Chapter Five

Vale

I ’m still reeling from the courtroom, and my wife’s surprise appearance, that I don’t realize the sentencing is over until the bailiff uncuffs my hands and leads us upstairs to change and then off to a stuffy, cramped office.

Inside, our new probation officer, a take-no-bullshit-looking orc wearing a stretched khaki uniform, introduces herself as Officer Gertie Dale. My eyes drift to the floor as she explains the terms of our probation in a gruff voice, but as grating as her voice is, I can’t focus on her instructions. When I try to tune in, all I can hear is Dr. Sullivan’s voice testifying, “Vale is my husband.”

Her husband? She couldn’t possibly mean me.

What in the Dark Abyss was that little scene stealer doing at our trial, stalking me? It doesn’t make any sense. She’s the one who turned me down last night. Her testimony sounded so forced, it reminded me of a clichéd courtroom scene from a daytime TV drama. I'm shocked that Judge “Grimjaw” (a fitting nickname given how his jaw clenches whenever he sees me) didn't charge her for perjury right then and there.

My ears perk up when Officer Dale says, “You are each responsible for completing 250 of community service by the end of your twelve weeks. That’s roughly twenty-one hours a week.”

I let out a groan like I’ve been kicked in the stomach. Next to me, Iggy lets out a muffled sob. In the corner of my eye, Rex just . . . fixes his eyes blankly on a water stain on the wall behind Dale’s head. It looks like they’ve finally managed to break Rex’s spirit. No matter how much trouble we’ve been in in the past, he’s always managed a final Fuck you.

Dale rolls her eyes at us, but she doesn’t get it. How could she? She’s an orc, they believe in some kind of ‘water that goes around, comes around’ bullshit. Demons are wise enough to know it’s not the flow of water, but the churn of money that makes the world go around, supply and demand. And as a soon-to-be celebrity, there’s a lot of demand on my time. I’ve got a press tour to think about. How can they seriously expect me to give 250 hours away for free? Like I’m a nobody and my time is worthless.

“Before you’re released, I’ll be fitting each of you with a GPS monitor to track your whereabouts. That information comes to me, and I will log any violations and report them directly to the judge. I will also be giving you time-stamp devices. This device must be activated by your deputized community service compliance officer before they can start logging your time.”

“Who’s that?” I ask.

“You are each responsible for finding your own qualified candidate to serve as your CSC officer,” she continues, breezing past my question as if reciting from a script that doesn’t allow questions until the end. She thumps the paperwork with a thick, green finger. “The instructions are all in here.” She pauses, finally turning to me to say, “If I heard correctly, it sounds like your CSC officer is Dr. Sullivan. Your . . .wife?”

I close my eyes and tilt my head back, praying to all that is unholy that I’ll wake up from this nightmare. Or the Great Void will open up and swallow me whole. Whatever comes first.

Officer Dale has a hard time finding a GPS monitor small enough to fit my horn. Humiliation—a new level I didn’t know was possible at this point—burns a path up my neck as she tightens a ring-sized monitor around my horn with an Allen wrench. I’m just glad my friends aren’t here to see this. They got fitted with their horn monitors and dashed out the door without another word.

“There,” Officer Gertie grunts with a final turn of her wrench. “Finally got the blasted thing on you.” She hands me my packet of instructions and my bag of personal items before kicking me out of her office, reminding me my first check-in is in thirty days.

Whatever. I’ve got bigger issues to deal with than a fashion faux pas. Number one on my list: my manager. Erin’s not a demon, but she’s been in the industry long enough that she understands the gravity of a demon’s bargain. I’ll wager anything at this point if she agrees to not fire me. Pretend to date my costar, Aria Starling, as a publicity stunt? Gladly. Heck, I’ll even date, marry, divorce Aria within the span of the press tour if it pleases my manager. Anything. Erin has the power to save me from probation too. Her team of bloodthirsty defense attorneys is always waiting for her next command, and there isn’t a contract or law strong enough to stop them from evisceration.

As I fish for my phone at the bottom, I hear whispers ahead. The echoing voices suddenly stop when they see me. The sound of squeaking sneakers echoes down the hall. I raise my head just in time to catch a blur of faerie wings and black disappear around a corner.

Dr. Sullivan stands in the center of the hall, directly in my path. Is she waiting for me? She smiles hesitantly, waving her fingers.

I race down the hall in her direction, almost stampeding over her, as I try to catch up with Beck. I slide to a stop in front of the corridor I saw the wannabe journalist turn into. It’s empty except for a few clerical workers walking around wearing brown suits .

Was that Beck? Or am I just hallucinating?

I whirl around to face Dr. Sullivan. "Who were you talking to?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know. She didn’t give me a name.”

I roll my eyes and try to sidestep her, making a beeline for the exit, but she jumps in front of me.

"Where are you going?" she asks. "My car's parked in the back. I figured I’d take you to my place."

"Your place?" I huff. "Oh no. I'm not going anywhere with you." I step around her again, and she catches up quickly, matching my stride.

"It's going to look suspicious if we don't leave together. We're supposed to be married, remember?" she adds in a lowered voice. When I’m only an arm’s length away from the exit, she throws her body in front of the door like a human barricade.

"But we’re not m-m-married—Fuck!” I rub a hand over my face. The smoke residue left over on my palm gets into my eyes and burns. I drop my hand and level a stare at her, giving her my full, unadulterated attention. She’s wearing tight running shorts and a muscle shirt that shows off her toned arms and mile-long legs. Seeing her strong curves on display only makes me angrier. “I don't know what game you're playing here, but I'm not interested. I’m not staying in Winter Bliss. And I'm not your husband." I step around her, but she drapes her arm over the push bar. I’d have to physically peel her arm off to get out, and right now I’d rather burn an exit hole through the courthouse than touch her.

“Game?” She has the audacity to scoff at me. Me. “You're the one who lied to the judge about me and my clinic. You're lucky I was there to back you up."

I take a step back, forcing myself to take a breath. "I wasn't talking about you. I was improvising. Ever heard of it? I was going for the emotional angle so that ol’ bastard Judge Grimjaw would feel guilty and let me serve my probation in LA! That was going to be the next thing out of my mouth: that they needed me in LA, but then you had to go and open your big mouth. Why would I tell him I’m helping a clinic here—the place I’m already stuck? What does that get me? He already had it out for me, and you just made it worse.” I was hoping he wouldn’t remember me at all, but no such luck.

The corner of her eyes crinkle with disappointment, the same look a parent gives their child after picking them up from the principal’s office. I can almost hear her saying: I expected better from you. “So you use my clinic for your fake sob story?” she asks.

I throw my hands up in frustration. Why am I being cross-examined again? I should be grilling her—she’s the one who ruined my trial. “It was the first thing that came to mind! I panicked!”

The disappointment in her face eases a degree, as the corner of her mouth rises into the slightest smile. She snorts, shaking her head. "Didn’t you say you’re a professional actor? You really need to work on your improv. I did better than you.”

I don’t know how it’s possible, but that lie is worse than the one she told in court. I suck in a sharp breath, ready to disagree with every fiber of my being, when she stifles a laugh. Mother Below, she’s teasing me, isn’t she? She’s laughing at my expense. This may be a joke to her, but this is my life on the line. My livelihood.

I shake my head once. "Doesn't matter. I'm not playing house with you. I need to get back home. I have a movie to promote." I sidestep to use the other door, but she throws her body in front of me again. My hands almost connect with her shoulders, and I quickly pull back, as if shocked by an exposed wire.

She motions to the blinking monitor on my horn. "Judge Grimshaw made it clear you're stuck in Winter Bliss for the entire probation. You’re not going anywhere.”

"I don't care what that asshole thinks." I release a deep, feral growl of frustration that startles her. But not enough to scare her away from the door. Her eyes widen as I claw at the monitor like a wild beast pawing at the newly discovered GPS tracker pierced into his ear. After a minute of struggling, I heave a heavy, exhausted sigh. Demon tech. It’s no use. "I need to call my manager,” I say more to myself than to her. I lift the plastic bag that has been twisting and untwisting around my wrist this entire conversation and open the mouth. Somehow, during all the shuffling, my cell has floated to the top. I grab it and—

It’s dead. And broken. The entire screen is covered in delicate spiderweb cracks.

I close my eyes and take a moment to seethe. I bite into my lower lip, fighting against the urge to spark a fire and burn the phone until it’s nothing but a pile of ash. A foggy memory from last night floats across my mind, one of me chucking my phone against a smoking piece of rubble as I laughed maniacally. Even in my drunken state, I immediately realized my mistake and picked up the phone, murmuring “Sorry” before kissing the shattered screen all better and sliding it back into my pocket.

"Want to use my phone?" Dr. Sullivan offers, waving her cell in front of me like an olive branch.

I glare at the screen, the galaxy background looking very sci-fi and strangely familiar . . .

I push her hand away from my face. I can’t even if I wanted to, I don’t have Erin’s number memorized. “No. I don't need any more of your help. Why'd you butt in like that?”

She scoffs. “Butt in? I helped you. If it weren’t for me, the judge would have given you a worse punishment. Don’t forget.” She glances over my shoulder again, checking for eavesdroppers, “I lied in court too. I put my reputation on the line. For you. You owe me.”

A strange thought pops into my head. This woman is nuts. Thank the Dark Mother Below she turned me down last night. Not that it feels great remembering that. The old wound of rejection cuts through me, fresh and raw. I’ve been turned down and dismissed by over a hundred casting directors, yet her rejection stings sharper than all those experiences combined. I push the feeling aside and switch tactics. “Look, you’ve got someone waiting for you at home, right?” She said as much last night. “Do you really want to explain to your lover why you’ve picked up a guy like me and pretended to be married to him?” I know I’m not looking my best right now, but come on, I’m the kind of guy that makes other guys pull their girl closer. “It’s not gonna go over well. He’s going to think you’re stepping out on him. Trust me.” The question makes her stagger back. Or she tries at least. She must have forgotten she’s using her body as a barricade right now, because her elbow bumps into the glass with a loud thwack. She doesn’t even register the pain as she blinks at me. “What?”

"Last night, you said—"

She has the gall to act embarrassed. Blood rushes to her face, highlighting the light smattering of brown freckles dotted over the arch of her nose and high point of her cheeks. Even under the harsh fluorescent office lights, they're adorable—maybe even cuter than they were in the bar's dim glow last night. I hate how charming they are. "No, I'm single—like chronically single.” She forces out a laugh. “I was talking about my dog.”

"You turned me down for a dog?" The sting is back .

"That, and I don't do one-night stands."

I lean in, so close I could count each one of her stupid, adorable freckles. "So you refuse to spend one night in a hotel with a stranger, but you'll bring one home to live with you?” I let the words sink in, and their weight only adds to the thick air between us. I straighten, staring at her over the bridge of my nose. “That's fucked. You’re insane. I'm definitely not going home with you."

I turn and start marching down the hall. Surely, there has to be another way out of this building. An emergency exit or an open window?

“Please, Vale.” I feel her reach for my arm, but I yank it away before she can sink her claws into me. “I need you. I’m going to lose my clinic if you don’t help me.”

I don’t know why, but I stop abruptly, turning to face her. "Me? Why?”

She fiddles with the bottom hem of her shirt, refusing to look me in the eye. Finally, she raises her head with her jaw set with determination. "After our conversation last night, I realized you’re right. I don’t know what I don’t know, and I don’t even know where to start. It doesn’t matter how good of a therapist I think I am, or how effective the treatments are, if I can’t connect with my patients. As much as I’d love to solve this problem by studying it in a textbook or reading a peer reviewed article online, I can’t. I need someone who understands demons on an intimate level. And right now, I don’t have time to befriend a local demon and hope that they’ll eventually trust me enough to give me what I need to save the clinic.” She takes a step towards me hesitantly. “I agree, it’s insane to invite a stranger into my home, but I'm just that desperate. Maybe we can help each other. Make an agreement, or a devil's bargain?" She offers me a shy smile at the mention of a bargain.

I roll my eyes. "You can't be serious."

“Come on, you have to admit you at least owe me a favor.”

I raise a questioning brow, and she motions vaguely around the hallway like the answer is so obvious. The courtroom. I snort, because if she thinks that was helpful, she truly is insane.

“You’re right,” I say, closing the gap between us and stepping into her personal space.

I lean forward, flashing her a vicious grin. Her eyes widen, but she doesn’t move. Her eyes flick to my mouth, transfixed. Without meaning to, I inhale her scent. The bitter taste of fear, softened by the light floral sweetness of arousal, dances across my tongue, making my mouth water instinctively.

“I do owe you a favor. So in return, let me give you some advice—leave Winter Bliss and never come back. This town may look like a perfect dream on the outside, but trust me, it’s rotten to the core. I should have never come back,” I add under my breath as I straighten to my full height .

She nods to herself, as if that was the response she expected all along. "If you change your mind, here's where to find me." As I walk away, she manages to shove a business card inside my clenched fist.

When I reach the empty parking lot, I finally read the name on the business card. Dr. Chloe ‘Coco’ Sullivan. Underneath the name, she scribbled her personal cell phone number and home address.

I scoff, but as I try to crumple the card and toss it on the ground, it sticks to my palm. I can’t let it go. Instead, I throw it in my plastic bag and start walking, feeling a little solace in the fact that I’m not the only one on the brink of losing their job.

I collapse into a bed of crisp, clean, white, hotel sheets with a groan of satisfaction, too exhausted to shower or change out of my jumpsuit. After dropping my phone at the nearest tech support for repair, and paying triple the amount to expedite the process, I took a taxi back to the Emberlight. Now that I’m here, all I want is to sleep. I know I should rehearse what I’m going to say to Erin, but exhaustion pulls me under until I have no choice but to surrender.

A knock startles me awake the next morning. My head throbs as I hear through the door, "Delivery for Mr. Embergrave? "

I leap to my feet, throwing open the door. The young hotel worker in his spiffy Emberlight vest gawks at my disheveled appearance as I grab the package.

"Thank the Dark Mother!" I exclaim, slamming the door.

I rip open the package and send another thankful thought to the dark goddess below. My phone is fully repaired and charged, just like I had requested. I clutch it to my chest, steeling myself to call Erin. Speak from the heart. Beg. Grovel. Whatever it takes.

At least Dr. Coco Sullivan can’t ruin things this time.

It's Sunday, but that won’t matter to a workaholic like Erin. My hands tremble as I tap her photo, and the phone starts to dial. I take a deep breath, channeling Khastor's strength. He owes me after the shitshow this weekend has been. Whatever you do, don't stutter, I remind myself.

Erin answers on the first ring. "Vale! I've been trying to reach you all weekend!"

Her happy manager tone throws me off balance. "Erin, I'm so sorry—"

"Sorry? Darling, you're a genius!" she gushes. "That picture Beck posted of you and your wife is pure gold. The numbers are through the roof! Your social media manager already reposted it on your account, and your followers have already jumped by fifteen percent.”

I blink, confused. "My . . . wife?"

"Yes! That picture Beck snapped of you and the boring-looking human at that tacky bar. The whole 'secret marriage' angle is brilliant. It's so much better than dating Aria for publicity. Genius. I should fire my PR team and hire you.”

I lick my dry lips. My entire mouth feels like sandpaper. "Erin, there's been a misunderstanding. I'm not—"

"Shh, details don't matter," she interrupts. "What matters is that this could go viral. It's so similar to Khastor's storyline. A love story come to life. The fans will eat it up!"

The floor underneath me tilts uneasily. I have to brace myself against the wall so I don’t topple over. "Listen, Erin, I'm in trouble. I got arrested and—"

"Arrested? Oh, honey, don't worry about that. You aren’t the first of my clients to get arrested, and you certainly won’t be the last. We have ways of brushing it under the rug. You didn’t kill anyone, did you?”

"No. But I have a ninety-day probation, confined to the county. I can't finish the press tour or attend the premiere," I say, desperation creeping into my voice.

Erin laughs. "That's not a problem, it's an opportunity! Your costars can handle most of the LA press junkets, and we'll send the really important interviews to you. Your dedication to your wife and her work is too important to leave Winter Bliss—that’s what we’ll tell the press. It's perfect!"

"Erin, please." Acid creeps up my throat. I swallow. "I need help getting out of this probation. I can’t miss the movie premiere—it’s my movie. ”

"I hear you, Vale,” she says absently. She pauses to murmur something to someone in the background, probably one of her assistants standing at the ready. “Send the details to my assistant, and we’ll see what we can do. In the meantime, start posting pics of you and your wife. We are going to ride this wave all the way to the premiere! We’re going to need to book a bigger theater for you,” she adds with an excited squeal. I’ve never heard the boardroom bulldog squeal before.

Before I can protest further, she adds, "Gotta run, superstar! We'll be in touch about the next steps. You're doing great!"

The line goes dead, and I stare at the screen in disbelief.

I was wrong. Dr. Coco Sullivan still managed to find a way to ruin things.