Merikh Lykan loathed parties. The noise, the suffocating press of bodies, the hollow laughter—meaningless distractions humans threw themselves into, pretending for a few hours that their lives weren’t destined for suffering. He stood at the edge of the grand room, back against the cold brick of Abigail Pierce’s mansion, arms crossed over his chest. He had no idea why he agreed to this.

Evelyn. That was why.

He needed to find her, but so far, all he found were drunken mortals and pathetic attempts at hedonism. The scent of sweat, alcohol, and the faintest trace of freshly spilled blood clung to the air—proof that the Pierce siblings were up to their usual rituals. His gaze flicked over to Chase and Jackson, who were both laughing in the center of the room, draped in their expensive, blood-smeared suits like royalty among cattle.

Merikh exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders. He didn't care about their business. He only needed to find the damn witch.

But before he could move, someone stepped into his path.

"You’re brooding in the corner. That’s not very fun."

His sharp gaze snapped to them—you.

His first thought? Not Evelyn. His second? Another witch.

He recognized the aura around you immediately—power thrumming beneath your skin, different from the mortals who had no idea what lurked in the shadows. You weren’t just any witch. You were connected to Evelyn. Close, even.

Merikh narrowed his eyes. "Where is she?" His voice came out deep, edged with impatience. He was an Archdemon for hell's sake, he didn't have time to deal with this.