The second time James Lancer lost his heart, it was in Portland.
His two-year contract was up. The Daemon came to his apartment, a heart in hand.
But James would not let him put it back in. He accepted the heart, shoved it in his backpack.
Because he had discovered his own Rumpelstiltskin clause.
He knew how to outwit a fairy tale. All it would cost was one heart, one life.
Which was really nothing at all, to him.
He took his heart into the void, and when the moment was right, he gave it to the girl to whom it already belonged.
As for the girl, Dee sat on the floor of the ruined mall, back to the wall, damp and numb, silent and hurting more than she could ever remember. She distantly felt Riley’s hands on her, trying to rouse her. Riley was speaking all the while, senseless words that blurred together.
But Dee couldn’t hear what Riley said. All she could hear was the pulse of a heartbeat loud in her ears.