The demon had caught them off-guard the first day he and Cherri-Anne had arrived at the cabin they’d rented near a snow resort. He was useless without his weapons, which had been hidden in a suitcase in the other room so Cherri-Anne wouldn’t see them.
No words formed in Gunn’s mind, no movement. The cold hard truth hammered into his skull—saving Cherri-Anne meant handing himself over, which he’d do in a heartbeat. Except, once the demon entered his head, it had full access to all the hunters he knew. And each one of them would be targeted and killed, along with their friends and families.
For the greater good, his mind yelled, yet his heart locked on to Cherri-Anne. The woman he’d promised to protect. One person’s life for many. He couldn’t bring himself to speak at first, to condemn her.
“Choose now, or I’ll rip her throat out and take your soul.”
Gunn couldn’t move, but as Cherri-Anne’s life faded away, his voice came out, barely a whisper. “Take her.” Those two words were Cherri-Anne’s death sentence. And before he could change his mind, she and the demon had vanished into a darkened portal that closed behind them.
Gone.
Stolen.
Alone.
He choked up and relived that tragedy every day. Could he have handled the attack differently? He should have taken his weapons with him. Should have fought harder. Should have… except that last “should have” never formed, because, if faced with the decision again, he knew he’d make the same call.
His insides trembled. The only saving grace that kept him going since the attack was knowing that while he still lived, he’d dedicate every single minute to abolishing the monsters. If that was his purpose in life, then, fuck yeah, he’d throw himself in one hundred percent, no matter the consequences.
And it killed him that he’d opened up to Cyra because he didn’t do pity now or ever. Problem was they were stuck together, all four of them, until they thought of a way out of the house. She’d broken through his defenses and refused to leave his mind. He figured if he told her, she’d back away. But seeing the disbelief twisting her gorgeous face had killed him.
The floorboards creaked behind him and he twisted around to find Cyra standing in the doorway, holding a bottle of whiskey by the neck in one hand and four stacked glasses in the other. Silence hung between them, and her red-rimmed eyes were another knife to the heart.
“Wanna join us in the living room? We have to come up with an action plan.” Her words were soft and calm, the opposite of how he felt.
He met her gaze, barren of judgement or feeling sorry for him. And he appreciated that more than anything. With a nod, he trailed after her, but in the hallway, he grabbed her arm.
“Listen, Cyra, about—”
“I know you had to do it. You had no other choice, and that’s a fucked-up burden you’ve had to carry alone. We all have skeletons in our past, but you can’t hold on to that shit forever.” She paused for a long moment, and he was lost for words. Yeah, everything she’d said was spot-on, and he’d accepted long ago that he would live with what had happened on his conscience until his last breath, but it didn’t change the fact that getting close to anyone put them in danger. That was why he had to keep his distance from Cyra. Something he should have done from the get-go.
“After my parents died,” she continued, “I tried to burn down our house with Chase and me both in it. Sure, I was only five years old, but in my mind, if we died, it meant we could be with our parents again.” Her eyes widened. “Crap, don’t tell Chase I told you that. He made me swear.” She lowered her shoulders. “Yep, a killer in the making here.” She turned and headed into the living room.
Her admission surprised him. It shouldn’t have, but Chase had only painted her as this innocent girl who needed protection. The more Gunn got to know her, the more he admired her spunk and strength. And for her to share such a secret consoled him for the time being. And it wasn’t that “suffering loves company” bullshit, but the fact that she’d revealed something to him no one would openly admit.
He joined her and the old couple as she poured everyone a glass of whiskey and handed him one. “To us getting out of here,” she said and gulped down her drink.
Henry and Nora clinked each other’s glasses and took small sips.
Gunn didn’t need to be told twice and slugged back his drink, a malty taste dancing across his tongue and gliding down his throat. No burning. This was the expensive, top shelf stuff.
When Cyra offered him another, he accepted. With his empty glass on the table, he perched on the edge, facing Henry and Nora, who sat close to one another on the big sofa, while Cyra lounged on the single one with her legs crossed.
“Okay, let’s share everything we know about our situation,” he began—because getting down to business he could do. “We know there’s a demon in the house and—”
“And it’s somehow linked to the attic,” Cyra said. “That’s where I encountered it and it seemed strongest.”
Nora cleared her throat as she pushed forward in her seat. “Was that what dashed across the hall before the mistletoe ensnared our house?”
“I think so,” Cyra responded. “And I saw it through a window earlier when I was outside, but it was all static-like, as if it were struggling to hold form.”
Gunn stiffened and straightened his back. “Why didn’t you tell me this?”
“I didn’t
