Osiris held their glares, jaw tight, eyes shadowed with regret and something Kimba recognized as fear. Not of them, but of himself.

  Kimba felt the pain of the bond, her own and Rory’s, now humming with protectiveness. But she also felt something else running beneath Osiris’s words: a brittle, desperate hope. He was raw, exposed in a way she’d never seen, and it was as terrifying as it was real.

  Rory, ever the perceptive one, picked up on Kimba’s inner storm. She stepped forward, putting a hand on Aston’s arm. “Let’s call it a night,” she said, her voice steady but gentle. “We’re all running on fumes, and trust doesn't come without action. It will take time.” Her eyes flicked to Kimba, then to Osiris. “We can hope Ra and Shelly get back tomorrow. Maybe we’ll see things more clearly after some sleep.”

  Gabby looked like she wanted to argue, but Liam nudged her, and she huffed out a sigh. Tara and Elias shared a look, then moved to follow the others toward the caves. Aston lingered, but Rory tugged him away with a look that brokered no argument.

  Within minutes, the clearing emptied, leaving only Kimba, Osiris, and the low, golden hush of twilight.

  Kimba’s heart thundered, her instincts warring with her longing, her fear with her need. She didn’t want to need him. She didn’t want to feel so exposed. But she was tired of fighting alone.

  She turned to face him fully now, arms loose at her sides, chin lifted in challenge and pain. “They’re right, you know. Words aren’t enough. You have to show me, show all of us something real.”

  His eyes searched hers, haunted and hungry, and for a moment, the world shrank to just the two of them, two broken halves, orbiting the possibility of being whole.

  And then, as if on some unspoken cue, the old rhythm between them flickered uneasily, vulnerable, but alive.

  Osiris stood rooted as the others melted away, the world narrowing to Kimba and the silence that pressed between them. He had faced armies, chained Lucifer, ruled hell itself with a fist of iron and a heart of stone. But this . . . this was harder. This was honest. This was a battlefield he couldn’t command with fear or fire.

  He swallowed, the echo of the others’ accusations ringing in his memory. He wanted to bristle, to defend himself, to hurl back all the pain and anger he’d swallowed for centuries. But it wouldn’t matter. Kimba would see right through him. She always had.

  He dragged a hand through his hair, voice raw. “I don’t know how to fix this,” he admitted. “I don’t know how to be someone you can trust. I’ve spent so long being . . . less. Being cruel, being selfish, being numb. And now all I feel is everything I lost, everything I ruined.”

  He looked at her, willing her to see the truth, even if it was ugly. “You want me to show you something real? Here it is: I don’t know if I can be what you need. I don’t know if I can love you the way you deserve. I don’t know if I remember how.”

  Kimba’s breath caught, her eyes shining, not with tears, but with that fierce, indomitable light that had always drawn him, even in the darkness. “Do you want to?”

  He flinched, the question sharper than a blade. Did he want to? Did he dare? The part of him that was still the king resisted. Love was weakness, vulnerability, a risk. But the part that was soul-bonded to her, that remembered what it was to be whole, ached for it with every fractured piece.

  He stepped closer, close enough to see the gold flecks in her irises, close enough that the heat of her anger and longing rolled off her in waves. “I want to try,” he whispered. “I want to remember. I want to be better, if not for me, then for you. For all of them.”

  Kimba’s lips trembled, and for the first time in centuries, he saw her uncertainty, her fear that he’d break her again. It hurt, that knowledge.

  It also felt like a promise.

  She reached for him, but stopped herself, hands curling into fists. “I don’t need you to be perfect, Osiris. I need you to try. I need you to fight for us the way I fought for you, even when you didn’t know it.”

  He closed the last distance between them, his hand trembling as he reached for hers. “Guide me,” he said, voice shaking. “Please. I don’t trust myself yet. But I trust you.”

  The bond between them flared, a pulse of heat and pain and hope, and for a moment it felt like the world held its breath.

  Kimba’s fingers twined with his, anchoring him. “We do this together. No more half-measures. No more running from what we are.”

  He bowed his head, forehead pressed to hers, letting the bond knit them together, raw and real. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, and for the first time, he meant it, not just for what he’d done, but for what he’d become.

  She squeezed his hand, fierce and gentle all at once. “So am I. But we’re still here. That has to mean something.”

  And in the hush that followed, they stood, two souls, battered and bruised, but unbroken. The first step was the hardest, but it was a step. And for now, that was enough.

  CHAPTER 10

  “Our past does not define us. However, it can set a precedent for our future if we aren’t careful. When we have been wrong, we must make amends and fix what we can. When we have stepped off the correct path, we must return to it. If we burn a bridge, then we build a new one through humility. We never give up on the possibility of being better, doing better tomorrow, or the next day, or the one after that. That is the beauty of life. Second chances are a daily option. ” ~Ra

  The Blackhorn coven mansion loomed ahead, its stone façade streaked with moss, the windows reflecting nothing but gray sky and the promise of unfinished business. The garden was a tangle of thistle and lavender gone wild, scenting the air with something sharp and medicinal. Ra’s boots crunched on gravel and dead leaves with every step, the sound oddly loud in the hush that seemed to press against the old estate.

  Ra had never considered himself a man prone to nerves. He was a pharaoh, a fire elementalist, and, if Shelly was to be believed, a stubborn, overprotective brute with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer. But even with all of that, he was still just a man.

  Shelly squeezed his hand as they materialized in the cramped entryway. “You look tense,” she murmured, voice pitched low for his ears only.

  He grunted, scanning the room for threats, or at the very least, for a cup of coffee. “I don’t do witches,” he muttered.

  She smirked. “Damn right you don’t.”

  He and Shelly reached the door, and before he could even raise a hand, it opened with a low groan that echoed down the dim, wood-paneled hallway. Penny stood there, framed by dusty sunlight and the faint, acrid aroma of burnt sage. Her hair was a riot of purple streaks and frizz, her t-shirt read, “Witch, please.” And her jeans looked like they’d lost a fight with a pack of wolves. There was a faint, underlying smell of bread baking—warm, yeasty, almost comforting—clashing with the bitter tang of spell ingredients.

  Penny eyed them, her gaze flicking from Shelly to Ra’s arms, where Aviur’s runes used to snake up them like ink stains. She looked a little surprised. “Looks like you managed to get rid of the unwanted dark fire king’s tattoos. ” She wrinkled her nose. “Although, I’m sure it wasn’t pleasant.”

  “Dragon fire rarely is,” Ra said coolly.

  Penny winced. “Yeah, that must have sucked. So, what brings the pharaoh back to my doorstep this time? And you’ve brought the woman who made you risk your immortal soul. Hope you brought snacks this time. I just pulled a loaf out of the oven, but I’m not sharing if this is another drama dump.”

  Shelly blinked, the flicker of jealousy in her eyes almost as bright as the afternoon light slanting through the stained glass above the stairs. “We’re not here for bread, thanks.”

  Ra’s jaw tightened as he stepped inside. The house was stuffy, thick with the ghosts of too many spells and too many secrets. Dust motes spun in the beams from the windows, and something sticky clung to the floor near the baseboards—maybe old honey, maybe something less innocent. “We need your help,” he said, his voice low, the echo of his words swallowed by the velvet hush of the parlor.

  Penny turned her attention back to Ra, her gaze going once again to his now blank forearms. Then it ran up to meet his stare. “Still rocking the demon-accessory look, I see.” She made a “peace” sign with her fingers and pointed at her face, and then his. “Those eyes . . . ” She whistled, circling him. “Still black as a pit and creepy as hell. No offense.”

  Ra rolled his eyes. “Are you done? Or do you want to continue to catalogue what has and hasn’t changed about me since our last meeting?”

  Penny grinned. “Maybe later. Back to your request for my assistance. I’m going to have to go with a firm no. And just for kicks, I’ll add a hell to the no.” She sighed as she shook her head. “Why can’t anyone come knocking just to catch up with an old friend? But nope, they’re looking for spells to create endless amounts of money–side note, that’s not a thing. They want help with demon wrangling or access to grimoires. You know, I’m more than just a witch. I’ve got needs, too. I have emotions and feelings.” She suddenly snapped her mouth shut as if she realized she’d just shared information she hadn’t meant to. “Ignore me. Apparently, I’m due to see my therapist.”

  Shelly cut in, her voice a shade too bright. “We need your help, Penny. Actual help, not stupid spells for our own gain. It’s about Rory. She’s got a memory block, something her so-called mother put on her. We need someone who can break it.”

  Penny’s brows shot up. “Memory block? Witch work, or demon?”

  Ra folded his arms. “Witch. Danni was crafty. She wanted Rory to forget where she came from.”

  Penny’s jaw clenched at the mention of the dead high priestess. “Figures. Danni always was a control freak with a flair for the dramatic. Let me guess, she left behind a trail of emotional devastation and questionable parenting choices?”

  Shelly snorted. “You have no idea.”

  Penny turned to root through a cluttered shelf, muttering, “I might have a book on mental bindings . . . or a cocktail recipe. Sometimes I mix up the two. But I give you what you want, and then I’m out, okay? I did my time. I watched my sisters pay for deals they never should’ve struck. All I want is to bake my bread and pretend none of you exist. There’s other witches, the few that are left, who can assist you in your memory hunting.” She stood and turned to face them. She shot Ra a look, her face scrunched up with doubt. “You do realize asking a witch to undo another witch’s work is like asking a cat to unclog a hairball? Possible, but messy.”

  “We can’t go to another witch,” Ra said, his voice clipped. “You’re the only one we trust.”

  Ra could feel Shelly tense beside him—the charge of her anger, the hint of ozone that always came when her temper spiked. “We wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”

  Penny snorted, tossing a rag onto a battered side table. “Everything’s important to someone. That’s how my coven got roasted. You guys want to play world savior, go ahead, I’ll give you what might help. But I’m done. I want quiet. I want normal. I want to be the weird neighbor with a cat, not the last line of defense against hell.”

  A draft whistled through the cracked window glass, making the candle flames on the mantel gutter and dance. The air in the room felt thick—too warm, too close, the kind of heat that made sweat bead at the back of Ra’s neck and his skin itch beneath his shirt. He took a slow breath, tasting the salt of old tears and the bitterness of burnt herbs.

  “Rory deserves to know who she is,” he said, voice rough. “She’s . . . one of the good ones. She didn’t choose any of this.”

  Penny crossed her arms, leaning against the scarred kitchen table. “And you think I did? You think any of us did? You know how many ‘good ones’ I buried? How many sisters I watched burn, screaming, because someone else decided to meddle in things they didn’t understand?”

  Penny studied him, her expression softening just a fraction. “And what about you, King Tut? Did you have a choice when you tangled with darkness, or have you figured out how to use all that fire for something besides destruction?”

  Shelly bristled, stepping closer to Ra. “His choices are his own. And we aren’t here to talk about my mate. We’re here to talk about a young girl who endured something tragic, then had it wiped from her mind. She suffered years of psychological and emotional abuse at the whims of a selfish, power-hungry witch who didn’t deserve the quick death she got from the fire of the dragons. If you sit on the sidelines now, when you know you could help, that makes you no better than Danni. ”

  Penny’s mouth tilted in a small smirk. “Damn, she’s a firecracker.” The smirk dropped as she frowned. “And also wordy manipulative.”

  “I think you mean manipulative with words,” Shelly corrected. “And I’ll do worse than manipulate someone if it is for the good of someone I care about.”

  After at least a minute, Penny huffed. “Fine,” she said, voice flat. “But I want it noted that I’m not happy about it. And if this goes sideways, don’t come crying to me. I’ll be long gone, living under a new name in some town where the weirdest thing is a cat that wears sweaters.” She started shoving things into a battered leather satchel—vials clinking, dried flowers snapping, her movements sharp and irritated. “Considering Rory isn’t with you, I’m guessing you want me to go to where she is?”

  Ra nodded as he shifted restlessly. “Considering she's bonded to a dragon, we figured it was a better idea for her to stay put. Kimba is nearly as possessive of her rider as Aston, Rory’s mate, is. And a dragon sitting out there on your street would draw a little bit of attention.”

  Penny closed the satchel and put it over her head so it rested across her body, then grabbed an old book and faced them. “One condition: if a demon shows up, since they’re sort of running amok as we speak, you and your firepower better handle it. I don’t do demons. Never have, never will.”

  Ra nodded once, all business. “You have my word.”

  Penny’s eyes lingered on Shelly for a moment, then drifted to Ra’s face, her own expression unreadable. “You better. Because if I die for this, I’ll haunt you both. And I won’t be subtle about it. Imagine one of those horror movies where people try to get an exorcist to get rid of the ghost. That’ll be me.”

  Ra opened the portal, the swirl of power making the air crackle and the taste of ozone stronger. Penny hesitated at the threshold, running a hand through her tangled hair, her reluctance as thick as the dust in the corners.

  Penny looked up at Ra, her tone having changed. “You know,” she said, her voice almost lost in the sudden wind of magic, “sometimes the only way to survive is to stop being the person everyone expects you to be. Remember that.” Then she looked back at the portal with a muttered curse and stepped through.

  Shelly followed, her hand gripping Ra’s like a lifeline. Ra took one last look around the ruined coven house—at the flickering candles, the battered table, the bread cooling on the counter–and then entered the portal. As Ra stepped through after them, he felt, for the first time since Aviur’s magic, like maybe he was more than just his past and the product of his ancestors. Maybe, like Penny said, he didn’t have to be who they expected him to be. But lurking in the back of his mind, cold as ice and persistent as a splinter, was the memory of the deal he’d made with Viscious, the dark fire king. With everything else swirling around him, it was like living in a storm, always waiting for the next strike of lightning.

  CHAPTER 11

  “Darkness is patient. It waits, it watches, and when hope flickers, it devours.”

  ~Lucifer

  His existence was no longer silent.

  Lucifer’s awakening was not the stuff of myth or legend; it was the tearing of veils, the groan of stone, the slow, inexorable shattering of every ward and chain the so-called keepers had ever dared to forge. Light had never reached this far. Hope had never lingered this deep. And now, as the last trace of Osiris’s claim faded from the marrow of the underworld, Lucifer opened his eyes.

  There was no warmth in him. No flicker of memory, love, or regret. He was hunger. He was emptiness. He was the echo of every wish ever denied, every plea ever left unanswered. And now, he was free.

  He rose from the throne of bone and blackened gold, the iron shackles falling from his wrists with the hiss of dying embers. Power, ancient and cold, filled the chamber; the shadows themselves recoiled as he moved. The air tasted of ash and lost faith, a tang that scraped the throat and coated the tongue with bitterness.

  He noticed a scurrying movement and saw Crecious. He remembered him as a loyal demon, powerless and at times a waste of space. He was already groveling at the foot of the dais. The little demon’s claws scraped nervously at the stone, his eyes wide and wet with anticipation and fear. The scent of brimstone and old blood trailed in his wake.

  “Lord Lucifer,” Crecious breathed, his voice a sibilant whine that echoed from the vaulted, blackened arches above. “Welcome. Welcome back to your kingdom.” His small form shivered as if hell was cold and not filled with eternal flames.

  Lucifer regarded him with eyes like shards of obsidian. “My kingdom has been left wanting.”

  Crecious squirmed, eager to please. “Oh, yes, Lord, yes. Much has changed.”

  Lucifer descended the steps, every motion deliberate, predatory. “Then speak. Begin with the soulkeepers. Where is Osiris?”

  Crecious’s tail flicked, scales scraping dryly on the stone. “He is gone, my Lord. He abandoned his throne, left hell to rot. He is in the upper realms, chasing after the mate he forgot. The balance is broken, shattered. The gate was breached by dragons. Demons walk the earth. Dragons took some down, but many, many remain.”

  Lucifer’s smile was a chasm, black and bottomless. Demons on the loose topside was a good thing. “And the gate?”