Chapter 10

Icouldn't move. Couldn't speak. Couldn't breathe. I was in the arms of the high demon who wanted me as his own.

"So lovely," he said, trailing a finger down my cheek. I flinched, feeling as if I'd been cut with an icy blade. "So soft."

My Vessel senses protested, registering every sensation on an agonizingly painful scale. A freezing fever began to spread from every point of contact—his thighs against my hips, his chest against mine, one hand at the nape of my neck, the other petting me where he pleased. The bite on my throat throbbed with chilling pain. A paramour of ice had me in his clutches, and I was helpless to do anything about it.

He looked like Jude, a distorted, monstrous version of him. An abomination of beauty and beast. Nausea swelled in my stomach. His touch produced a flash of memory.

I was seven years old and sitting next to a bubbling cauldron, wearing my witch costume for Halloween. Dad dropped blocks of dry ice into a pot with gloved hands. I dared to touch a piece with my bare finger, yanking it back in pain.

"Don't touch, sweetheart. It's so cold, it burns."

My eyes fixed on the not-Jude, demon eyes grazing over me with a hungry expression that made me sick. I trembled. So cold, it burned.

"Stop," I choked out, panting.

Desperately trying to regain control, I called on my Vessel Sense, not knowing how or what to do. I closed my eyes, seeking that place that opened when I needed it, yearning for some form of protection. My VS responded. Like a beacon in the night, an inner light pulsed outward. I felt an expansion of warmth from my core.

The beast pressed his finger to my lips. I winced, jerking my eyes open, blue flames burning wherever he touched. The pulse died away as swiftly as it had come.

"Shh, pretty little thing. No need for all that. I'm not going to climb inside just yet," he said in a silky voice, threading both hands through my hair along the sides of my head. I feared he would crush my skull. Perhaps he just wanted to show me he could. "Too pure in there at the moment. But we'll take care of that, won't we?"

Red eyes narrowed; a beastly grin widened. He licked a drop of blood from one pointed canine. I trembled and couldn't stop.

"Perhaps you'd prefer a more pleasing form."

Dark hair lightened to gold, fiery eyes iced to sky blue, sharpened teeth smoothed to a fine row of pearly whites. A perfect face—angular lines, chiseled, not sharp.

"There, now. Better? I don't much care for wearing the hunter's shell anyway."

Fear prickled like needles through my veins. My body was stone. I'd seen this face before—beautiful, grinning, glacial, menacing. He was the one locked in combat with Jude in my vision of an ancient time.

Lightning struck nearby, brightening the face of my captor for a fleeting second.

"Who are you?" I managed to whisper in a quivering breath.

"You may call me Danté. You are far more lovely than I thought. I couldn't wait any longer to meet my bride. The temptation was too much. I never have been one for patience."

Bride! My body cringed, wanting to fold inward upon itself. I stared in shock at the beautiful demon entrancing me with storm-cloud eyes. He trailed a finger along the bite mark at my neck.

"And now you're mine."

He angled his head as if he were listening for something. His gaze slid toward the alcove entrance for a split second.

"One more taste before I go."

"No—"

He crushed his lips to mine before I could form a thought—tasting, demanding, thrusting his tongue along mine. I struggled, tearing my mouth away to the side. Teeth sliced through my bottom lip. I cried out as he backed away, releasing me. I slipped sideways, staring at the beautiful specimen. He smiled, canines at full length again. Blood smeared his wicked grin. My blood.

"Be sure to give the Master of Demons my name. Till next time, my sweet."

He blew me a kiss, then his body evaporated into wispy gray mist, sliding between the bars of the wrought-iron gate and into the air.

I heard the slide of steel, a sword being pulled from its sheath. Through the alcove stepped Jude, the real one, black-eyed and fuming with an iron weapon in hand. My body slipped against the brick wall, falling toward the pavement. He caught me. It seemed Jude was always catching me before I hit the ground.

"A prince," he grumbled, gravelly voice vibrating against me, cutting like shards.

He held me close, a fiery blaze against the bitter cold chilling me to the bone. At first I thought he was squeezing me, but he wasn't, even though the air was being sucked from my lungs. I gasped. Then I could breathe again. The next thing I knew, we were standing in his living room.

"Whuh…"

I was dizzy, but I didn't pass out. First, we were standing in the alcove, then we were standing in his house next to the sofa in less than a second. I trembled even more. He sheathed his sword and set me down on the sofa, dark eyes assessing. He slanted my chin to the side, catching sight of the bite.

"Fuck!"

"What?" I asked through chattering teeth.

I didn't know if I shook from the cold, the trauma, the arctic touch of the prince, or the abrasive, angry manner with which Jude was handling me.

"You've been marked." His voice cut the air. "What did he look like?" he demanded while grabbing the fleece blanket from the armchair and wrapping it tight around my shoulders.

I could hardly speak through the quivering. He stood up and did something near the fireplace. A sharp crackle, and a fire came to life.

"What did he look like, Genevieve?" He stood directly in front of me, gaze hard and focused.

"Y-you."

Jude went still—predator still, deathly still, grim-reaper-standing-on-your-doorstep still. His eyes roved over my open blouse, the loose threads where buttons once held it together, my swollen lips, the abrasions and bite on my neck. His voice dipped so low and so soft I could hardly understand him.

"Did he tell you his name?"

His eyes fixed on me in such a way I thought that if I moved a muscle, the tiger would pounce. I was afraid, knowing the demon boasted about who he was and wanting Jude to know his identity. I'd not forgotten the image of a younger, tattoo-free, rage-filled Jude locked in a warlike embrace with this same demon prince.

"Answer me."

"He said his name was Danté."

Black. Black. Black.

Irises, pupils, and the whites of his eyes blanched of all color but the deepest pitch. He seemed to be something so other, I feared he might transform into a supernatural beast right before my eyes. A blazing aura whipped in the air. Razor-edged energy cut and slashed in waves around his body, slicing outward across my skin.

"You're hu-hurting me," I whispered.

He wasn't even touching me. He closed his eyes, trying to rein in the turbulent rage filling up the room. I scooted back onto the sofa. He spoke, articulating three words in a deep, guttural, almost-animal voice.

"Do. Not. Move."

He vanished. If ever I was in doubt of whether or not he was human, the answer was absolutely, irrefutably no.

I sat there for I don't know how long, wondering if I should flee the premises. Who was I kidding? I was too terrified to go anywhere. Jude obviously had some otherworldly ability to do great harm, but that harm was always directed at the bad guys. The monster that caught me on the street would definitely harm me.

I tucked my knees to my chest, willing the scene away from my mind. I'd given myself over so willingly, thinking he was Jude. I hadn't objected for a single second.

All my lofty thoughts of considering Jude just a platonic protector flew out the window. I wanted him. Bad. My body had responded automatically to his lips—no, not his lips. I was going to be sick. I wiped the back of my hand across my mouth, wishing I could erase the demon's touch.

"Ow."

The cut was puffy and swollen, stinging. Minutes passed. Still no Jude. I knew he told me not to move, but this was ridiculous. I sat there, exposing way more than made me comfortable.

I crept into his room—stark, neat, and clean—and took a brown T-shirt from the top drawer. I felt a little embarrassed going into his personal things, but I wasn't going to stay like this till he came back. Heading into the hall bathroom, I jumped at my own reflection. A ghostly pale girl with a trickle of blood dripping from one of the puncture wounds stared back at me.

My pretty yellow blouse was bloodstained and ruined on the left side, not to mention the rip exposing me to the world. How many times was I going to end up looking this way—battered and bloody?

Stripping off the blouse, I dropped it in the waste bin and splashed my face and neck with warm water. Then I toweled myself dry, cleaning all traces of Danté's marks.

Unfortunately, I couldn't erase the bite mark at the base of my throat, hissing between clenched teeth as I tried to clean the area. I pulled on Jude's shirt, which smelled of him, and stared at the pale, blue-eyed girl in the mirror.

"What did you do?" I asked her, shaking my head.

To plummet from ecstasy to sheer terror so fast had my head spinning. My heart had expanded with the feel of Jude's lips and hands on me, retracting the instant I realized it wasn't him at all. I couldn't bear for Jude to know the truth—I'd melted into the demon's embrace, believing it was his arms that held me, his hands touching me, his tongue in my mouth. I cringed at the shame of it all.

The demon prince took Jude's form, knowing I would not run. He pinned my wrists, thinking I might protest Jude's advances. How elated he must've been when I was well and beyond receptive.

I moped back to the sofa and curled into a ball, wrapping myself in the blanket. Still no Jude.

The icy sting in my neck had started to subside, the throbbing pulse slowed, and the shivering had stopped altogether. I stared into the crackling flames, a warm gold around the hearth shadowing the room. One blue flame licked up from the bottom, drawing my eyes.