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“I wish I could stay,” he whispers in my ear.

“I do, too,” I whisper, and it’s true. God. I do, too.

He leans back to study me, brushing my blonde hair from my eyes with a gentle hand. He’s such a good friend. I don’t want him to leave with Ryker, but how do I stop him? “I’ll call you when I get home,” he says, and firms his voice. “Answer the phone.”

Instinct kicks in, and I shackle his arm. “Stay.”

Emotion washes over his face, warm and sensitive, so unlike the evilness in Ryker’s yellow eyes. “You know I can’t do that.”

I do. I know. I understand the importance of a court date. I do. Still, though I’ve never begged for anything in my life, I can barely contain the urge to beg him now: Please, don’t leave with Ryker. Instead, I say, “Text me when you get on the plane,” praying a public place means safety.

His left dimple kicks upward. “And here I thought you didn’t care.” He touches my cheek and walks to the door, pulling it open for Ryker.

Ryker gives me a nod, the gleam of a secret understanding between us in his gaze. “I’ll be in contact soon, Ms. Thorne.” The words hold a promise, a threat. I know it as surely as I know my own name.

Ryker heads out the door, and I slump forward, literally feeling as if some ominous weight has just been lifted from my shoulders.

Oliver hesitates behind him, brows low. “You okay?”

“I’ll be fine,” I say, not at all certain if it’s the truth or a lie, but I must sound convincing, because with another muttered vow to call me, Oliver leaves.

I walk to the door, shut it firmly, and turn the locks, resting my back against the wooden surface. The yellow eyes mean nothing. I’m probably seeing things. Or…if I’m not, maybe yellow-eyed creatures walk amongst us all the time, and Jeremy has awakened my ability to see them. That sounds as crazy as I feel. There are no yellow-eyed creatures. I hit my head. That’s the logical explanation.

And logic wins every time, in court and in real life, in my life.

The Sacred Book of Nephilim

You see, the problem with humans will always be humans. They’re burdened with emotions that serve no purpose but to weaken and stain their body, mind, and soul.

The weakness of the Nephilim will always be all things human.

Chapter eight

Guilt is a prickly, violent beast that I share a more intimate relationship with than anyone else in my life.

The guilt is real.

I shouldn’t have allowed Oliver to leave with the demon-eyed man. If he dies, it’s all my fault. Anxiety zips through my body, and I ping-pong about the cabin, dialing Oliver not once, but two times, only to be shot straight to his voicemail. When he finally calls me, my relief morphs into anger, and I do that thing parents do when they finally hear from their delinquent children. “Where have you been?”

“On a snowy highway, with no service. It was treacherous.”

A breath rasps from my lips. The drive is over, and I dismiss any danger it represented for a more immediate concern. “Is the detective still with you?”

“Yes, why?”

“I don’t like him. Be careful with him.”

“You okay, Ember?”

“Yes. Stop asking me that. It’s you that needs to be okay.”

He laughs and does that flirty thing he does, and I sink into its familiarity like a warm, cozy blanket. We continue our banter, chatting until his plane is ready for takeoff and then again when he arrives home, sans Ryker.

That night, I lay in bed, and all I could see was the yellow of Ryker’s eyes and the pink keychain with JB engraved in the center.

I wake at six a.m. and begin whipping up a batch of cookies.

I found baking via a high school cooking class, and now it’s my nervous habit, even if I skip eating my creation and just feed someone else. I’m also quite skilled at ordering takeout, better than most, I’d venture to say.