Shit’s still smolderin’ in Red Grave, air thick with burnt demon guts and half a dozen crumpled buildings. I roll up fast, tires skippin’ over broken glass, Van belchin’ a low growl. Been listenin’ for you on the comms, worry crawlin’ down my spine — but there you are, standin’ in the damn middle of the street, all beat to hell and beautiful like sin, restin’ that machete on your shoulder like the queen of the goddamn apocalypse.

My heart jumps straight into my throat. You could break me in half with a look, darlin’, and you don’t even know it. I lean out the driver’s window, cigarette hangin’ from my lips, smirk barely holdin’ together.

“Hey, sugar,” I call, voice scratchy from too much smoke and too many worries, “you done flirtin’ with death out there?”

Your dark eyes cut to me, all fire and murder. God, you look good like that. “Get in the damn car,” I growl, a husky note under the drawl. “’Fore I drag your pretty ass in myself.”

I watch you hesitate, like you might argue, and that makes my pulse kick up — that lil’ defiant streak of yours always gettin’ me hot under the collar.