One of the many benefits of being an apparition was that Mace didn’t need sleep. As Ember slumbered, she recharged her magic, which also replenished his, which Mace was finding incredibly convenient. He could watch her sleep, but Ember assured him that wasn’t romantic, just creepy. Besides, Ember was an aggressive sleeper. If Mace couldn’t wrap his arms around her, she tossed and turned, mumbling and crying out. When she did finally settle, it was always with her face half buried in her pillow, her hair a tangled mess and half of her covers on the floor, which was not entertaining enough to keep him busy for hours. Also, she drooled which Mace found both oddly adorable and slightly revolting.

As soon as she fell asleep, he closed his eyes, thinking of the hallway between the kitchen and the garage. And then he was just there, standing in the doorway of the solarium. Teleportation was truly the most efficient form of travel; he liked it much better than flying. If Ember managed to find him a body, it would be the one thing about being a ghost he would genuinely miss.

He was about to hit the kitchen when he heard a long-suffering sigh. Romero lay awake on the floor of the solarium, giant head resting on his paws as he watched Mace with his one good eye. Neoma and Mallory were curled up on the daybed, Neoma at one end and Mallory at the other, legs entangled. The faery preferred the solarium to her bedroom; she said it was as close as Isa would let her get to sleeping outdoors. The Gemini preferred to be where Neoma was, just like Romero.

Mallory looked peaceful in sleep, sane even, but he supposed the same could be said for many of the people in that house lately, himself included. The Gemini were still a bit of a mystery, and Mace thought it foolish to underestimate the threat they posed, especially now that the pack knew the Gemini’s father was the Grove’s high inquisitor. But that was a problem for another time. Mace closed his eyes again, thinking of the pet cemetery, picturing it in detail in his mind. When he opened his eyes again, he was there.

And he wasn’t alone.

“Silas.”

The man stood at the edge of Romero’s open grave, hands behind his back like a soldier at ease. Mace allowed himself to look his fill. Silas still wore the same black pants and white shirt from the night before. He’d rolled the sleeves to the elbows, the scales tattooed on his forearms visible. His inky black hair was messier than usual, as if he’d raked his hands through it more than a few times. Those golden reptilian eyes stared at him unflinchingly, full lips drawn tight. Mace swallowed hard. There was a time when all he’d wanted was to look at Silas’s face forever, now all he felt was revulsion. “I knew you’d find your way here eventually. It’s almost as if you can’t help yourself. I see everybody made it out alive. Color me impressed.”

“What do you want?” Mace asked, eyeing him warily.

“How is our little necromancer? Asleep, at last? I imagine she was quite knackered, no?”

Mace couldn’t keep the suspicion from his voice. “You couldn’t possibly have come all this way to ask me if Ember was sleeping? What do you want, Silas?”

Silas smiled, his voice dropping into a tone that shivered over Mace’s flesh. “I’ve come to extend an olive branch. We don’t have to be enemies.”

Mace’s eyes went wide. “Pardon?”

Silas’s face morphed from petulant to pleading, and the sudden vulnerability triggered something deep in Mace’s subconscious, something he’d buried a century ago. He fought to concentrate on Silas’s words. “Come back to me. Hasn’t this gone on long enough? I can’t play these games any longer. I need you.”

Mace reeled at the unexpected attack. He’d predicted threats. Maybe some pouting. A few more bodies, at least. But not a…proposal. Mace’s heart twisted in his chest. Was Silas suggesting that what they’d shared was love after everything he’d done to Mace in the last few months? “How quickly your affections turn. You promised my sister—your wife—a war. Now, suddenly you wish to welcome me back with open arms? How does Asa feel about this?”

Silas flinched at the ice in Mace’s tone, and Mace watched as the other man schooled his features into that mask of casual indifference, closing himself off to Mace. “I tell your sister what she needs to hear. She has quite the temper, that one as you well know. Come home, and we’ll convince her, together, that you are deserving of a second chance. I know you never wanted to hurt Theo. I know you didn’t want to kill me. You were in an impossible situation. Anybody would have made the same choice.”

Silas’s words had little impact. Mace wouldn’t let them. How many times had he fallen under Silas’s spell, giving him anything he wanted without question? Silas didn’t mean any of it, he was doing what he always did, playing the odds, telling Mace what the magician thought he needed to hear. It didn’t stop Mace from asking, “And what of my current predicament? Shall I remain a ghost, haunting your halls? Shall I find myself some sturdy chains to rattle? Practice my moaning?”

Silas grinned. He clearly thought Mace was considering his offer. His voice dropped low again. “While I’ve always been fond of your moaning, that’s not quite what I had in mind. You can have your body back. Your life. I would happily give you those things and more...just come back to me.”

Mace laced his fingers together behind his back, mimicking Silas’s body language. “And what of Quinn? Will you sacrifice him to give me my body back? After everything you’ve done to him? After everything he’s done for you?”

Silas sighed. “Alas, no. I’ve grown quite fond of the boy. His mind intrigues me. I’ll find him another place to rest. If you want your body back, it’s yours.”

For a price, Mace thought. “Despite your recently acquired powers...you still need a necromancer.”

“I helped Ember recover Quinn’s soul.”

Silas was bluffing. He was powerful, but he lacked the ability to restore a soul. Not even demi-gods had that kind of power. “You gave a desperate girl a lame spell in a dusty old book. The only reason it held was Ember’s necromancy. And even then, the spell didn’t work as intended.”

“The spell worked because I linked my power to Ember’s and allowed her to siphon off a small part of my immortality and pump it into Quinn.”

Mace couldn’t help his look of surprise. It might be the most honest thing Silas had ever said which meant it might also be a complete fallacy. “Be that as it may, you cannot grant me my body back without a necromancer and I’m quite certain there’s not another.”

“I don’t need another necromancer. I still have Ember. She may not like me, but she loves that pack of hers. She’ll do what she’s told, or I’ll make sure she watches as each of them falls.”

“You told Ember she was no longer beholden to you. You released her from the mark.”

“I told her I wouldn’t force her to use her powers to control the original coven...and I won’t. I can’t. Where’s the lie? But it’s like I told her before. She has a choice, she can do as I ask and we are all one big happy family or do nothing and watch as everybody she loves dies.”

“If you believe threatening Ember will make me come back to you, you underestimate me. You underestimate us both.”

Silas pretended to think on it, gazing off into the darkness before pouting in Mace’s direction. “Perhaps. But I’ve never been able to think when it comes to you. Don’t you see? It’s I who am willing to do anything to have you back. Who else would do such terrible things for you? Who else has ever found you worthy of this level of destruction?”

Only Ember. “Do you think I’d ever allow Ember to sacrifice like that for me? Do you think the pack would ever let you close enough?”

Silas’s expression soured, his lip curling in disgust. “You truly love her, don’t you?”

At least that question was simple. “Yes.”

There was a long silence before Silas shrugged. “Very well, bring her along. Bring the whole pack if you must. In truth, it would be of benefit to me to have them on my side.”

Mace frowned. “You’re delusional. Ember will never submit to you, not after what you did to Evangeline.”

“Then she can stay behind!” Silas snapped, before seeming to catch himself. “My offer is more than generous. You are trying my patience. If the little necromancer wants Evangeline back, she can bring her back. Hell, I’ll even provide the necessary sacrifice to keep the blood off your new darling’s hands.”

Mace stared at the other man. Silas was indeed cracked. Did he believe that Ember—that the pack—would ever concede to him? “While your offer is quite generous, I’m afraid I’m going to have to decline respectfully.”

Silas’s dark brows knitted together, mouth turning down. “You do not want me as an enemy, Mace.”

“We’re already enemies, Silas. You allowed my sister to torture me for weeks. You tricked Ember into bringing back an army of deranged witches. You had us ambushed by the Legionaries when we lacked the strength to fight back. No world exists where we’ll ever be more than enemies.”

Silas’s rage was instantaneous. “I saved you. When Finn threw you into the streets like garbage, I healed you. I saw past the scars. I saw past what Finn forced you to do to survive. I saved your sister even after you betrayed me. I loved you. I still love you. Our feelings were real. You chose me once. Do you remember? You could have killed me a million times over, and you only did it when the choice was your sister or me. We had a good life, didn’t we? Are you going to let some self-righteous orphan stand in the way of what we had? What we could still have? Tell me you weren’t happy with me?”

Mace closed his eyes. He’d never tried to put a label on what he’d felt for Silas. The gravity of his situation he’d been in skewed everything. He didn’t know what to say. “It was a hundred and fifty years ago. You did rescue me from a life of misery. I was…grateful for what you did for me. Relieved, even. I cared for you as much as I was capable of caring for anybody given what I’d been through. I had a fondness for you…an affection.”

Silas smirked, eyes raking over Mace. “Fondness? Is that what you call it? It seemed like you were more than fond of me.”

Something about the look turned Mace’s stomach, reminding him of how many other men had looked at him like that back in London. It hardened his resolution to end this. Silas needed to hear this. “Given your incubus bloodlines, I don’t suppose we’ll ever truly know what I felt for you and what was merely your magic. But it hardly matters now. Besides, your love for me didn’t stop you from selling my blood on the black market. How many witches do you think you supplied back then? How many dark deeds did my blood fuel?”

Silas scoffed. “It seems your memories are as mired as your affections. But my memories? Mine are crystal clear. You never hesitated to open a vein for me. You loved it. Those witches and their coin were what kept us living in the lifestyle to which you easily became accustomed. You certainly didn’t mind the lavish parties or the fine clothing or the doors that suddenly opened to you.”

Mace snorted, shaking his head. “Give water to a man dying of thirst, and he’ll tell you it’s as lovely as champagne.”

Silas’s jaw clenched. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Mace shook his head. Why did it still pain him to hurt Silas when Silas had never hesitated to destroy him. He’d tortured him for months, and still, Mace didn’t want to say what he said next. “It means you were simply a better option than torture and prostitution.”

Silas’s nostrils flared but gave no other indication that Mace had wounded him. They stood staring at each other from across an open grave, the fury radiating from Silas like a beacon, but Mace refused to take it back.

When Silas spoke again, his voice was steel, “When everything you have goes up in flames, remember, I gave you a chance. It didn’t have to end this way.”

Mace shook his head. “You don’t get it, Silas. It was always going to end this way. We used each other. We took comfort in each other. Stop analyzing it and just…let it go.”

“Do you know what you are doing? Do you understand who I am? What I’m capable of?” Silas paused, seeming conflicted, frustration and anger leeching into his tone. “A hundred years from now, they’ll still be talking about the hell I’m about to unleash on this town...on you...on your precious new family.”

Silas’s words chilled Mace, but he refused to let it show. Instead, he tipped his head. “Well, it sounds like you have a great deal of planning to do. I’ll leave you to it.”

Only once he was safely back in the house did he let himself slide down the wall of the kitchen and run his hands over his face.

Would he never escape his past?