Chapter 22

Every member of the Crow and Hammer present—just under fifty—was crowded around the pub's perimeter. In the open center, cleared of all furniture except one table, Agent Shen had just finished drawing out an intricate array that spanned the tabletop.

Ezra stood across the table from her, patiently waiting.

Gazes darted nervously from him to the agent and back again. I wasn't quite sure how to parse their expressions. Concern from some. A nervous sort of amusement from others, as though they were almost certain this was a big joke. How could soft-spoken Ezra be a demon mage? It was preposterous.

A few faces gave off a different vibe, though. Girard and Alistair seemed expectant, while Sabrina's expression was carefully closed off—as was Bryce's.

I inspected the telepath where he stood between Drew and Lyndon. Should I be surprised that he knew or suspected more about Ezra than he'd ever let on? He could read minds, after all.

The only person in the guild who didn't seem bothered was Kit Morris, the bizarre agent who'd rescued us. He stood a few steps behind Agent Shen—or Lienna, as he called her—with his hands in his pockets, rocking on his heels as though he were bored.

"What's with him?" I muttered under my breath, watching the agent.

Beside me, Zak shifted his weight. Thanks to his presence, only Sin and Sabrina dared to stand near us. Aaron and Kai were positioned behind Ezra, and the sole reason I wasn't with them was a vague worry that Zak would disappear if I left him alone.

He followed my stare to its target. "Whoever made him an MPD agent is either a blind fool or a genius."

"What do you mean?"

His eyes, fixed on Kit, narrowed. "He might be the most terrifying mythic of our generation, and no one realizes it."

My heart skipped a beat.

"Including him," the druid added softly.

I pressed my fingertips to my sternum, encouraging my heart to toughen up already. "What kind of—"

"Who has the supplies I requested?" Lienna asked, stepping back from her newly drawn array.

Sylvia pushed through a cluster of guildeds, elbowing Darren in the kidney on her way past. Joining Lienna, she offered a handful of vials and a grape-sized glass crystal.

Lienna scrutinized the clear crystal, placed it at the bottom of her array, then gave the vials similar assessments. "You measured these precisely?"

"Of course," Sylvia sniffed in an insulted tone.

Uncorking a bottle, Lienna poured what looked like water over a rune. She poured a small pile of sand on another, then a few drops of liquid on a third.

"Fire, if you please," she said to Aaron.

He squinted at the liquid and it ignited with a puff of smoke. The small flame danced merrily.

"Ezra," Lienna instructed, "place your hand in the center of the circle."

He pressed his palm to the tabletop, with water, earth, and fire on three sides of his wrist. Everyone in the room, including me, collectively held their breath as Lienna referenced the small grimoire she'd produced from her satchel, then began to chant. No one else made a sound.

Ezra was no longer a demon mage—but after ten years of demonic possession, was he human enough to pass the test?

Her voice rose, smooth and confident. The puddle of water shimmered, then dissolved into a faint silver glow that lit the lines of the array. The pile of sand disintegrated, and the spell's radiance increased. The flame melted into the array. Once more the glow brightened.

"Aqua et ignis, terra et ventus, revelate tenebras," Lienna intoned.

The silver luminescence swept over Ezra's hand. It rushed up his arm in a wave, passed over his head and shoulders, then whooshed down to his feet. Swirling back up his body, it flashed down his arm, over his hand, and into the circle. The pale light filled the clear glass crystal.

With a final flare, the light snuffed out. The crystal, sitting innocuously on the table, had turned ivory white.

Lienna smiled, the stern agenty-ness of her face softening with relief. "The crystal is white. He has no Demonica contamination. Ezra Rowe is neither a demon mage nor a contractor."

"Of course he isn't!" Cameron shouted. "The MPD are idiots!"

"Is MagiPol going to drop the charges against our guild?" someone else called.

"Can we go home yet?" another voice—Alyssa, it sounded like—asked loudly.

"This is an important step," Darius answered, "but only the first. Our guild—and all of you—are not out of danger yet."

As he walked over to Lienna and began conferring with her in a low voice, buzzing conversations erupted around the room. Aaron, Kai, and Ezra had their heads bent together again, all three grinning despite the continued direness of our situation. I couldn't blame them.

"What are we supposed to do, though?" I said, more speaking my thoughts out loud than directing the question at anyone in particular. "It won't take the MPD long to figure out we're here."

"They probably already know," Sin answered, looking up from her phone. "Bounty hunters have been watching the guild day and night, waiting for someone to get reckless and leave."

My brow scrunched. "Leave?"

Sabrina folded her hands in front of her. "When the MPD came down on us a week ago, Darius told everyone that we could either flee right then or go to the guild. With all of us here, no bounty hunters have tried to get inside. As long as we're together, they can't capture us."

That made sense. Gather the troops, batten down the hatches, and pray MagiPol didn't attempt a siege. I imagined everyone was pretty damn sick of these four walls by now, though.

I squinted at Sabrina. "How did you get out, then?"

"Uh." She shuffled her feet. "Darius and a few others have been sneaking in and out, and he helped me."

Had he now.

"By the way," Sin added as she tucked her phone in her pocket, "you should call Justin. I just updated him, but he's been worried sick about you."

My squinty stare shifted to her. "You've been texting my brother?"

A flush spread through her cheeks. "Just… just, um, every day… mostly. He needed to know what was happening!"

I pursed my lips, then shook my head. "I'm glad you kept him in the loop. You told him to stay away from here, right?"

"Yes, he knows to steer clear."

"Good. The last thing I need is—"

"Tori!" Partway across the room, Aaron was waving at me to join him and Kai. "Come on!"

I swiftly scanned the room for Ezra. He was heading up the stairs, accompanied by Elisabetta and Miles. A follow-up healing, I was guessing.

Heading toward Aaron and Kai, I said over my shoulder, "Don't let Zak leave, 'kay?"

Sin and Sabrina looked alarmed by the instruction, while the druid scowled.

I joined the mage pair. "What's up?"

"Agent Shen and Agent Morris are heading back," Aaron explained. "As soon as we have word from them on what's happening at the precinct, I need to meet with Darius and the other officers, but we have some time to clean up."

"Clean up what?" I tugged on a scraggily lock of my hair. "Oh, you mean clean up us."

"Exactly."

As he and Kai turned toward the basement stairs, I threw my arms over their broad shoulders, needing the closeness after so much uncertainty and fear. When they each wrapped an arm around my waist, I bit the inside of my cheek against a renewed wave of dread.

We were out of custody, but nothing was fixed. Nothing was okay. We'd saved Ezra, but unless we could convince the MPD of our innocence, we were all doomed anyway.

And our fates now depended on Darius and two MPD agents we'd just met and didn't trust—at least, I didn't trust them. Hard to say how Darius felt.

Walking together, we headed into the hall behind the upper stairs, where the door to the lower level was hidden. There, we had to split up because we couldn't fit through the doorway in our current configuration.

In the quiet basement, the two mages turned toward me as though they'd rehearsed—but more likely, they just knew each other that well.

"You did it, Tori," Kai murmured. "You saved him."

A lump formed in my throat. "I couldn't have done it without you two."

"We were scared out of our minds," Aaron said roughly. "We had nothing to do but sit in those cells and worry."

"Zak saved us," I admitted. "He got us away from the Pandora Knights and arranged a secret location and performed the ritual. We never would've made it without him."

Aaron flexed his jaw as though debating whether he should complain about the druid's involvement.

Kai made a quiet noise in the back of his throat. "Let's shower first, then you can tell us everything that happened."

In the ladies' showers, I raided my locker for soap, shampoo, and clean clothes, and hustled into a shower stall. A minute later, I was standing under the hot water, washing away the sweat and grime of over a week as a wanted rogue.

After a luxuriously long time spent soaking, scrubbing, and shaving, I got out of the shower, dried off, and proceeded to apply product to my hair, moisturize my face, and floss and brush my teeth. Thoroughly brush my teeth. May I never go another day without a toothbrush.

Anxious butterflies fluttered in my gut, the unknown hanging over me, but I felt more human than I had in a week. I dressed in cotton yoga pants and a lavender tank top. The scent of clean clothing was like heaven. I finally exited the showers, carrying my jacket, a sweater, clean socks, and my not-so-clean shoes with one hand and my combat belt with the other, the back pouch weighed down by orb-Hoshi.

As I crossed the fitness room, the sound of running water filtered in from the men's showers. No way Aaron or Kai would take this long to clean up. They'd probably been in and out in ten minutes—five to shave, five to shower.

Swerving toward the room, I flipped my belt over my shoulder and rapped on the door. "Aaron? Kai?"

A muffled male voice answered me, and a moment later, the door opened. Ezra held it with one hand, and in the other was a toothbrush, its bristly end in his mouth.

He also wasn't wearing a shirt.

My gaze dropped, seeking out his injuries. Not only were the stab wounds healed, but the tearing of his scars caused by Eterran's exit from his body had transformed into pink lines. The scars would probably be thicker than before, but not by much.

Health assessment complete, I greedily drank in the sight of his jeans clinging to his lean hips, the black waistband of his boxers peeking out, before allowing my attention to return to his face. His pale eye had survived without any additional damage, the scar that ran down his forehead to the hollow of his cheek mostly unchanged.

He canted his head, inviting me into the shower room.

Eyebrows arching with bemusement, I set my things on a nearby weightlifting bench and walked barefoot onto the tile floor. The room was identical to the women's showers: a bank of sinks opposite a wall of lockers, with a bench in the middle. On the other side of the door, several shower stalls were hidden by heavy plastic curtains.

One of the curtains was open and steam floated out, the shower heating up before Ezra got in.

He hurried to the sink and spat out his mouthful of toothpaste. I waited patiently—I could wait patiently all night long with such a mouthwatering view of his thickly muscled arms.

"Sorry," he said after rinsing his mouth. "I just need a hand since you're here."

My eyebrows arched again. "What sort of hand?"

"I can't reach to wash this off." He turned around, showing me his back. Shiny silver lines dotted with runes ran down his spine, most of the array already wiped away.

Ah. Elisabetta's and Miles's work, I assumed. "Sure. Got a cloth?"

"I already put it in the shower. One sec."

He headed for the running shower, and I followed behind him. In the stall, he reached through the spray, water splashing over his arm, and grabbed a white washcloth from the little shelf under the taps where his soap and shampoo waited. He held the cloth under the spray to soak it, then handed it to me.

I bit my lower lip as he turned around. Pressing the cloth to his back, I scrubbed away the lines with slow precision. Very slow. Was I taking my sweet time? Oh yes, I was.

A memory flitted through my head—standing in the shower with Zak, washing dragon blood off his back. I'd been breathless over his appeal, but nothing I'd felt then compared to the way my heart drummed in my chest right now, each beat shuddering inside me.

I wanted to throw the cloth away and put my hands on him. I wanted to wrap my arms around him and never let go. I wanted to—

Realizing my hand had stopped moving, I lowered the washcloth. "Okay, you're good."

He swiveled to face me. "Thanks."

"Mm." Reaching out, I touched one of his scars where it crossed his hip. "How are you feeling?"

"Much better." He watched my hand as I traced the scar up to his sternum, then stretched out his arms to display the other, fainter scars that crisscrossed his bronze skin. "A lot of wear and tear, huh?"

"At least you're still in one piece." I looked up into his mismatched eyes. "So you're feeling good now?"

"Yes?"

"Healthy and hale again?"

"More or less."

"Not going to collapse or anything?"

"No."

"Good." I chucked the washcloth into the shower, not caring where it landed, then hooked my fingers over the back of his neck, pulled his head down, and kissed him.

His lips melded against mine and his hand sank into my damp hair. I pressed into him—and he stepped back, bumping the wall.

"I need to shower," he said, his smooth voice rumbling in a way I very much liked. "You're all clean and I'm—"

I dragged his mouth back to mine and kissed him again, tasting his minty toothpaste.

"Then get in the shower," I breathed against his lips. "I'm not stopping you."

He hesitated—and I opened my lips against his in invitation. His tongue slipped into my mouth and I moaned softly, fingers raking over his shoulders.

Two feet away, the shower pounded against the tile floor, steam drifting around us. I dragged my hands down his chest, over his tense, delicious abs, and found the waist of his jeans.

The breath rushed from his nose when I popped the button. His fly was down an instant later, and I shoved the jeans off his hips. As they slid down, he shifted back and stepped out of them.

In nothing but his boxers, he swept me into him and kissed me again. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I pushed my hips into his, a few thin layers of cotton separating our bodies.

He rumbled wordlessly, one hand sliding under the back of my tank top. His other palm ran up my side and over my breast. His thumb stroked me through the thin fabric of my top and sports bra, and I arched into his touch, needing more. So much more.

Tearing away from him, I grabbed my shirt and yanked it up over my head. I was still dragging it off my arms when he pulled me back into him. His mouth covered mine, his hot hands running up my sides, over my breasts, then down to my hips.

I shoved my pants down my legs, then threw them and my shirt onto the small bench. Bra and underwear followed.

Ezra watched my every motion with ravenous intensity. His hands were on me before I'd gotten my underclothes safely on the bench, his fingers sliding over my skin. He kissed me, brief and hungry, before his mouth claimed the soft spot under my jaw.

I reached between our bodies. His breath caught when I wiggled my fingers under the waistband of his boxers. I took him in both hands, stroking and caressing until he was panting for air.

Then I pushed his boxers down. As the last piece of fabric between us disappeared, he swept me up off my feet. My bare legs clamped around his waist as he stepped under the shower's spray.

I gasped as the hot water hit us. It cascaded over our naked bodies, but its heat was nothing compared to the molten lava inside me.

I clutched Ezra. Kissing him. Touching him. My hands dragging across every muscle, every scar, every inch of his gorgeous bronze skin. His hands were occupied with holding me up, taking my weight with easy strength, but his mouth was busy—kissing down my neck, teeth grazing my collarbones.

He boosted me higher, one hand bracing my back, then his mouth was exploring my breasts with luscious, devoted attention. Lips and tongue. Tasting and sucking. I arched in his hold, quivering and breathless, hands in his hair, legs clamped tight around his waist.

When I couldn't take it anymore, when I was moments from flying into a million pieces, I squirmed my legs free and slid down him.

His hard length pressed between my thighs, and I moaned as I rubbed against him. He grabbed my hips and stopped my movement, breathing hard.

We stared at each other, his eyes burning and starved for more.

I seized the bar of soap. He continued to hold my hips as I lathered up my hands and pressed them to his chest.

He leaned down. As I ran my hands over his shoulders, rubbing the soap across his skin, he kissed me, slow and hot and consuming. I soaped down his arms, caressing every muscle, and when I pressed closer to run my hands over his back, his fingers tightened.

He pulled my hips into him, then guided them away. Back and forth, back and forth, the length of him sliding between my thighs, rubbing against me. Slow, erotic, unbelievably sensual. I whimpered breathlessly against his mouth but he held the slow, torturous, mind-melting pace.

Kissing with languid, flirting tongues. Hips moving in a slow, unhurried glide. Sweet torment that bordered on agony. We moved together, mouths locked, bodies pressed tight, and the steaming water rained down on us, washing away our fears and stress, our insecurities and doubts, the pain and struggle we'd endured to get here.

Then, as the teasing pleasure ramped higher and our mouths locked with growing urgency, he lifted me off the tiled floor. My shoulders met the cold shower wall as he braced me against it and slowly lowered me again. This time, instead of sliding between my thighs, he slid inside me.

My whole body quivered, muscles clenching, lungs gasping as hot pleasure swept through every nerve. I held him, legs hooked over his hips.

"Tori," he rumbled. His arms tightened as he pinned me against the shower wall, hands gripping my ass, fingers pressing hard into my skin. His muscles bunched, then his hips moved.

His strength supporting me, I could do nothing but hold him—and it was torture, it was bliss, it was pleasure and agony and everything I'd dreamed of and more than I'd ever imagined. Where I would've rushed with frenzied lust, he moved slow and steady and strong. So damn strong. Every thrust sent me spiraling, and I clung to him, pleasure building at a delicious pace.

Building higher. And higher. His mouth dragged at my throat as I panted and moaned. My legs shook. I couldn't take it.

"Ezra," I gasped.

His fingers dug into my ass—and he thrust hard into me. Faster. Stronger. I grabbed his hair, and then our mouths were locked, breath rushing, chests heaving. I was rising and falling and spinning out of control, my whole being consumed by the feel of him inside me.

A groan rasped from his throat, and he drove into me. Pleasure rose through me in a wave, sweeping out from my center and overtaking my entire body. I quaked, gasping, moaning, no idea what sort of noise I was making because I couldn't think, drowning in the tides of bliss flooding through me.

Finally, the waves of pleasure softened into a shivery warmth. Ezra leaned into me, half holding me, half pinning me to the wall as he caught his breath, his face pressed against the side of my neck.

I combed my fingers through his drenched hair. My hands were trembling.

"Holy shit," I gasped almost soundlessly.

He must've heard that even over the rushing noise of the shower because his shoulders moved with a silent laugh. He straightened and I let my feet drop to the floor. Too unsteady to take all my weight, I wrapped my arms around his neck, and he pulled me with him under the hot spray of the shower.

I brushed a curly lock off his forehead. "Ezra."

For an instant, just the barest instant, the words I wanted to say stuck in my throat. They'd always been so hard to utter out loud—but I'd never needed to say them more.

"I love you," I whispered.

His fingers traced the edge of my jaw. Leaning down, he softly pressed his lips to mine.

"I love you too," he murmured against my lips. "And I want to love you for the rest of my hopefully long life, if that's what you want."

A quiet tremor shook me. I'd never been good at planning for the future. I rarely knew what I wanted next week, let alone next year. My long-term goals had once consisted of "not getting fired," and more recently, "not dying." For most of my life, I hadn't had a clue what I wanted.

Closing my eyes, I kissed him hard, fingers tangling in his hair.

"Yes," I breathed. "That's exactly what I want."