“Amen,” Janek whispered in response. “Thank you, old friend. If I achieve heaven, I promise, I will petition God on your behalf. I will petition Him on behalf of all of those who are Outcast.”

Stefan smiled with affection and sorrow. “I know you will.” Rising, he beckoned to me. “Daisy?”

I wanted to drag my feet like a little kid, but Janek deserved better, so I did my best to approach him with dignity, dauda-dagr in hand.

On his knees, Janek smiled up at me. “Be at peace, child. I tell you, it is an act of great mercy you perform.” With difficulty, he unbuttoned his shirt, baring a pale, sunken chest laced with scar tissue. “Here.”

Like Stefan, I dropped to one knee before Janek. Unlike Stefan, I did it because I figured I’d need the leverage.

Janek circled my wrist with two fingers and a thumb, guiding my hand to place dauda-dagr’s tip beneath his breastbone. A thin wisp of frost rose as it burned his skin with cold. He let out a sigh.

I met his gaze. “Is this truly what you want?”

“Yes.” Janek’s dark eyes were luminous, his pupils dilated not with hunger, but ecstasy. “Please. Send me home.”

Stefan moved to support him from behind, strong hands grasping Janek’s shoulders. I was grateful for it. Blue light glinted along dauda-dagr’s keen edges, shimmered in the runes etched on its length.

Gathering my strength, I shoved it hilt-deep into Janek Król’s chest, upward and under his breastbone. For an instant, his eyes widened and his mouth shaped an ecstatic O. Dauda-dagr’s hilt tingled against my palm as it drank in Janek’s death, his final death.

And then Janek’s long-suffering body vanished in the blink of an eye, departing the mortal plane.

That’s what happens when you end the existence of one of the Outcast, and it’s every bit as disconcerting as it sounds. Even though I’d known what was coming, it took me unprepared. I was still braced for the thrust. Unable to halt my momentum, I overbalanced and fell forward into the space where Janek had been.

Stooping swiftly, Stefan caught me, the hands that had supported Janek’s shoulders grasping mine and steadying me. Dauda-dagr fell from my grip to clatter on the floor between us, its blade dark with blood, smearing the polished hardwood.

“Are you all right, Daisy?” Stefan asked me.

“Yes.” I sat back on my heels, burying my face in my hands. It felt as though I’d taken an immense weight on my soul. “No.”

Stefan’s hands flexed on my shoulders, firm and reassuring. “It was an act of mercy,” he said. “An act of grace.”

I lifted my face to peer up at him, hoping to hell or God or whoever would listen that he was right. “Sorry about your floor.”

“Daisy . . .” The expression on Stefan’s face was a complicated mix of grief and exasperated fondness. He released me and pulled a bandanna from a pocket. One thing about Stefan, he always seemed to have a clean bandanna on him. I think it’s some kind of biker etiquette. “Here.”

I wiped dauda-dagr clean, then wiped up the bloody smear it had left on the floor. “I don’t think it will stain.”

Taking my arm gently, Stefan eased me to my feet and relieved me of the bandanna, balling it up in his other fist. He held my gaze, his own intent. “Can you at least try to believe me?”

“I do believe you,” I said. “I would never have done it if I didn’t. It’s just . . . hard.” I reached up to touch his cheek. “I’m sorry. This must be much harder for you. Janek was your friend.”

“Yes,” Stefan said simply. “Thank you.”

For the space of a few more heartbeats, we continued to gaze at each other. There was a lot of heavy emotion in the room. Like, seriously heavy. Intense, fraught emotion, laced with underlying tension between us. I could see the strain it was putting on Stefan’s control in his glittering pupils, his quickened breathing.

I lowered my hand. “This would be a good time for me to leave, wouldn’t it?”

Stefan inclined his head. “I am sorry.”

I took a deep breath. “Crap, our timing really sucks, doesn’t it?”

He gave me a faint, dimpled smile filled with profound regret. “Yes, Daisy Johanssen. Our timing . . . sucks. But if you are willing, I would like to see you under better circumstances.”

I nodded. “I’d like that. But, um, I think I need a little time and space to process what happened here today.”

“Would a week’s time suffice?” Stefan inquired.

It was an impossible question to answer. How the hell was I supposed to know if a week was enough time? That wasn’t the kind of thing you could anticipate. Or maybe you could, if you’d lived as long as Stefan had. Maybe someone should write an eldritch dating handbook. I could see the chapter heading now: “How Long Should You Wait to Go on a First Date After Mercy-Killing Your Immortal Suitor’s Friend?”

Then again, even among the eldritch, I was an unusual case. Dauda-dagr made me different. All things considered, I should probably reconcile myself to the fact that I didn’t lead an ordinary mundane life and never would, and stop looking for ways to make my life fit within some imaginary framework of cultural normalcy.

Meanwhile, Stefan was still waiting for an answer. “Honestly?” I said. “I have no idea. Let’s try it and find out.”

He inclined his head again. “Next Saturday, then.”