I woke in an unfamiliar place on an unfamiliar couch. The material pressed to my cheek was rigid, well-made, yet harsh and unyielding. I only recognized Darius by his silhouette against the sweeping plate-glass window. Beyond him was a yellow sky cast in the tired shades of the afternoon sun. I rose slowly, wincing at the fresh bruises the accident had given me as I squinted toward the couch beneath me. It was of a modern style, made with sharp angles and rigid, square cushions.

As my senses returned, I realized the entire space was modern and styled with vaunted appeal. I was in a large, cavernous room comprised of slate floors, concrete walls, and contemporary furnishings. The sofa and the armchair stood sentinel at the side of a glass coffee table. The hearth was paved with the same dark slate as the floor and did not appear to have ever been used. There wasn't a television to be seen and there were very few colors in the eerily monochrome room. There were lavender sprigs in a white vase on the coffee table. A gold throw had been arranged over the sofa I lay on in a bid to keep the dirt and blood from staining the spotless cushions.

There was a single picture framed above the hearth. It was crafted in a Romantic style, painted with oils and soft blushes of color. The image brought to mind the work of Fuseli's The Nightmare; a woman lay prone upon a velvet settee, her dark tresses tumbling in a waterfall of russet-colored curls. A man loomed over her, partially enveloped by the painting's thicker shadows. His horns spiraled from his temples, and he had a hand upon her throat, his narrowed eyes burning like liquid gold.

It was an awfully intimate piece, and after studying it for a moment I averted my eyes.

The floor to ceiling window Darius stood at was the only source of light for the clinical room. A balcony stretched outside part of the window, holding a solitary chair, a wicker end table, and an ashtray.

I groaned as I sat up and brushed my hand across my brow. There was a small, fresh cut in my hairline zigzagged with sore stitches.

Darius turned his head to gift me with what was undoubtedly a grim expression. I couldn't tell with the sunlight pouring around him in soft, tawny bands. "So...how did you manage this latest example of prime idiocy?"

I leaned on my knees as my shoulders slouched. It figured the demon wouldn't even give me enough time to catch my breath before jumping down my throat. "I went to lunch. I saw a man in the café—a cultist. It was the one who had killed Tara. I recognized his face, so I followed him—and, well, you know the rest."

Darius muttered something under his breath as he faced the window again. "Stupid."

The Sin's arrogance ground on my already frazzled nerves. "What was I supposed to do? Let him get away?"

"Yes."

"What would that accomplish?!"

"The same end chasing the man accomplished; absolutely nothing."

I swallowed my next retort, allowing it to simmer in my throat. I couldn't argue the creature's logic; I accomplished nothing by following the cultist. In fact, I had inadvertently put others in danger. Any of those bystanders could have been hurt in the resulting collision. "The driver...I didn't see what he looked like." I remembered his terrified screams and shuddered, grateful I hadn't watched the man die by Darius' hand. "What did he look like?"

"Swarthy. Bearded, dark-haired."

I bit the inside of my lip. Neither of the men who had held me in the van had been Tara's murderer. "No. That wasn't the man I chased, either." I didn't understand how the bastard had gotten away. How had he...? The phone, my tired thoughts provided. He called the men in the van and led me to them while he made his escape.

I hadn't seen Darius move. He stood before the sofa as his forefinger tipped my chin upward so my gaze would meet his. "They were looking for you. Waiting." The demon's eyes were dark with hunger. How long had it been since he ate? His features were far narrower than they should be. "Our contract is becoming quite...dangerous. For you, anyway."

"Everything is dangerous for me. I'm not immortal." I shook him off and took another glance around the room. "Where are we?"

"Amoroth's apartment."

I blinked, waiting for an explanation. None came. "Why on earth...?"

The Sin shrugged and took a seat at my side, kicking his feet onto the coffee table. The lavender bobbed in its vase. "It was convenient, and she offered."

"No, I bloody well did not offer!" Amoroth's voice shouted from somewhere deeper within the cold penthouse. A refrigerator door slammed with a chattering of glass bottles striking one another, and the Sin of Lust appeared from a narrow hallway. She still wore her expensive couture but had foregone her towering stilettos. Her hair was caught in a messy chignon at the nape of her neck. She held a plate of food in one hand and a glass of water in the other.

She stomped closer to shove the plate toward Darius. "Get off of the furniture, you disgusting pig."

He ignored her as he devoured the proffered meal with famished speed. I was surprised Amoroth could cook—almost as surprised as I was that she had cooked for Darius. When she pressed the glass of water into my hand, I was convinced I had suffered a concussion and was now thoroughly deranged.

Then she opened her mouth. "Get dirt on my sofa and I'll use your blood to repaint my bedroom."

"I...I don't think I have enough blood for that," I said, dazed. Amoroth stormed off as Darius snickered into his steak. She slammed a door and something fell in one of the apartment's rooms. I gave the water a dubious glower. "I'd say she wasn't serious, but she is, isn't she?"

Darius shrugged as he continued to eat. His features regained their typical aspects as he replenished his energy.

"Darius..." I said as I set the untouched glass on the table. I threw a coaster beneath before letting go, worried the Sin of Lust just might make good on her threat if I left accidental water rings on her furniture. I had enough blood in me an accent wall at least, and I didn't want to tempt fate. "When I ran into the cultist, I mean I literally ran into the man. I knocked his binder onto the floor."

Darius twisted his hand to indicate that I should get on with my point.

"The binder was full of documents with the header G&R Supplies and Distribution."

The Sin hummed in recognition of my words as he wiped his mouth on Amoroth's blanket. "It warrants inspection. The cult appears to be quite well-off, judging by their attire. It would be plausible some of them must work within Verweald."

A sharp bell clanged from the adjacent foyer. Darius and I turned to watch as Amoroth, still fuming and barefoot, strode into the living room. She spat an acrid word to Darius on her way to answer the door. We couldn't see the entrance from where we sat, so it took another minute of muffled conversation before the Sin reappeared—followed by Dorian Ezra from Klau. The groomed man was visibly confused by my presence in his boss' penthouse, but he followed Amoroth into one of the back rooms without a word.

Darius had a cruel smile on his face as he spun the silver fork through his fingers. "I should call Cuxiel and tell him Amoroth has that boy in her house. Oh, his reaction would almost be worth the effort...."

I didn't know who Cuxiel was and, judging by Darius' soft tone, those words hadn't been meant for me. The Sin's mood was rather...blithe—if a six-foot menace who could put his fist through a man's sternum could be blithe. I wondered where he'd disappeared to that morning and what he had done to put himself in his current mood.

For now, such a question mattered little. "Thank you, Darius," I told the Sin, though I spoke to my knees. Large bruises bloomed on the swollen flesh, curtesy of the van's bumper.

"What are you thanking me for?" He set the plate on the table by my water but kept the fork in hand. He allowed it to spin through his dexterous fingers.

"For saving my life. Again. Thank you."

The Sin scoffed as he eased into the sofa's cushions and hooked an arm over the back. "You say that as if I had a choice."

I touched the hem of my skirt as my mind wandered. Didn't he have a choice, though? The Sin did not have to save my life. We had a contract and though Darius was convinced the premature loss of another host would reap his ruin—I knew there were humans who would do anything to have a demon like Darius at their beck and call. He could find someone. There were easier contracts, contracts that didn't require his time, his effort, his blood, or his pain.

I shut my eyes to the blinding sunlight. The time may yet come when the Sin of Pride would turn his back on me. He could forsake me in my direst hour and I would die, alone and bereft, in the hands of Verweald's monsters. If our contract was ever completed, Darius would kill me himself. I did not have a happy ending awaiting me—but, for now, I was grateful to be alive.

For so long, I had been disillusioned by my own existence. I had forgotten the magic of living, the renascent miracle of every golden dawn. My world had been a monochrome prison and it took nearly dying time and time again to realize what a technicolor wonderland being alive really was.

The living room was silent. The inarticulate mumbling of Amoroth and Dorian could be heard several rooms away.

"You were brave," Darius suddenly said, his tone low and introspective as he watched me.

I met his gaze, frowning.

"Not many women would chase their would-be murders through the city streets." He smirked, but his expression soon sobered. "Yes, you are brave. But also very stupid. Courage and stupidity are often indistinguishable from one another."

I sighed as I covered my face with my hand. "Thanks...I guess."

Darius rose, zipping his leather jacket as he did so. "Come. We've cultists to find."