling to the local males that you are spoken for. Am I doing it wrong? I can always go back to the porn if you prefer. I recall the plumber’s dialogue being significantly more concise.”

The blush creeping up her neck is a magnificent shade of crimson. It’s almost enough to make me forget the car horns and the stench of their dying planet. Almost.

“We need to go home,” she groans, finally giving up the ghost and burying her face in the crook of my neck to hide from a group of teenagers who are whipping out their phones—probably to film my romantic act. “Just… get me out of the daylight before I die of shame. Please.”

Fuck. No.

I’m not taking her back to that hovel. I refuse to let her rot away in that bedroom like a forgotten piece of fruit. If we return now, she’ll just hide under a heavy blanket and dissolve into a puddle of mortal salt-water.

A shudder rakes through me as her breath hitches against my skin and I tighten my hold, my thumb tracing the seam of her jeans, thoughts spiraling into a very dark, very un-chivalrous place.