Chapter 5

Because he’d been performing. Because it’d been their show—

He wanted to start shaking. He felt sick.

Justin’s aunt touched his hand; sparks seared, birthed themselves, traced lines into skin. Kris had worn Justin’s demon-mark, the claiming-mark, for so long that he rarely thought about it; Justin’s fingerprints lay cozily in smoke and scarlet over his forearm. Protection from anyone else, Justin had said once, and a promise: Kris could touch the mark, press his own fingers into it, and call his demon-husband to his side.

The back of his hand glimmered in ruby sunfire, now. Mara said, “It’ll last for a week, more or less, that one. I won’t renew it unless you ask. If you need us…”

“I’ll call you.” Kris wiggled fingers. “I promise.”

“Good,” she said, and touched Justin’s shoulder again. “Pet? We’re going. We’ll come back if you ask.”

Justin blinked, yawned, winced, managed the pencil-sketch of a smile. “Thank you.”