“What did she say to you?” I ask Anna when the cabin is in sight.

“That they’re celebrating our marriage in heaven!” She laughs, and I shake my head at this astounding turn of events.

We burst through the cabin doors and I shut the door, locking it. Then I take Anna’s face in both my hands and walk her over to the wall where I can hold her in place. I’m finally coming down from the adrenaline rush of fear.

“You scared me to death,” I tell her. “Don’t ever leave me like that again.”

“I’m so sorry. You were sound asleep, and I saw her . . . I know it was dumb, but she was like . . .”

I think of her mother’s bright, welcoming form. “A beacon?”

“Yes.” She takes my wrists, rubbing them to soothe me.

“Were they really celebrating us? Up there?”

Her smile is luminous. “They really were.”

Unbelievable. I try to imagine it, that the souls in heaven know us—not just Anna, but me, as well—and they’re cheering for us. I want to ask why they would celebrate us but never give us the chance to be there with them, to join them in heaven, when we leave this place.

Anna breaks my desolate train of thought by crushing her lips to mine, and I react on instinct, pressing her back against the wall and dropping my hands to her body. I remember how I felt when I awoke, before I knew she was gone, and that need returns with a vengeance.

“Let’s not sleep tonight,” Anna says.

Oh, woman, you’re speaking my language. “I’m going to let you make all the rules in this marriage, Anna.”

“Good boy.”

I laugh and grasp her around the waist. She looks down and gasps.

“You’re bleeding!”

I glance at the scrapes and cuts along my feet, ankles, and legs from where I ran in the darkness. Most of the blood is already dry.

“I’m fine. Nearly healed already.” But she frowns, and I know she wants to nurse me. I kiss her pouting lips and tighten my hands around her waist.

When I lift her, she wraps her legs around me and I carry her to an oversized chair. I fall back onto it and give her bum a good slap, making her scream. “Hey!”

I hush her complaint with another kiss, and pull her hips down against mine until she lets her head fall back and sinks into my lap perfectly.

It’s still our wedding night. She’s all mine until the sun rises and it’s time to release her back into the world. Until then, let the celebration continue.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Unexpected

“Miles away I can still feel you,

Lay your head down on my embrace.”

—“When You Can’t Sleep at Night” by Of Mice & Men

When I get off the plane in L.A., there are two messages waiting for me from a hospital in Atlanta. I nearly lose my mind until I hear the words “Richard Rowe. . . .” I hail a cab as I ring the number and get transferred to the doctor on duty.

“Kaidan Rowe?” asks the man solemnly.

“Yes. That’s me.” I climb into the cab and show the driver my address on my ID so he knows where to go.

“I’m terribly sorry to have to tell you this, son, but your father had a heart attack at home early this morning or possibly during the night. One of his employees found him and called nine-one-one, but it was too late at that point. I’m very sorry. Your father is gone.”

What? Was this planned? I am gripping the phone and staring blankly at the city as it passes by the windows.

“Um . . .” I need to say something. “But, he was so . . . healthy.”

Lame. My shock is real, but it’s hard to fake grief.

“Yes, he did appear to be quite healthy. I know this must be difficult. We’re doing a full autopsy to see for certain what the cause of death was.”

I can tell them the cause—a demon leaving a body equals death of said body.

My eyes dart around the skies. I’ve no clue what Father looks like in spirit form. Or where his next duty station will be, if this is his changing of the guard. Nice of him to clue me in that this madness would be happening.

The doctor clears his throat. “Do you have family or anyone you can call for help? There’s quite a bit you’ll need to look into right away, son. It can be overwhelming. I’d recommend contacting his lawyer first, to see if he has a will with instructions, and an insurance policy.”

“Oh, er, yes.” I sniff loudly. “I’ll do that. Thank you. Thank you for your help.”

I hang up and glare out the window. Bloody hell. This is just what I need. I’ve no idea who Father’s lawyer is or where to begin. I let my head fall back onto the seat as we weave in and out of traffic on the highway, slamming on the brakes and racing forward again, then coming to another dead stop. Damned L.A. traffic.

My apartment feels like an abandoned place where I don’t belong. It’s depressing without Anna. For the second day in a row, I open the freezer and stare at the meals she made for me. I don’t want to eat them, because then they’ll be gone and I won’t be able to gaze at them like a bloody sap anymore.

I can imagine her indignant face if she finds out I’m not eating the food she prepared—her little fists on her hips, scolding me with that accent. Most likely naked. I grin at the imaginary Anna. Okay, I’ll eat them. Eventually. One a week, perhaps.

We’ll see.

I pace the kitchen and living room. I have practice tonight with the band, so that’ll be good. I need distractions, to keep me busy. Hopefully Anna Malone won’t be there.

I want the drama over with. I told everyone at work that my father died and I’d have to fly to Georgia for a few days. Thankfully that put them off from questioning my love life for the moment.

The lawyer rang me yesterday, saying he’d been instructed to contact me if anything ever happened to Father. His Atlanta estate is to be sold, Father’s body is to be cremated, and the insurance policy will cash out. As Richard Rowe’s only known family member and heir, I will be receiving the entire “sizable” payout. The lawyer used the word “sizable” several times.

Thing is, I won’t get to keep all that. Father will need the fortune to live his next life in style. I’ll get my cut, and then I’m on my own. Financially. But I’ll always answer to him.

I wish I knew where he was. The only good thing is that it takes quite a while to find a new body. At least that’s what I’ve heard. The Dukes are right picky. Father won’t be able to sniff Anna out if he doesn’t have a nose, so I don’t have to worry about him going after her just yet.

Belial told Anna to go on to college like she’d planned, and pretend to work. He thinks staying on the run will look too suspicious for her. Now that she’s not a virgin, Belial is hoping the Dukes will second-guess themselves.

I worry about Belial’s assumptions, but he’s known the other Dukes a bloody long time. I hope he knows their behaviors well enough not to put Anna’s neck on the line.

I shut the freezer door and order out for Thai. I hate standing around waiting and worrying like a useless git. In two days I’ll fly to Georgia to sign estate paperwork and retrieve Father’s remains, which are going straight down a toilet at the dodgiest petrol station I can find. But at least I’ll be in the east, on the go.

I slump onto my leather couch and grab a pad of paper and a pen, ready to scratch out some lyrics.

And then my mobile dings with a text.

It’s a picture from Anna. That’s strange. I open it and stare.

And stare some more.

Fucking hell, little Ann.

I ogle a picture of her tangled in a sheet, a knee up; her hip, thigh, and arse showing beautifully against a scrap of black fabric that hardly qualifies as knickers.