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the bastard come; he was tired of running, tired of being afraid.
    She hesitated, just the slightest hitch of breath. “It is a demon.”
    “A demon.” Preposterous. “As in spawns of the devil and all that?” A bark of laughter left him, and he dragged a hand across the back of his aching neck. “It just keeps getting better and better, doesn’t it?” When she didn’t answer, he rounded on her. “And what next? A bloody vampire? Ghouls? A wee banshee?” He glared out over the sea. He did not want to know. “Enough already, Pop. Leave me be and let me fend for myself.”
    “I can’t.” She cleared her throat, and her voice returned with its usual strength. “He is a Primus of indeterminate power and is quite capable of dispatching you.”
    “Primus?” Winston really ought to stop asking questions altogether but curiosity was his downfall.
    She made a soft sigh, the sort a beleaguered professor might use on a slow student. “When it comes to demons, there are the Primus and the Onus. Humans are born of mothers, but the Primus are the ancients, born of the collective thoughts, fears, and hopes of humanity when it was young. Religions told us there was a type of demon and, through our belief, we created them into existence.” She smiled wanly. “You would be surprised what the power of mass thought can render.”
    “At the moment, I am surprised at a great number of things,” Winston muttered.
    Poppy nodded as if in sympathy. “Primus demons can have offspring. These are the lesser demons, humandemonhybrids, and shifters. They are called the Onus, as in a burden and responsibility the Primus do not want.”
    “And these demons live among us?”
    “Many do, but it is always a struggle for them, for despite all of our apparent weakness and their superior strength, demons ultimately owe their existence to us. It chafes at their pride to know this, and some will take out that resentment by attacking humans.”
    Stifling another curse, Winston rubbed along the stiff line of scarring at his temple. It throbbed there, and he yearned just then for a strong drink. “Bugger all.” His hand fell away, and he regarded his wife in the ensuing silence, wondering where to begin.
    She was almost a stranger now, and yet the person who knew him better than anyone else. Hell, he needed to move. Like him, Poppy was a creature who could not stand being idle. Always moving, always in action, his Poppy. “Come and walk with me,” he said.

Chapter Three

    London, 1869—Courting
    W inston was taking the object of his affection for a stroll in Hyde Park. Having never courted a woman, Winston did not know much about the business, but he knew that there ought to be a chaperone involved. However, Poppy Ellis had been the one to greet him in the parlor after he’d given his card to the footman. Indeed, she appeared to be the one responsible for her two younger sisters—a little one, no older than ten with golden-red hair and a curious stare, and a young lady nearing her fifteenth year with curling blond hair and an altogether too-knowing smile. That one had given him a saucy look beneath the fan of her golden lashes, as if she knew exactly what he was about and was glad of it. They’d been introduced as Miranda and Daisy before Poppy shooed them off with orders for Daisy to watch after “Panda.”
    The girls complied but not before he heard Mirandawhisper, quite loudly, “What does the man want with Poppy?”
    Daisy answered
sotto voce
, “I suspect he wants to play with her.”
    “Like capture the pirate and such?”
    Daisy had given him one last sidelong glance as he felt his face heat. “Something like that, dearest.”
    He needn’t have looked at Poppy to know she was just as red-faced as he, and Winston ushered her out of the town home with haste.
    Walking alongside her now, Winston did not feel discomfort so much as a stirring anticipation to know her better. He glanced at her strong, clean profile, and his heart