She continued to regard me with a pleasant little smile. “Talk in Hell is rife with stories of the daughter of a cambion who’s taken up with the last vampire. You, my dear, are an enigma wrapped in an impossibility.”
Terrific. Not only was I an enigma again, but I’d also become grist for the gossip mill in Hell. Every time I thought my life couldn’t get any weirder...
“I prefer to go by Zorah, thanks all the same,” I said sourly. “And who do I have the honor of addressing, pray tell?”
“My name is Myrial,” the demon replied without hesitation. “Please, forgive the familiarity... but may I ask what your mother’s maiden name was?”
“Hawkins,” I replied cautiously. “Why?”
She smiled, revealing white, perfect teeth. “Just idle curiosity, dear.”
“The number of cambions since the end of the war must be quite small,” Rans put in rather pointedly. “Given the treaty provision forbidding demonic interference on Earth.”
“Oh, indeed so,” Myrial said in airy tones. “Vanishingly small, I’m certain.”
I stared at her, trying to get some kind of handle on what might have brought her here. “So, you’re... what? Trying to get a scoop on the story for the demon gossip rags? Does the National Enquirer publish a Hell edition?”
She laughed—a rich, bell-like sound. “No, no. Nothing like that. I came to let you know that the latest Tithe has been delivered from Dhuinne. My understanding was that one of the tithelings is of... particular interest to you, shall we say.”
The words hit me like a Mack truck. Somehow, I couldn’t seem to emotionally keep on top of what was happening here on Earth, with random people popping up to try and kill me, while also keeping on top of what was happening with Dad. One or the other of those things continually reared its head when I wasn’t expecting it and threw me into a fresh tailspin.
“Oh,” I said brilliantly. “Yes.”
“I came to see if you wanted to leave right away,” Myrial continued. “Since I wanted to meet you anyway, I thought the least I could do was to offer you passage into our realm.”
I opened my mouth, but since I hadn’t figured out what answer I wanted to give, nothing came out. If Dad was in Hell, I needed to get to him as fast as I could. But I didn’t know this woman—this demon—at all, and so far my instinctive reaction to her had mostly consisted of wanting to slap her across the face.
A moment later, Rans came to my rescue, since coming to my rescue seemed to be his thing these days.
“It’s kind of you to offer, but we’ll need to make some further arrangements before she leaves,” he said carefully. “Thank you for informing us, though.”
She tipped her head. “Ah. You mean to speak to Nigellus first, no doubt.”
Rans said nothing, and neither did I.
Myrial shrugged, as though it were nothing to her. “As you like, though I’ve already spoken to him on the subject. Zorah, I hope we’ll have a chance to chat more in the future. There are many things I’d like to discuss.”
I shifted restlessly on my aching feet, which were still encased in the ridiculous fetish boots. “Yeah, um... I expect we’ll see each other around. Thanks for letting me know about my f—” I caught myself, probably too late. “About... the titheling.”
She was still watching me with a little Mona Lisa smile that was probably supposed to look friendly. “Oh, it was my pleasure, dear.”
Pleasure? Good god—that poor female security guard at the club had died tonight. My heart tripped faster with a combination of anger at her nonchalance, and delayed reaction to the events at the club.
A hard edge crept into Rans’ voice. “If that’s all,” he said, “then we’re obliged to you for the information. However, I fear it’s been a rather long evening. Not to mention a trying one.”
Myrial chuckled. “Well, I suppose I can recognize a dismissal when I hear one, vampire. Good night, then. My offer still stands, once you’ve spoken with Nigellus, Zorah. And my congratulations to you for managing to snare this one.” She tipped her chin toward Rans. “He’s quite a catch for someone with so much human blood. I’m impressed.”
“Uh...” I began, but she was already gone—popping out of existence between one heartbeat and the next.
I sat down rather abruptly on the edge of the bed. After a moment, I realized that it wasn’t the mattress shaking. It was me.
“Shit,” I whispered, feeling tears burning behind my gritty eyes. I pressed them closed.
Cool fingers ghosted across the scab on my shoulder before rising to cup my cheek. Lips brushed the top of my head, and Rans rested his forehead against mine. I squeezed my eyes closed even tighter.
He sighed.
“I’m sorry, Zorah. I was wrong about all of this,” he breathed into our shared air.
I swallowed, not sure what kind of sound would come out if I tried to ask what he was wrong about.
He paused, and his hand slid down to cover the healing wound on my shoulder. “I thought I could protect you. But if that bullet had hit you a few inches further to the right... if I’d been an instant slower to block the ones that followed...”
I stayed quiet. He dragged in another breath and let it out—and it wasn’t because of any need for oxygen on his part.
“You heal faster now that your inner demon is being fed regularly, it’s true,” he went on. “But not fast enough to survive a bullet through the heart. You could have died tonight. You could’ve been gone before I even had a chance to give you my blood and save you.”
“What are you saying?” I rasped.
The silence stretched for long moments.
“I was a selfish fool,” he said, “and Nigellus was right. Hell is the safest place for you.”
That startled me into opening my eyes. His loomed out of
