“I’ve got him,” I replied in a growl.

  Stefano hesitated before passing Zephyr into my grasp, and I snatched him up. Zephyr whined as he was jostled, and I now saw that his wrists were bound with a man’s necktie. The knot was so tight that his hands had begun to lose their color. I would cut the tie the moment we got to the car, but I had to maintain a shade of indifference in the current company.

  His cherry vanilla smell curled in my nostrils, though it was muddied by the notes of Stefano’s cologne. The rich musk, combined with Zephyr’s aroma, was so powerful it started my heart kicking double time. Old love and new tangled together, and I lingered for a moment with Zephyr hugged against my chest and Stefano hovering close. Too close.

  Scowling, I shook off the knowledge that I too had a list of wishes, and Stefano Rossetti was far too near the top. Pity I couldn’t make deals with myself. I would have gladly signed away my feelings for him. Bartered to be free of our shared past. Or at least forget it.

  Heavily laden with the stares of everyone in the room, I took my leave.

  Colette was on me the moment we hit the hallway, her stiletto heels clipping along as she closed the space between us. In the elevator, she shifted. Protective muscle melted into mother hen as she shrugged out of her suit jacket and tucked it over Zephyr’s bare chest like a blanket.

  “Tiens bon, mon petit,” she said, adjusting the collar with a tenderness that made something cinch behind my ribs. “Ça va aller.”

  He stirred, first squeezing his eyes shut harder then forcing them open with what seemed like a mammoth effort. When he focused on me, his reactive flinch tore a hole in my heart.

  “B-Beck?” His arms strained against the binding tie, and he winced again. “I’m sorry.” The furrow between his brows cut in deeply, and his words slurred together in a stream. “I did-didn’t mean… wasn’t trying to hurt you. I didn’t know. I don’t know me. Myself. An-and I…” He gulped down a sob before whispering timidly, “Beck, did you… did you come for me?”

  I nodded before I could speak. “Yes,” I said, but it wasn’t enough. “Of course I did.”

  His lips trembled, then his voice came again, a frayed thread. “You… you’re not… through with me?”

  Fuck.

  I had said that.

  I’d thrown those words like a dagger, then left it lodged in him. For days.

  My eyes dropped to the floor of the elevator car, and I shook my head. “No, Beauty. I’m not.”

  He sagged. From relief or exhaustion, I couldn’t tell, but it shattered me all the same.

  I wouldn’t be through with him in forty-eight hours either, but I tried not to think about that. Not yet. I needed to focus on the immediate: getting him home, then getting him fed so he didn’t look so much like a corpse. The husk of what I knew he could be.

  On the ground floor, I moved like I was a thief rather than a victor, stealing away with something that should never have been given. People were neither property nor prizes. My incubus deserved better, and I would give that to him as soon as I found a way.

  Colette kept up, using her body to shield Zephyr from gawking stares as we hurried toward the exit. She’d taken one of his hands at some point and now held it. Their connection felt important. Necessary.

  She reminded him of his mother.

  We made it outside and did not slow, trekking swiftly back to where we’d parked the limo. I kept my head down and my pace steady, arms cinched tightly around Zephyr’s body as we cut across the plaza. He was breathing shallow and even against my chest, slack with sleep or shock or both.

  The Basilica was barely at our backs when a deep voice called from behind us.

  “Lucas!”

  I knew who it was, but even if I didn’t, I could hardly ignore my name being bellowed over the midday hubbub.

  “Beck!”

  I stopped. Not because I wanted to. Not because he deserved it. But because my heart still responded to that voice with the ache of a bruise being pressed.

  My jaw clenched. I adjusted my arms to hold Zephyr tighter, then I turned.

  Stefano strode down the steps in a beam of sunlight, his damn wings spread wide enough to draw eyes. People parted for him. Some brazenly stared, others backed away.

  I should’ve kept walking, but some part of me—the stupid, bleeding part—waited.

  When he reached us, breathless and flushed, I turned my shoulder. But I didn’t actually move.

  “Lucas.” His hand entered my peripheral, fingers stretching toward my arm.

  I shifted before he could touch me. “Whatever you want to say, Stefano, don’t bother,” I said. “I’ve seen enough. You’ve done enough.”

  “I didn’t do this,” he said quickly. “I wouldn’t.”

  “No?” Indignation spun me around. “So, you’re not dealing in demon energy? Buying it wholesale from Maslow like you’re stocking a fucking vending machine?”

  The angel’s ivory skin splotched with red.

  Good. He deserved to be ashamed.

  “That wasn’t my idea,” he said.

  I laughed without humor. “Let me guess: Antonella.”

  The mention of his sister set him back. Despite the angels being formed fully grown, he acted like a child when it came to her. Always following her orders and footsteps, even when they led him into trouble.

  “She has a vision,” he defended weakly.

  “She has delusions,” I corrected. “And she has your spine in a jar on her desk. She always did. Looks like she always will.”

  I was ready to go. Really, I was. The timing of this unhappy reunion could not have been worse. I didn’t want to waste my energy on Stefano when Zephyr needed me. And I was more aware than ever that I needed him too.

  Before I could depart, Stefano spoke again. “Lucas, I-I can’t tell you how long I’ve thought about this. You. Us. I planned…” His brow creased under the fringe of silver hair. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

  “For a hundred years?” I snapped. “What’s kept you? I wasn’t hiding. I live right across the damn street.”

  His wings rustled. “I know. I’m sorry. For so many things. Including that debacle upstairs. I didn’t realize he was…” He glanced at Zephyr, who was slumped against my chest with his head tucked under my chin. “Important to you.”

  “Who said he was?” The words came out brittle and false, too obviously a denial. I shook my head, jaw aching with how hard I gritted my teeth.

  I thought back to the poker match I should have lost. Stefano threw the game intentionally; I was sure of it. Was he trying to curry my forgiveness? It was far too late for that.

  “Why did you fold?” I asked finally.

  “I thought you had me beat.”

  I scoffed. “I assure you, I didn’t.”

  Stefano gave a slight nod and let his gaze drop with it. “It seemed like it mattered more to you.”

  My fingers curled around Zephyr’s shoulder. I didn’t have a reply. Not one I could say with him here, unconscious and vulnerable and mine. Nothing I could admit with Colette watching like a wolf behind her lashes.

  I’d told Zephyr we were through and immediately regretted it, but now, staring at the man I’d spent decades pining after, I realized what I’d lacked. Closure. The ability to walk away on my own terms rather than being left standing, staring at a void and wishing someone would fill it. Knowing that, I was almost grateful Stefano had chased me down. He’d given me the chance to say aloud what had lurked in my mind for so long.

  “It does matter,” I said, soft at first, then building as I straightened my spine and held Stefano’s gaze. “He matters.” I indicated Zephyr. “And he is important to me.”

  Something shifted behind Stefano’s eyes. Not surprise—he was too composed for that. This was closer to sorrow.

  “I’m glad,” he said quietly.

  It was too graceful, too final. I would have preferred anger. A fight. Something to scratch against. But his acceptance left me fumbling.

  “And he’s not…” My throat bobbed. “He’s not whatever Maslow told you he was.”

  “Maslow didn’t tell me anything,” Stefano said. “And it wouldn’t have mattered if he had.” He took a small step forward, wings drawing in and expression softening. “I’ve only ever wanted happiness for you, Lucas. If I can’t give it to you, then I’m glad you’ve found it in someone else.”

  There it was.

  The ending I never got.

  I gave a jerky nod, not trusting my voice.

  Zephyr stirred faintly, curling a little closer to my chest.

  Turning to Colette, Stefano nodded to her like he had across the card table.

  “Take care of him, won’t you?” he asked.

  Colette bobbed her head, then threaded her arm through the crook of my elbow. “Come, mon ami.” Her nudge spurred me into motion. “Let’s go home.”

  Bringing Zephyr back to my suite was bittersweet. He cried while I cut the tie off his wrists, then let me hold him on the ride to the Grecian, rubbing the feeling back into his blood-deprived hands and kissing his curled fingers.

  I wasn’t sure what had transpired before my arrival at the poker game, but evidence of cruelty was stamped on Zephyr’s skin. Bruises from rough hands ringed his arms and collared his throat, and his lower lip had a split like it had been bitten, and not by him.

  I didn’t wake him to ask about it, fairly certain it was something neither of us would benefit by discussing. Instead, I let him sleep through the drive and the elevator trip to the thirtieth floor, where I returned Colette’s jacket then carried Zephyr into my suite.

  I intended to draw a bath and ease him into it. Sit with him there and let the warm water cleanse and soothe us both. But I couldn’t do much with my hands full, so I stopped by my bed to lay him down.

  When I set him on the mattress, he cried out like something in him broke. Arms flailed weakly and then caught hold of me—gripping so hard I didn’t think, just wrapped him back up in my embrace. He buried his face against my neck, breath hitching, skin clammy with sweat and his body trembling like some kind of addict.

  The apologies started immediately. Slurred nonsense, cut with gasps and hiccupping sobs that spilled out as he writhed against me. His fingers roamed clumsily, sliding down my chest and lower, brushing my belt with shaky insistence. His mouth chased mine, lips grazing my jaw, then my cheek, panting hot and open like he didn’t know how to stop himself.

  “Please,” he whimpered, frantic. “Please, one more time, Beck. I need… I can’t—don’t send me back like this. Don’t send me away.”

  “I’m not sending you anywhere,” I said, reminding him of what we’d discussed at the Basilica. I went there for him, and we were far from through.

  Cupping his face, I tried to steady him, but he wouldn’t still. My jacket hit the floor in a whisper of fabric, shoved off my shoulders by hands that barely worked.

  “Zephyr, stop. Baby, come on.” I tried to pull free, but he held on tighter.

  “I-I’ll make it good for you,” he sputtered, violet eyes wide. “I’ll be such a good… good boy. I feel nice, don’t I? Wet, and hot, and…” He shifted under me with a shaky grind of his hips. “And don’t you like fucking me?”

  His words cracked something open in my chest. Shame. Longing. Fury. None of it at him.

  “Zephyr, please…”

  I was begging now. Not for sex. For mercy—from him, from myself, from whatever power had created a creature like this and allowed him to suffer.

  Zephyr stopped wriggling, then tilted his head, expression settling from its previous frenzy. “Do you think my dick is pretty?” he asked.

  The question came out with strange clarity, like it mattered more than anything else in the world. Maybe, to him right now, it did.

  I swallowed hard, my throat thick. “You’re beautiful, baby,” I assured him. “Every inch of you. But you don’t want me like this.”

  His next blink unleashed a tear, and his lips trembled as he whispered, “I do want you, Daddy. I want you to feed me.”

  Daddy.

  The weight of that word hit me dead center. It wasn’t playful or filthy. Not thrown around for the sake of a kink. It was bare and aching. Something small and starved reaching for comfort. Reaching for me.

  It could’ve made me feel powerful. Instead, it made me feel responsible. Like I was supposed to protect him, provide for him. He wanted me in that way, and I didn’t have to think hard before realizing I wanted it too.

  I wanted to shield him from the clawing hunger. The soul-deep emptiness almost too big for his body to contain.

  He wasn’t trying to seduce me. He was trying to stay alive.

  “All right, baby,” I said, voice shaking. “Daddy’s gonna take care of you. We’ll get you clean and settled. Take it real slow. And I’m going to send Colette for real clothes. No more of this whore shit.”

  Zephyr let out a little noise and sagged in my arms, fingers curling in my shirt.

  I pressed a kiss to his temple and whispered, “Bath first. Then we’ll figure out the rest. I’m not going anywhere.”

  I was reluctant to leave him, afraid he would perceive my absence as rejection, but he stayed calm while I got him situated in a heap of pillows, then scurried into the bathroom to start the tub filling.

  Perched on the edge of the porcelain bath, I took a moment for my thoughts.

  Stefano had played the game to give me another chance of winning. He hadn’t said so, but I could deduce. He’d worried about my foolhardy offer and the potential consequences—what I stood to lose. And he’d forfeited at the end to ensure I could carry my incubus out of there. He’d protected Zephyr and me.

  I owed him a debt of gratitude, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.

  After years of storing up resentment toward the angel, any other sentiment seemed ill-fitting. But I couldn’t deny that his actions had got me here, with my Beauty, and forty-eight hours to solve the problem of how to free him from Maslow’s clutches for good.

  Perhaps… not just him.

  The thought of Darby and the cowboy twins was unwanted but not unexpected. Zephyr had found a benefactor in me. A champion willing to rally to his cause. But the other dolls had nothing. They’d survived in Maslow’s hell on Earth for years, relying on no one but each other. Weren’t they equally worthy of rescue?

  The water roared from the faucet, and steam filled the air. I took a deep breath.

  Maybe I could learn a lesson from my angelic ex. Maybe it was my turn to play a game to give someone else a chance at winning. To safeguard someone else’s foolish wager. Every one of the Dollhouse dolls had gone all in on Maslow’s empty promises, and I wouldn’t see them punished for it. Not anymore.

  It was time to ante up.

  CHAPTER

  THIRTY-SIX

  Zephyr

  I dreamed of warm places and wet hands sliding over my skin. Water washed away the memories of strange men grinning and groping, making me cry. I woke in Beck’s bed, in his arms, being slow-fed bites of his lust. The fragments of desire were broken off something much larger. Something more meaningful than a primal urge.

  It was in his eyes. The light I’d searched for the night I met him. A pale yellow glow. When he blinked, it was like a firefly flickering, and I remembered that I did love them. When I was a child, I used to chase them. I would race through tall grass, twisting and twirling to capture one of the bright little bugs. Then I would cup my palms around it and hold on, feeling as triumphant as if I’d snatched a star from the sky.

  I stared at Beck, thinking of past places and forgotten things, until I remembered something recent. The poker game he’d carried me away from. The sidewalk meeting with the angel, Stefano. Arriving here, where I’d been overcome by the demon in me. My hunger had grown too strong, become too much. It would have consumed me, but Beck was there, and I’d told him what I needed—what I needed him to be.

  Darby was right. The way Beck held me now, stripped to his underwear between luxurious cotton sheets, was not like a sugar daddy. There were no dicks in asses, though I did want that. This was closeness and comfort. A connection I’d thought severed. And a clinging bit of doubt.

  Beck had said a lot of things, sometimes conflicting things, and while I hoped he’d simply changed his mind, I needed to know for certain if he meant what he was telling me now.

  That he wasn’t going anywhere.

  That he would take care of me.

  That he would be my…

  “About what I… called you.” I swallowed hard. “It’s just something Darby said. I didn’t mean⁠—”

  “You can call me whatever you want,” Beck cut in while coiling languid fingers in my hair. “I called you Beauty because that’s what I see in you. I assume you must have felt the same.”

  “I did,” I said. Then added in a quieter voice, “I do.”

  Beck’s expression was profoundly sincere. “Then I’ll be your Daddy, and you’ll be my Beauty.”

  The statement made my insides churn, stirring the good and bad of the past few days into a sickly sludge. I’d been closer to happiness than ever before, only to have it stripped away. I was sent back where I belonged, then caged in with the consequences of my actions. My regrets and fears compounded. Then I was Maslow’s whore on parade. His salesman’s sample, and what happened in the Basilica’s hallowed halls had been its own sample of the life the wraith intended for me.

  I felt nauseous from the persistent hunger, from the thought of a future of rooms full of men who wanted to taste me, touch me, tear me apart. And Maslow would be there with his hand on my back, pulling everything out until I was reduced to skin and bones.

  I didn’t mean to cry again, but it was happening already. A flood of feeling spilled out, and I drew into myself, terrified of how much I wanted. How desperately I longed to be free of Maslow. How I craved a view uninterrupted by prison bars. How I wished this could be my home for more than one night. How I still wanted to keep Beck… maybe forever.

  His hand moved from my hair to my cheek, drying the tears that dripped from my lashes. “What’s wrong?” he murmured.