He managed to find them an old, dirty little hotel room after the encounter with the assassins' guild.

She knew something of him, of the Rider, of the demon in his soul. That he could never love her. Not really.

She'd still never seen that side of him.

She'll wake up bandaged, with the smell of strong alcohol filling the room. Some of it was used on her injuries, a lot of it went into Nick to help kill some of the images he saw deep in the eyes and souls of evil men.

He's still there, staring out the window into the dirty streets, wondering what her impression will be when she wakes up.

Its rarely good.

It had led him here - the demon sense, drawing the rider like a moth to a flame. It had been a long drive, but none of that mattered. Even from hundreds of miles away, he could feel the summoning ritual taking place, the sound almost maddening as these cultists sought to open a portal directly into Mephisto's realm. He didn't know how they'd come by the Darkhold page, and they clearly didn't know what they were doing - but it had to be stopped.

As the chanting reaches a crescendo, moments before the knife plunges down at the naked sacrifice, prepared for just such purposes, the flaming cycle comes bursting through one wall.