The sound of my name through the door hollowed me out. My body went rigid, my skin buzzing with cold. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. I could only hear him—Barry—his voice thick with possession, curling around me like chains I thought I’d broken.

Dante’s shoulders squared. His hand gripped the edge of the doorframe, knuckles white. He didn’t open it. “You’re not welcome here,” he called, voice steady as stone.

A chuckle slid through the wood. “Funny. I don’t remember asking your permission.”

My stomach lurched. It was him. No doubt, no mistake. The years I’d spent memorizing that sound—a serpent wearing human skin—came roaring back. I gripped the...