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“Jordan?”

She blinked, but didn’t let go of the pipe. She’d begun to think maybe she had imagined her name the first time. That she’d caught a glimpse of his face and heard only what she wanted to. This time she knew she hadn’t misheard. The creature knew her name and his voice sounded just like Gage’s.

“What the fuck are you?” She’d only heard of mimic demons and she still wasn’t convinced whatever it was standing in front of her, looking as spooked as she felt, was a mimic demon.

He took a step towards her, his brows drawn together. “How?” He shook his head. “What are you doing here? And fighting Shadow Demons? How do you know about them?”

She stared at him, then at the sword he still grasped in his hand.

He followed her gaze and quickly sheathed the sword on his back.

The gesture did nothing to reassure her.

“Jordan, I know what you must be thinking—”

“Do. Not. Talk.” She might be able look at him and know it wasn’t really him, but hearing his voice… She couldn’t handle that.

“You have to listen to me,” he continued, taking another step towards her.

Jordan raised the pipe. “You take one more step and your ass gets vanquished.” It would anyway, just as soon as she found it in her to take a swing at him.

His hair wasn’t quite right, a little longer, mussed. A cynical edge gave his eyes a sharpness that Gage had never possessed.

There was nothing trustworthy or reliable-looking about the man in front of her. He looked too hard, too raw. But then that’s where the demon had gone wrong. He wasn’t the man whose blood had drenched her clothes when he died in her arms.

On the heels of that realization came the knowledge that she could kill it.

He frowned. “How do you know about demons and realms? What happened to you?”

The slightest trace of caring in his voice made her hesitate. “Shut up.”

Realization dawned on his face. “You don’t think it’s me.”

“Save your bullshit.” Jordan pulled her shirt open just enough to expose the protective talisman dangling around her neck. “I’m immune to any of your sweet talk.” Her lips curled in a snarl. Enough was enough. Every second she looked at him unwound something inside her, and she knew if she didn’t make it stop, she’d fall apart right here. She might have been prepared for any number of demons to take her out, but not him.

Not one who looked like Gage.

“Jordan.”

“Stopping calling me that.”

“It’s your name. Jordan Dawn McAdam.”

She shook her head and gripped the pipe, needing to feel it in her hand. Her only reminder that she couldn’t just stand there.

“Bastard,” she snapped and lunged out.

He jerked to the side.

Jordan whirled around, the pipe coming with her in a wide arc that narrowly missed his head.

“I know how it must look—”

She rammed the pipe at him. He caught the end and tugged. She didn’t let go. Turning, she jerked it loose.

He held his hands up. “Okay, maybe I don’t know how it must look. But believe me when I say I’m as stunned as you are.”

She tuned out the voice in her head that said she should listen to him. She had run after and begged the paramedics to save him even when she’d watched them cart him away with a sheet over him. A sheet soaked through with his blood. Night after night, she had stared at the door, wishing he’d walk back through it.

Gage was dead.

Something inside her shattered and she swung out with a cry, the pain of his death slashing through her all over again.

He dodged the blow, grabbed the pipe and whipped it around, the momentum of the action sending her over his shoulder. She landed on her back, but scrambled up, having lost her advantage.

“I’m not dead,” he said, practically reading her mind. “And I’m not some demon screwing with your mind. It’s really me.”

The demon knew he was hurting her, knew that the more sincere it got, the closer she was to losing it. She led with her fist and drove it up under the creature’s jaw, then swung around to knock it off its feet.

He anticipated the move and deflected the kick, shoving her back a step. “Just stop and listen to me.”

“No.” Her voice lacked its usual edge.

“Damn it.”

She kicked out and connected with his chest.

He staggered, but remained upright. “I’m done playing nice about this.” He made a move towards her.

The determination tightening his face alarmed her. This time he put her on the defensive, but he didn’t pull out the sword they both knew would give him a serious edge over her. She turned away, her attempt to avoid being boxed in not going the way she had planned.

Her back slammed against the wall and he was on her, crowding her there in a heartbeat. One leg crossed hers, keeping her knee from being any help, his hands bracketing her wrists above her head. She knew she could slam her forehead into his, maybe daze him. But damn it, the pleading look in his eyes made her hesitate just long enough to remember that Gage had pinned her the same way the day he died.