Chapter 28

Dylan

Matt drags me away for dinner before our new contact messages back, but I have my phone on me, so I'll get a notification if they do. I didn't realize how hungry I was getting until I saw and smelled the food, and while the others are talking—mostly answering Raum's questions about Earth and asking about his job—I inhale the glorious food.

Something's different with Matt. More different, I mean. Obviously something's been going on with him, but now he seems… lighter? Still weird, still treating me like I'm delicate glass coated in poison, but less stressed, somehow. Which is great. Unless it's because he's finally had a chance to chat with his bestie and decided he's definitely going to end things between us.

We've never spent this much time together and not had sex before. Multiple times. Anywhere we can. But it's the touching I miss the most—and the part that worries me. Lower sex drive? Meh, it's him I love, and he's just had a life-altering trauma. The lack of affection could mean that he feels less affection for me, and no amount of love on my part is going to make him want to stay in a relationship he doesn't want to be in.

As soon as we get this crisis resolved—as soon as I'm sure he's safe —we'll talk about this. Maybe it'll mean he leaves me, and I don't know how I'll cope with that. But any idiot knows relationship problems don't go away without communication, and we can't go on like this forever.

Finally full, I sit back and sigh. "Fuck, I'm tired." We were driving all day—was that only a few hours ago? "Has someone gotten in touch with Norval?"

Ian shakes his head, his mouth full of biryani. He swallows. "I was going to, but I don't know where he is right now. He'll check in soon, though—he was pretty insistent yesterday that I do the archives search right away so you could get to work on tracking down the family once you arrived."

"It fits better and better the more I think about it," Matt muses. "A family that's raising and enslaving demons would move around a lot to avoid notice. But how are they keeping the demons… I mean…" He grimaces. "There's no delicate way to say this. I'm sorry. I know that with the right circle, demons can be compelled to complete tasks, or even compelled into servitude. But using demon labor for a company like this brings a different scale into it. The jobs would be changing every day, and there would be multiples of them. Four-thousand-plus demons under the control of, what… three dozen hunters? The hunters wouldn't be able to handle distributing tasks on that scale."

That's something niggling at me too. "We need more information." I feel like that's my mantra lately.

"When do we think we want to clue in our brothers?" Ian asks, and Matt's eyes widen.

"Not until we know more. The last thing we need is Connor going off the rails over this."

Marc sniffs.

"Shut up," Ian tells him, then explains to Raum, "Marc and my brother pretend to hate each other."

"I assure you," Marc tweaks his cuff into perfect alignment, "there is no pretense involved."

"And yet you allow him to live," Raum pronounces philosophically. "Such is the sacrifice required of a bond."

Ian seems to freeze, but I don't get it. "Love me, love my family," he croaks.

Matt gives him a weird look and opens his mouth—I'll bet every cent I own to say something like "What's wrong with you?"—but my phone blares an alert.

I snatch it up from the table, leaping to my feet and knocking over my chair. "That's him."

It's a race back to the study—for me, Ian, and Matt, anyway—but I beat everyone out and dive into the chair as Marc and Raum saunter in.

"What'd they say?" Matt demands, like he's not looking over my shoulder at the screen.

I never met him personally and regret telling my family he existed

"What does that mean?" Ian murmurs. "Do they not know Matt survived?"

"They know." My mind is racing. They have to know, with as good at hacking as they are. "Sounds like they tipped the family off to me finding their site, though, and picked Matt as the victim of their point."

"This is getting us nowhere," Marc says. "We need to question this person directly."

Slowly, all three of us hunters look at him. Does he mean…?

"Get their name. I'll bring them here. Once I have them in the same room, I'll be able to sense if their intentions are pure or not."

"Without invading their brain?" Ian checks, and Marc nods impatiently.

"You will still need to ask questions, but Raum and I will be able to tell if the answers are truthful."

Matt and Ian still seem unsure, but I'm already typing.

How much do you regret it?

More than anything I've ever done. And I'm no angel

I chew my lip. Do I want to be in the same room as the person who arranged for Matt to die?

We need to talk

It's not that easy

Walls have ears, huh?

They're everywhere

Great. None of this is easy, and it looks like it's not going to be.

Are you alone? Completely alone, so nobody would notice if you went out for a few hours?

You're in California. I'm not

That doesn't answer the question

There's a delay while they presumably think about their answer. Do they tell me that they're alone, and thus an easier target? Maybe they're even looking up the locations of the hunters nearest to them.

Yes

I turn to Matt. "It's your call. Can you handle meeting them?"

Matt smiles sympathetically at me. "Baby, I think you have more trauma from the attack than I do. I just want to get the job done. Can you handle meeting them?"

No. No, I fucking can't. I want to rip them apart with my fingernails. I want to tank their credit for life . I want to put them on every no-fly list that exists.

Instead, I turn back to the screen.

I'm Dylan

We have the family tree. This is someone on it, I'd swear to it. All I need is a first name and we can match it to the rest—I still have the PDF open. And giving a first name via chat is hardly "incrimin?—

Yeah, I know. I'm Gus

We lean in closer to the scree— "There!" Ian yells, pointing. "Top line. August Wentworth."

Marc's smile sends a shiver down my spine. "Shall we adjourn to the parlor? We can greet our guest there."

I thought the race to the study was fast, but it's got nothing on the one to the parlor. Matt's training must be going really well, because he makes it there first and shows no sign of exertion. The three of us humans sit in a row on the fancy couch, trying to look casual even though that would be impossible in this room. It's not a casual kind of room.

I pat my phone in my pocket, needing to know I have some kind of technology here to anchor me. Then I lean slightly into Matt, hoping he won't move away.

He doesn't.

But he doesn't put his arm around me either.

Later , I remind myself. Crisis first. Relationship later.

Marc and Raum remain standing and position themselves to flank the couch, and then Marc says dryly to Ian, "Would you like me to add some showmanship this time?"

Ian scoffs. "I think you gotta. This is pretty momentous."

The rest of us don't get a chance to ask what they're talking about before Marc snaps his fingers and a dark-haired guy with oversize glasses is sprawling on the floor on the other side of the coffee table. He scrambles to his feet, bewilderment rapidly replaced by something I recognize—fighting instinct—and reaches to his thigh for… nothing.

"You disarmed him too?" Ian murmurs. "Well done."

"Please stop insulting me." Marc turns his scariest expression on the guy. "August Wentworth?"

Gus, having done a pretty quick evaluation of his situation, folds his arms across his chest and cocks his hip. "What's it to you?" His gaze scans us, and then he does a double take on Matt. "You don't look injured."

Matt shrugs. "I heal fast."

"Nobody heals that fast."

"Turns out, I wasn't as injured as the doctors first thought."

"Bullshit. I know your boyfriend fixed it to look that way, but I've seen the pictures." He shudders. "I saw what they did. I thought it was a miracle that you survived, but you should be in a hospital still."

My gut roils. Pictures? Those motherfuckers took pictures after they beat Matt? Ian's gone rigid beside me, but oddly, Matt's still relaxed.

"Yet here I am." He smiles. "And so are you. In California, by the way. Far away from your home in Ohio, where you were two minutes ago."

Gus pales and darts a glance at Marc as the full extent of Matt's meaning sinks in. Now he knows that Marc brought him here, that Marc had something to do with saving Matt. He swallows hard and looks over at Raum. "I don't know you."

Raum and Marc exchange glances, and then, just for a moment, Raum lets his higher demon essence out, allowing us all to sense him—the power of him. He shields it again just as fast, but Gus's eyes have widened. "Two?" he croaks. "There are two higher demons on Earth?"

I shrug. "Possibly more. Humans are still summoning, no matter how much we try to tell them not to. We haven't officially met, but I guess you know I'm Dylan. This is Ian, and you obviously recognized Marc and Matt. That's Raum. He's the special investigator into the kidnapping and trafficking of demons that's been occurring for the past few centuries."

This is it. If all this is a trap, this is when Marc and Raum will be able to sense it. Everything hinges on Gus's reaction.

What I'm not expecting is relief. "They know?" he whispers. "They know." He sits on the coffee table, and a strangled sound of outrage erupts from Marc's throat. Gus doesn't seem to notice. "They know." He stares at the carpet for a long minute, then looks at Raum and asks, "Can you stop them? It has to stop."

Raum nods curtly.

"They'll be stopped," Marc adds, his voice grim, and I let go of another fear. Gus truly is on our side, or Marc wouldn't just be standing there still. "Get off my coffee table."

"Huh?" Big gray eyes blink behind his glasses.

"There is a chair right there." Marc points to one of the armchairs. "Chairs are for sitting on. Not coffee tables."

Ian snickers. "The ambassador is kind of fussy about his furniture, and we're in his home. It might be best if you move to a chair while we talk."

Gus complies, still seeming a little overwhelmed. "You really can stop them? Because I never realized what it was when I was younger, but when we turn twenty-two, they tell us, and by then it… it just seems…" He shakes his head. "I grew up being told that demons lacked higher intelligence. That they were animals like… like horses or cows. That as long as we made sure they were properly sheltered and fed, we were being responsible—" He seems to choke on the next word, but I can guess what it was: Owners.

Beside me, Matt inhales deeply. "I think you need to start from the beginning. How long can you be away before they miss you?"

"Uh… all night, I guess. I live alone. Nobody's likely to even call me until tomorrow during business hours, if they have a tech issue."

"Okay, that's great. Have you eaten? We've got some leftover Indian food we can reheat for you."

Matt's kindness seems to confuse Gus even more. "Why don't you hate me?"

"Who says I don't?" Matt leans forward. "Hating you doesn't mean I can't do my job, and my job right now is to protect the truce. That means saving all those kidnapped demons, and that means talking to you. So… Marc is going to play host and get us all some coffee, and if you're hungry, we'll feed you, but everything else is gonna wait until after we learn what we need to know." He looks Gus dead in the eye. "I made an oath to protect and serve, and I don't betray my word."

Fuck, my man is hot.