Chapter 1

I knew everything about the slender brunette entering that dim brothel room on the opposite side of the street—but my wife didn't remember me.

I knew how she liked her tea. A splash of milk and one spoonful of sugar.

I knew her favorite color. Blue, but not just any shade. It had to be cobalt.

I knew how her nose crinkled when she told a lie, no matter how harmless or how big.

And Gods, I knew what wicked temptations hid beneath the cheap brown linen of her dress.

My tail twitched and my cock swelled, tenting my trousers as I imagined her taste on my tongue, her bare body beneath my fingertips.

More than a lifetime ago, I'd studied it like a dutiful scholar. I used my mouth and hands to map the curves and valleys of her flesh like the deserts of my homeland, the soft swell of her breasts like dunes, an oasis of endless pleasure between her thighs.

Every detail was burned into my mind, from that tiny, star-shaped birthmark high on the nape of her neck to the little dimple on her left cheek when she truly laughed—none of those polite smiles she gave her clients or the madam.

I knew how to touch, kiss, and lick every inch of her until she'd moan my name. But I knew that she loved it more when I hurt her, scratched and bit her, made her beg for me to stop and plead for me to continue until she couldn't speak at all.

Not even a century of separation could've made me forget.

But to her, I was a stranger.

My chest heaved with a long sigh. I was restless, driven by the urge to rise from my cover behind the chimney to wave and make myself known to her. I wanted nothing more than for her to see me. The real me, deeper than skin and muscle, deeper than the world's superficial gaze judged me.

To her, I wanted to be more than Skrain Ra'shok, Xar'vath's wealthiest bachelor. Ruthless businessman. An abrasive, mirthless bastard with a heart as cold and hard as the jewels from my desert mines.

I wanted to be her everything. Her God, her protector, her partner, and her master.

My tail flicked as Kerys looked down at a thornless, cobalt-blue rose on her vanity, resting atop a wooden box. I'd waited for this moment all night.

Maybe this was it, the one, final push to open the floodgates of her memories.

The glow of a candle on the table reflected in her widening gaze. She grasped the flower and lifted it to her face, eyes shuttering as her nose brushed along the petals.

It was impossible, but as if she'd touched me , a shudder of lightning cascaded through me, making my dick jerk. My palms began to itch, the pressure of creeping vines beneath my skin, and I rubbed them along my trousers.

She put the rose with the others of its kind, arranged in a vase on her nightstand. Some were already dried, others still in varying stages of bloom.

Head tilting, she picked up the box. She walked to the window, holding it into the moonlight while her fingers drifted along the shimmering, golden etching on the lid. Her thumb found the indent in the front, and she lifted the top.

Four tiny dancers emerged; arms raised high, each presenting a small, faceted gem. A sapphire, an aquamarine, a red carnelian, and a tiger's eye. They spun slowly as a delicate melody spilled out onto the quiet street.

I swallowed hard, my tongue stud pressing against the inside of my teeth. The haunting echo of the past encased my heart like an iron fist, but the little boy in me couldn't help swaying, silently mouthing the words.

In the raging inferno, Pyrastra melts flesh like wax

Beneath the blackened waves, Mael'quor holds the drowned in his traps

Inside the dark earth's bowels, Zemlixa feeds on brittle bone

Amid the howling winds, hear Aero'mos moan and groan

Every Xar'vathi child memorized the notes and the macabre rhyme about the four elements and their deities. It was one of the first things we all learned from our parents.

The original music box was a battered heirloom that had been in my family's possession for generations. During our wedding night, I gave it to Kerys, hoping that one day, our offspring would fall asleep listening to the same melody.

But like everything I loved, it was destroyed when the flames devoured our home. My mind drifted to the blackened ruins in the Xar'vathi desert, the charred remains of our life together, half-buried by the sands.

I'd had this copy of the box made to be an exact replica, including the broken horn on one of the figures, another missing a leg, and a large chip in the wood on the front right corner.

The toy maker had given me a long, befuddled stare when I requested the damage, but it had to look as it did when she last held it.

Confusion flickered over Kerys's face. Her brows squished together, her tongue darting to the corner of her mouth.

I clenched my hands into fists. Please, please remember . Please .

The seconds dragged on until she snapped the box shut, startling a sleeping bird from a nest a few roofs over.

My shoulders sagged. I slumped against the chimney.

Shit. I had to try harder. No way in the Hells I would forsake her—not today, not tomorrow, not in a damn millennia.

Kerys put the music box on the vanity. And then, as if following an unwritten script, she reacted the same as every time I left her gifts.

Her head twisted; her posture ramrod-straight while she glanced around the chamber. Skirt fluttering, she spun and yanked open the doors to her wardrobe. She rushed to the bed, ripping the blanket off it before dropping to her knees to peek beneath the frame.

Her face went slack as she sighed and pushed to her feet. She seemed lost, like she didn't know what to do with herself, just standing there.

In all the time I'd brought her my offerings, I could never quite read that behavior, that expression.

Was it relief or disappointment? Did she hope to find me there as badly as I wanted to be found?

My lips tugged into a wry smile.

She carried the name Ellaryth in this life, but she looked exactly like Keryssa. Moved exactly like her.

There was the same flick in her wrist to tuck too-short strands behind her pointed ear—just for them to fall free again in an instant. She wore her hair like Kerys, too. Chin-length with wispy, straight bangs touching her expressive brows, often furrowed in silent displeasure like right then as she rose and strode to the vanity once more.

Her hand hovered over the untouched box of nougat I left for her the night before, when a warning shiver crept along my spine, putting me on high alert. I stiffened. My eyes snapped around the roof, a sharp stench assaulting my nose.

Wet earth, rotting leaves … and brimstone .

I always sensed the demon before he appeared close by—unless I was using great amounts of my magic at that same moment. He could hide himself from pure mortals, but to his often-voiced annoyance, our bargain sensitized me to his presence on an instinctual level.

"What do you want?" I asked, keeping my tone low.

"You couldn't just buy her flowers like anyone else with your kind of money would, huh? No, you had to grow them for her from your flesh and blood, without thorns so she wouldn't prick herself," a scratchy voice hissed from behind me, the malice in it gnarled and knotted like ancient roots. "And what's the latest trinket you gave her? An old music box? You never change, Skrain. You're just as much of a hopeless, sentimental fool as you were a hundred years ago. She makes you weak."

A red veil of anger descended upon me. My hands twitched, and I gave in to the monstrous call in my veins.