The room is cold. Stone beneath me. Candlelight flickers overhead. My throat is raw. My body heavy. I try to move and chains rattle. My wrists are bound in thick iron, secured to the slab beneath me. Panic surges.
What the fuck?
I twist hard. Something snaps. The chain breaks like twine beneath my hands. I freeze, chest heaving. That’s not possible.
I sit up slowly, arms trembling. My senses are sharper than they’ve ever been. Candlelight flares too bright. The air tastes sweet and heavy. The metal that should be cold burns against my skin, as though it knows me, as though it’s warning me.
And beneath it all?—
The hunger.
It coils low in my belly, not just arousal but need. Wild, gnawing, animal. A living parasite howling inside me, demanding to be fed, uncaring what it destroys in the process. And it’s mine.
I stand, legs steady, stronger than they should be. My body feels… different. More. Naked but not cold. My nipples tighten, not from chill but from something deeper.
I look down. There’s blood on the stone, dark and dried. My blood. The knife. The pain. Deimos. That fucker stabbed me.
And I’m alive.
No. Not alive. Not the same.
I grab a candle from the table and move to the door, the flame dancing wildly with every step. The house is silent, shadows curling thick in the corners. The hall opens into a worldof polished wood, velvet curtains, walls lined with mirrors and books. Luxurious, beautiful. But I don’t stop.
There’s a pull in my chest. A thread tightening, leading me upstairs. It guides me like a tether until I find it. His room. The door cracked open.
Inside, he lies on his back, one arm flung over his head. Bare-chested. Peaceful. As if he didn’t murder me hours ago.
A low, wicked heat pulses through me.
I step inside and set the candle on his nightstand. The knife is there. Of course it is. I pick it up. Then I climb onto the bed.
I straddle his waist. My bare thighs press against his skin and the moment we connect, something shudders between us.
And somewhere, deep in the back of my mind, a voice curls like smoke.
“Yes… that’s it, little succubus. Claim what’s yours. Spill his blood for me.”
Deimos’ eyes snap open. Violet. Glowing. Knowing.
A slow, sinful grin spreads across his lips. “Lustling.” The nickname rolls off his tongue like a claim.
I grin right back.
And plunge the knife into his chest. Right where he stabbed me.
FOURTEEN
She stabbed me. She actually stabbed me. I should be furious. I should be tearing her throat out and dragging her back to the slab where she belongs. Instead, I’m hard—aching, hungry, so turned on I can taste the blood in my mouth.
“My Lustling,” I growl. My hands find her hips and in one smooth movement I flip her onto her back. She gasps, but it isn’t fear that burns in her eyes. It’s fire. Her face is flushed, lips parted, hair a wild halo against the candlelight. She should look broken. She looks radiant.
“Did you like that?” she snarls up at me, breathless. “Being stabbed?”
A low laugh rumbles out of me. I drag the knife from my ribs and hold it up to the dim light. Blood streaks the blade in a dark, glistening line. I lick it slowly, savoring the taste. “I’ve had worse.”
She thrashes beneath me, stronger now, her movements fueled by a power she hasn’t yet learned to control. It’s sloppy, untrained, but she’s waking up. Her hunger is turning her limbs liquid. I toss the knife aside. Her eyes track the motion—fascinated, confused, aroused—and then it hits.
The pull.
