“You stay clear of him, Secret,” she had warned. “He’s not your maman, but he is no less dangerous. You tell that man of yours to do whatever it takes to get out of this without Callum getting mad. Promise me.”

Promises were made, but they weren’t mine to keep. Lucas hadn’t heard from Callum since Ben and Amelia had come to the gala, but I didn’t think we’d seen the last of my uncle or his people.

I sighed and flattened my palms, studying the lines that Calliope told me represented two destinies. Then I balled my hands up into fists. I didn’t know what to believe anymore. I wasn’t sure I believed I had any destiny, let alone two of them.

Bundling myself in my coat, I finally got out of the car and dashed for my apartment door. Inside, the smell of burnt demon head was still a lingering reminder of what had happened. After the head had been incinerated, I’d poked it once to see if Mayhew would open his eyes again. It had dissolved into black goo, and now I had a permanent ring in my pink bathtub.

My shoes and coat formed a messy pile in the entrance, but I didn’t bother picking them up. Desmond was sitting on the loveseat, his feet on top of The Sunday Times as he played Assassin’s Creed on the Xbox. Of all the things I’d expected my architect boyfriend to bring with him when he moved in, the Xbox hadn’t been one of them. But as it turned out, all twenty-seven-year-old men have an inner teenager. Even werewolves.

When I sat next to him, his on-screen persona—aptly also named Desmond—was busy slitting throats.

“How was it?” he asked, never turning his eyes from the television.

“It was a funeral.” I shrugged. “It was depressing.”

He paused the game and looked at me. “Do you want to talk about it?”

I started to say no but then stopped myself. “Can I be honest?”

“Of course.”

“I was relieved.”

He arched a brow but didn’t say anything.

“I was relieved because I was going to Gabriel’s funeral, not yours.” I rested my head against his shoulder, and he put the controller on the coffee table, before wrapping me in a Desmond-patented hug. Breathing in his scent, tasting the lime on my tongue, I felt safe for the first time in weeks.

“I thought it might be my funeral trying to get off the damned Empire State Building that night,” he said with a laugh, trying to push away the seriousness of the moment.

I wiped the corners of my eyes with the pad of my thumb. “You never did tell me how you got home.”

“And I’ll never tell you.” He kissed my forehead. “Let’s just say I owe a security guard named Butch a very big reward and leave it at that.”

I cozied into his side as he picked up the Xbox controller again. When I pointed to the newspaper under his feet, he paused the game a second time.

“Did you read it?” I asked.

“I glanced.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” I issued his own question back to him.

He shook his head. The official engagement announcement for my wedding to Lucas had been a full-page story in the Times wedding section. They said it was going to be the social event of the decade, or something along those lines. Apparently Sarah Jessica Parker was on the guest list, along with Barbara Walters, Jay-Z and Beyonce. News to me. My guest list was about ten people long.

Desmond ran his fingers through my hair and pulled my legs onto his lap. “Does it change how you feel about me?”

“No,” I replied, without hesitation.

“And we both know it’s good for the pack and will keep your uncle at a distance a little longer.”

“Yes.”

“Then it doesn’t matter.” His voice sounded strained.

“Des…”

“Who are you with right now?” He dipped his head back so he could look me in the eyes. “Who do you come home to every night? It isn’t him. It’s never been him.”

I gave him a weak smile.

“I don’t care what the paper says.” He kicked it off the table for emphasis. “I know how you feel. All that matters is you’re alive. And I’ve got you a little longer.”

I draped my arm over his stomach and rested my head on his chest. “You’ve got me forever.”

I could feel his smile against the crown of my head. “Good.”

After a pause, I couldn’t resist my next question any longer. “What did Calliope tell you that night?”

His hand twitched, and the reaction surprised me enough I pulled back and looked at his face, bracing my hand on the arm of the loveseat. “I don’t know if I’m supposed to say,” he admitted.

“She didn’t say you couldn’t.” Now curiosity was overwhelming my more rational characteristics. I had to know.

“She said I’d be the one standing with you in the end.”

My blood ran cold. What was it Calliope had said to me?

One day you will die standing by someone you love.