Dropping the pills back into my bag, I remind myself this is for charity, square my shoulders, and step out of the van.

  Wren

  She’s here.

  My fated mate.

  My love.

  My obsession.

  After ten long years of only being able to haunt her dreams.

  To be with her, I would tear apart this dimension.

  I offered a dealing demon my services as a Render if he could arrange a meeting in this realm and magic me the ability to become corporeal around Hayden. Theodopolis is the best matchmaker in history—and also the owner of this horrific house.

  But why would he bring her here? The revenants who torment this manor are by far the worst I’ve ever encountered. They could drive thousands of humans mad, yet this demon dares to expose my mate to them.

  I leave for one day to handle a special op in another realm, and he Brings. Her. Here.

  Fuck that.

  She’s signing something, her head bent low over a table inside her van. Her dark hair is swept over her shoulder, leaving her slender neck vulnerable and exposed.

  I charge outside, prepared to rip him to pieces. He meets my gaze, and his human glamour wavers, his true form flickering into monstrous existence behind her. Within reach of her neck. A snap of his claws or a bite of his fangs, and he could kill her.

  I won’t let that happen. I unfurl my shadows, letting them writhe like tentacles ready to strangle the demon prince.

  Except Hayden looks up and lifts a hand to rub at her forehead, the sunlight catching on her dark glasses and her brown skin. She’s even more beautiful today than she was ten years ago when I poured her soul back into her body, unwilling to let my fated mate slip beyond my reach.

  I freeze, not wanting to scare her in my full shadow glory, but it’s too late.

  She slips off her glasses and reveals those haunted hazel eyes that stalk my fantasies.

  “Wren?” Her whisper of my name and the joy in her voice when she says it? It undoes me.

  But then she gasps and crumples forward, holding her head.

  Theodopolis reaches for her, and I push him away with a shadow, preparing to wrap it around his neck, but he teleports out of the path to reappear with a scowl.

  Hayden goes limp, each muscle in her glorious body going lax. I sweep toward her, aiming my shadows her way while keeping the demon at a distance. Wrapping my true self around her in corporeal form, feeling her lush curves against me in more than a fantasy, seeing her in sunlight where I can spot the freckles her makeup or the darkness usually hides—it’s primal.

  I’ll never let her go.

  “Humans,” Theodopolis says. “They’re so fragile.” He drops his glamour, the scarlet skin and blazing eyes of his true form revealed. “Her fainting at first sight doesn’t bode well for your match.”

  “She wasn’t afraid,” I argue. “It’s her headaches. You shouldn’t have brought her here.”

  “You wanted your fated mate. I have delivered her, complete with a signed matching contract.” He flicks his claws toward the table where he and Hayden stood so close. Too close.

  “Stay away from my mate.”

  “Gods save us from possessive monsters. You spend years as the most ruthless Render among reapers and now you think you get to walk into the land of the living and simply claim your happily ever after with the human whose life you spared?”

  I growl because I can’t kill him without setting Hayden down, and I won’t risk that. Not until he understands the danger he has put her in. “I thought you guaranteed the safety of your matches. Isn’t that part of the contract you dealing demons force upon them?”

  His wings flare. I’ve hit a demonic nerve. Good. “The terms of the bargain,” he says, “guarantee she will come to no harm by your hand…er, shadow tentacle things.”

  “I’ll never hurt her. She’s my fated mate.”

  “I know. I confirmed it before bringing her here.”

  “Then you should’ve known I’d be outraged at you for putting her life in jeopardy.”

  “I have plans for this house, so I did what was necessary to ensure you get rid of the revenants.” He sweeps his claws toward Hayden. “She arrived damaged.”

  “She’s not damaged.”

  “Whatever you call her current condition, it’s obviously excluded from our contract. Like I said, humans.” He lifts his shoulders in a shrug and his wings follow. “Weak.”

  “May you be so lucky that the Fates match you with a human who is half as strong as my Hayden.”

  “I would put up with a frail match for the exponential level up in magic the mating would give me.”

  “It’s not always about power, my prince. Sometimes, it’s about love.” Obsession. Addiction.

  He scoffs, his royal persona firmly in place from the tilt of his pointed chin to the spread of his wings. “If we’re done here⁠—”

  “Your machinations gave her this migraine so the least you could do is magic us a healing potion from your realm. One crafted by your alchemist dwarf. Just make sure it’s from her first aid stack and not the explosive one.”

  “Fine. Want a sedative added?”

  I glance at Hayden, wrapped in my darkness with only the purple of my magic skimming over her brown skin and dark hair as if it reaches for her as much as I have this last decade. Now, she’s mine. Mine to hold. Mine to possess. Mine to care for. “A sedative would be good. Rest will help her headache.”

  The demon teleports away, and I’m left with my love.

  With one shadow, I ease open the side door of her van. At least she hasn’t changed this setup since I visited her here a week ago. Or was it months ago? Time passes so differently in the realms I wander between—looking for her. Pulling the bed into the center for a comfortable enough nest to allow her to sleep, I lay her on the mattress, putting away her protective sunglasses. She won’t need those as long as I’m around.

  Theodopolis appears in the open doorway. A small blue bottle stands out starkly against his red palm.

  “Thank your alchemist for me,” I tell him, easing Hayden into a sitting position. Her head turns to rest against my darkness, and her instinctive need to seek comfort from me makes me want to curl around her.

  I don’t resist the temptation to stroke a shadow along her cheek before turning to the task at hand. I sweep lower, to trace over her mouth. A thirst more tangible than being trapped for an eternity in a desert dimension takes hold of me, and I long for this woman. She is even softer in reality than in her dream state. “Open for me, Hayden. Take your medicine.”

  Her eyelashes flutter. She doesn’t open her eyes, but she parts her lips on a heavy sigh. “Okay, Shadow Daddy.”

  The name she calls me in her dreams sends a jolt of lust and something heavier through me. Love, I know it. I’ve known it for years of watching her, stalking her, haunting her. “That’s my good girl. Rest now.”

  Hayden snuggles closer, allowing sleep to take over.

  Excellent. The healing can begin.

  “Well, then,” Theodopolis drawls. For fuck’s sake, the demon’s still here. I’d hoped he might’ve teleported off to wherever pissy demon princes go. “I’ll leave you to wooing your mate. It seems you might not need the full month.”

  I take one last chance to remind him of the danger he has put her in. “If the revenants hurt her because you forced her here, I’ll⁠—”

  “I know, rip me apart. I’ve dealt with enough overprotective mates to quote all the threats by now.”

  Gods save me from asshole demons. I settle with Hayden against the lumpy mattress, deciding I’ll hold her all night to keep her safe and comfortable. She smells better than ambrosia nectar from the Valley of the Gods.

  “Maximus,” I call toward the house, figuring the stray pup I picked up a few trips ago might help comfort my mate.

  Theodopolis looks toward the manor as though expecting something much bigger than my dog to come barreling out of the front door. “Keep Hayden away from the portals inside,” he says ominously.

  “Why? You demon royals are the only ones who can open them, and you won’t jeopardize your contract.”

  He doesn’t answer for a long moment. “Something strange is happening lately.”

  “Stranger than a reaper coming to a demon for a matchmaking contract?”

  “You didn’t hear this,” he says in a low voice. “But portals are opening when they shouldn’t.”

  Fuck. That could spell disaster for this and every other world. But I have my own problems. Win my mate. Vanquish the revenants. The demons can deal with the portals. “I’ll protect Hayden at all costs. If it means torching your ruin to the ground, so be it. You can find another house to use as a trap for whatever women you plan to lure here.”

  He shoots me a suspicious look. “What do you know of my⁠—”

  Happy barks cut him off. Maximus ghosts through the door and charges for the van, his three skeleton heads bouncing atop a tiny body with a wagging tail. The tallest of his ears comes to the demon’s shin.

  “What the fuck is that?” Theodopolis asks.

  “A hellhound.” With a shadow, I scoop Maximus into the van.

  “That’s no hellho⁠—”

  I silence the demon with a look. If Maximus wants to believe he’s a hellhound to escape whatever trauma the fuzzy chihuahua obviously went through in his last life, then he can be a fucking hellhound. My dog curls up in furry pup form next to Hayden.

  Theodopolis rears back as if Maximus has offended him worse than peeing on his tail. “I would never allow such hairy vermin in my bed.”

  “You will if it pleases your mate,” I tell him with the cockiness of a reaper who knows what makes my woman happy.

  “You have one month. To win her and to end the revenants.” He vanishes before I can tell him to piss off and leave us in peace.

  “Glad he’s gone,” I say to Maximus, closing the van door and wrapping all my shadows around Hayden except for the dog’s spot near her shoulder. “Take out the revenants. Win the girl. Yeah, this won’t be so hard.”

  I hope.

  Hayden

  Pale early light peeks over the mountains to the east, casting the house in a desolate grey. I wrap my sweater tighter, not wanting to know what makes fog constantly surround the place as I plunge through it on my way inside.

  There’s a lot I’m ignoring this morning.

  Like how I can’t remember pulling the camper van’s bed out last night or climbing into it or anything really after signing the non-disclosure agreement with the rep from Underworld. I couldn’t even read the contract completely.

  I let the headache go too long, and the migraine aura messed with my vision. But I reviewed it in the emails the rep and I exchanged, and I’ve signed a ton of consulting agreements over the years. They’re all boilerplate, standard stuff. Other than the annoying clause he insisted on that keeps me from posting about my stay at the manor. No matter. It’s worth a month of radio silence for charity. I’ve already prepped content and tested satellite internet so I can keep my followers happy and the algorithms fed while I’m here.

  Yesterday evening, I’d barely been able to stand, let alone negotiate. Still, I must not have embarrassed myself too much in front of the pretty boy rep since he didn’t toss me from the property.

  That’s a win.

  Also a victory? The text from my therapist’s office confirming my next telehealth visit won’t be for another month. It’ll give me a much needed break to process our last discussion of my abandonment issues from growing up an orphan, the awkwardness of being a trust fund baby who didn’t fit in at my posh schools, or flashbacks to the mugging that had my skull connecting with a curb.

  But I won’t talk to my therapist about the ghosts.

  Never the ghosts, or I’ll end up on antipsychotics again.

  I certainly don’t mention Wren.

  Not to anyone living.

  Which makes me wish Glenda was here. Where’d she go? Why’d she take off so fast? I miss her chatter and the way she slips in words like groovy.

  Shaking off my thoughts, I move from room to room inside the manor, doing a preliminary sweep of the interior features, taking snapshots of the windows, the crown molding, the door frames. None of which match, coordinate, or suggest any continuity in the design. By the time I reach the top of the third flight of stairs, I still have no better idea who built this house or when.

  Worse, I’m so distracted that not even architecture, history, or the weird lack of ghosts can keep my attention. I could swear Wren held me all night. Not just in a dream, but on the thin mattress of the camper van.

  He’d seemed so real.

  I appreciate whatever miracle he worked on me. My headaches usually last for days if I don’t medicate quickly enough. This morning, last night’s migraine had disappeared other than a dull ache.

  He knows details about my headaches, my traumatic brain injury, my entire life that no one else would guess. We’ve shared more than physical intimacy during the thousands of nights we’ve spent together. He gets me. From my weaknesses to my fears to my obsession with macabre architectural details, he’ll listen. More importantly, he knows when I need silence.

  He’s the perfect guy, even if he’s not human. Maybe because he’s not human. My past relationships fizzled more than they ever sizzled. But Wren…he’s everything I could want in a man, reaper, whatever.

  Which is crazy considering I’ve never seen him outside of dreams and…well, dying. When I teetered between life and death? The first time I saw that purple skull mask he magics up sometimes to wear beneath his hood and he said, Not yet, my beauty, in his gravelly voice? I should’ve been scared out of my mind, not turned on and wishing he’d wrap me up in his shadows and darkness.

  Now, I live for the nights when he comes to me in sleep, teasing me until I’m begging my Shadow Daddy not to stop. He surrounds me in shadow, yet my body knows the weight of him, the heaviness of muscles I can press against but can’t see.

  The memory of all those times he has touched me, the sweet, kinda stalkery words he has whispered, the way he makes me feel like a queen—it sends heat to my belly and has my panties going damp.

  A strange scratching from nearby interrupts my daydreams before they can become truly depraved.

  Snick, snick, snick.

  Is that the wind?

  Or could it be a ghost?

  God, I hope so.

  My breath catches in my throat, excitement and curiosity winning out over any fear. I hurry into the closest room. “Hello?”

  There’s no one there.

  Light barely shines through the grimy windows. Turning my camera’s flashlight on at its lowest setting so as not to irritate a possible ghost source by blinding them, I double check the corners and shadows. A broken bed frame stands against a wall, exposed electrical wires run along another, and dust covers everything, its particles glittering in the lone beam.

  “Anyone there?” I ask, hoping for an answer. What kind of historic home doesn’t have a single ghost?

  A whine comes from behind the bed frame. I circle closer, my heart thrumming too loud.

  I can do this.

  I’ve been brave my entire life.

  I’m in love with a reaper, for goodness sake. Though I haven’t confessed that truth to anyone. I take a steadying breath and swing the light to shine in the crack where the bed frame meets the wall.

  Two bright eyes reflect back at me from ankle high.

  Not a ghost. A stray.

  “Oh, hello. Come on out,” I coax. “I won’t hurt you.”

  The tiniest dog I’ve ever seen crawls forward. His fluffy black fur stands up in odd places, and his tongue pokes out. He hesitates, stopping a few feet from me. I step back so I don’t tower over him too much and sit cross legged on the ground, careful to avoid exposed nails or broken boards. He scuttles over to sniff at me, then wags his tail.

  “Aren’t you the cutest?” I let him smell the back of my hand, giving him space and keeping my movements slow. “How’d you end up here? Huh?”

  He whimpers and nudges my fingers, demanding a pet.

  “You got a name, big guy? Can I call you Sparky?”

  He huffs his discontent.

  “Okay, what about Jet? Or Midnight?”

  His pitiful, small snarls make me smile.

  “Let’s get you something to eat.” I stocked my van’s kitchenette with enough food to last a week. There must be something in there for my new friend who trots at my feet.

  A deep growl comes from behind us, making the hairs on my arms stand up. The little dog barks a yip big enough to make him bounce on his paws.

  That’s no animal, no ghost, no anything I’ve heard before.

  The howl that comes next is even more terrifying. I scoop up my tiny friend and run. Adrenaline pushes me faster, my breath burning in my lungs because god knows I don’t bother with a gym. These curves are fueled by coffee, carbs, and chocolate. No cardio necessary. Sure, my figure might not be popular on fashion runways, but my fans adore my fabulous look.

  Obviously, whatever is chasing us? Not a fan.

  Hugging the dog close, I round the last flight of stairs. My chest aches, my legs cramp, and I’m seriously regretting my choice of strappy sandals over sneakers, but I’m almost to the front door.

  I glance behind us. Terrible grey beasts streak down the stairs, bones visible through their festering skin. Large antlers rise from their heads.

  Shit.

  What are those things?

  Yanking at the door with shaking hands, I manage to tear it open as the vicious snarls and snapping come closer. The little dog jumps from my arms.

  “No!” My scream comes out as more of a strangled gasp.

  He’s so small his legs make my fingers look giant, and his entire body doesn’t come close to the size of one of their paws.

  Except he doesn’t fall to his certain doom or become a snack for those scary beasts. No, he transforms into a three-headed glowing skeleton of a dog.