did I. Having me was the worst thing that could have happened to them. I’m…” She tilted her head, trying to hide her feelings now. “An abomination.”
Anger sparked in his eyes, and Alasdair opened his mouth. “Don’t you ever—”
But a man entered the room through the wide double doors that had been closed, and Alasdair cut himself off to watch closely.
“Micah, where is my brother?” a younger woman seated at the table demanded. One Delilah recognized from the first time she’d met this group of people in this very room. Hestia. Alasdair’s sister. “We cannot wait any longer. Have Rowan come in, please.”
Micah stood where Delilah and Rowan had stood the day Delilah had met Alasdair. Tall and with the posture of a fighter, the man’s expression darkened ominously. “I don’t know.”
“Fuck,” Alasdair grumbled beside her as Micah left the room. “This is now. The present. I ordered Micah to convene the Syndicate. But that was hours ago. Why have they waited this long to act?”
“Rowan, maybe?” Delilah murmured beside him. “You told whoever you called to bring her in.”
The witch had been raised by a demon. If anyone knew anything about how to deal with this problem, she might.
The doors opened again and two people entered. Greyson Masters, Alasdair’s head witch-hunter, and Rowan Masters, his new bonded wife.
Rowan stopped so abruptly inside the room that her red hair tumbled into her face. “Grey,” she said, an urgency to her voice.
He whipped his head to stare at her, searching her face.
“It’s worse than I thought,” she said. Her voice trembled. Then she glanced at Micah and gasped. “Grey…get us out of here.”
In an instant, her husband took Rowan’s hand and the two teleported away. Papers flew and the doors slammed shut in the wake of the whirlwind the spell caused.
“Oh gods,” Delilah gasped.
Rowan would recognize possession when she saw it. If she ran rather than stayed to fight, it had to be next-level catastrophic.
“No.” The word ripped from Alasdair, and she flinched at the sound. She’d done this to him. Sending him to her mother. He could have been here to stop it.
Almost as though they’d heard the word “demon,” every person in the room slowly turned their heads, eyes filling until the orbs were glassy soulless black. Those gazes pinned Delilah where she stood. Evil intent pierced her with their looks.
Whispers filled her head and Delilah clamped her hands over her ears against them. “It’s her,” they said. “The child. The abomination. Kill her.”
“Delilah?” She was vaguely aware of Alasdair calling her name, of his gaze swiveling between her and the demons who’d possessed every single one of the Syndicate members. Except him.
As one, the demons rose to their feet. Coming for her.
“Mother!” Delilah cried out and threw her arms around Alasdair’s waist.
Darkness.
“Goddess help us…” Alasdair whispered into the void, his body ramrod straight against her. “The Syndicate has fallen.”
Chapter Seven
Delilah landed back in her office a blink later. Immediately, Alasdair stepped away from her. Jerked away, actually, and, precariously balanced on her stiletto heels as she’d been, Delilah fell right onto her ass. He grimaced and held out a hand, helping her to her feet, though even that small touch communicated his emotional state, the tension vibrating through her like a tuning fork.
He dropped her hand and started toward the door. “We have to go.”
“Wait,” she said. “I don’t think this is over.”
“Dammit,” he snapped, not at her but the situation.
Honestly, she was on the same page.
Delilah glanced around. The room looked like a tornado had torn through it. Windows busted out. Glass everywhere. Furniture and papers everywhere. Bookshelves toppled. Her laptop, or at least the top half of it, somehow lodged in the drywall.
“Mom?” she called out.
Nothing.
“Mom? Dad?” Delilah called again, trying to breathe through a well of panic. They’d been together. Together.
“Delilah.”
She and Alasdair both spun around to find Naiobe standing in the doorway, a paleness underlying her mahogany skin that gave her an ashen hue.
Delilah rushed to her friend, checking her over as she did. “Are you okay?”
“I’m unharmed.” Naiobe laid a hand over Delilah’s, stopping her inspection.
“Don’t lie to me,” Delilah said softly. “It makes your nose twitch.”
Naiobe sighed. “Just a small scratch, easily healed.” She held up an arm with a welt that looked close to a week old.
Thank the heavens for small mercies.
“The demon?”
“Gone. Your parents sent it back to hell.”
“Holy shit.” The words burst from her before she could stop them. It must have been worse than even she’d imagined.
“Your father