Kris Starr used to be famous. Rock and roll. Sold-out shows. Literal magic. Empathic talents and screaming fans. But he has a problem or two. He's having a hard time writing new music. It’s Midwinter, which means he’s surrounded by depressing holiday cheer. And he's in love with Justin, his manager, who has a talent for rescuing almost- or once-famous bands ... and who’s hiding secrets of his own. Justin Moore, on the other hand, is very good at keeping those secrets -- he's had to be for years. One secret involves a demonic inheritance that would make him a target of suspicion. Another involves his past. And the third involves Justin’s feelings for Kris Starr, rock and roll icon and now his client ... and a powerful empath of his own.

A Demon for Midwinter

Justin coughed. Flinched: not as if it hurt, or rather as if it did, but the sensation of hands on him hurt more. He caught himself, though. “Here…”


“Yeah.” He was barely aware of talking. Words falling out like drops of salt-water. Hands busy. None of the cuts seemed bad, thank God. But they were plural, made by sharp edges or impacts or men’s rings, and they were accompanied by those telltale bruises. “We’re here. I’m here. What—no, never mind, stay still, I’ll call—”


“I can heal.” One more cough. But at least he was awake: awake and present and talking through pain. “But…I was already in this…form, so…it hurt this one…give me a sec…”


“Please,” Kris begged through blinding fear. If Justin couldn’t—“Please try. You can, you can heal, I’ve seen you—”


Demonskin grew paler, softer, more human; the faint outlines of horns vanished. Wounds showed up worse:darker against white flesh, fragile flesh. Kris choked on an inhale; held breath like butterfly-wings, easily torn.


Chapter 25