Page 3 of Infernal Hearts

But it’s for the best. It has to be.

Moving into the apartment directly above the office, I can completely focus on starting a new practice without any distractions. Plus saving all that money my old truck guzzles on gas.

Still, Michael isn’t going to be pleasant about this. Gee, can’t wait to get home sweet home.

I press my lips tight, fiddling with the sleeve of my shirt as I continue my drive through my sleepy mountain town. Not much around in terms of any real social scene—Denver would be the closest place for that. Maybe a thousand people here in town, born and raised and dying here. Everyone knows everyone, except for the ones that maybe come in once every few months for supplies. Those secretive ones are generally my clients.

Well, were. As of tonight, I’m officially done treating supernaturals. I’m free. But still, collecting my thoughts through this lightheadedness is harder than I thought.

I should be relieved. Iamrelieved. So why do I have this feeling of dread in the pit of my gut?

I turn off the main road and up another hill toward my new office. As I pull up into the light-gray gravel lot, that pit in my stomach grows about a mile deeper. Michael’s car isn’t here.

All the shops in town are about to close. He could have gone out for dinner. Yeah, that’s it—dinner—nothing to worry about. I repeat the thought, reassuring myself over and over again, until I enter the office and am immediately greeted by my German Shepherd. My hands search for the light switch as Grover whines and presses into my side. “Hey, boy. What’s wrong?”

I have my answer as soon as I get up to the apartment.

We’d been living out of boxes for the last week, and now the living room is missing half of them.

My mouth slackens. “No.”

I rush to the bedroom. Michael’s clothes are missing. His laptop and charger, too. His toothbrush and shampoo disappeared from the bathroom. Opening drawer after drawer, frantically searching room after room, I even rummage through the entire office for any of his belongings.

My eyesight goes unfocused, and a tingling in my chest takes over. “There’s no way.”

Pulling out my phone, my fingers quickly tap over to his contact and tap the name at the top of my favorites.

Voicemail.

How is this happening? Is this real life? There has to be a misunderstanding.

That’s when a note on the counter catches my eye—one word in his handwriting.

“Sorry.”

I flinch at the sight of the note. My heart catches in my throat, and a deep vulnerability sets in. How is this actually happening right now? How is this real life? How could a single day go so badly?

I look at the empty drawers hanging open, the empty spaces where boxes sat, and back to the note. It’s all right in front of my face.

So much for starting my new life.

…

Three months later…

Levi

Rani’s boots pound down the busy street, effortlessly keeping up with my long stride. “Levi, I could be feeding, and you could be making deals right now. Or we could be drunk and banging the hottest people in the city. Either way, it would be more productive than this.”

I ignore the sharpness in her voice and keep searching for my destination in the corners between the bright lights. “My Maker is dead, Rani. I really have more important things to do than another night of debauchery—”

“I still don’t see why you can’t just let it go. You said it yourself, he’s dead. Just be free.”

I’m not sure why she always has to interrupt me whenever I do something she doesn’t like. “It doesn’t work like that. He still has a hold on me. Besides, you know how commands and deals work and what’ll happen if I don’t fulfill it. He gave me two weeks.”

She puffs a breath out of her nose, crossing her arms. “Then what exactly is this mission? You’ve been so goddamn cryptic:‘I need your help. Meet me downtown. Come alone. I can’t be trusted not to get distracted by the nearest gloryhole.’”

“I did not say that last part.”

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