Chapter 18

Though I most definitely needed a cold shower, I scalded myself with steaming water for twenty minutes, running through the events of the night.

My powers had responded at will, except when Fabio had grabbed me. What had he meant by his Master giving him something extra?

After defeating the demons, watching Jude being held within a circle of flaming light and sinister darkness, then hauling my wasted best friend home, and finally ending with a toe-curling kiss, I'd forgotten all about Fabio's final threat. Until now.

Utterly exhausted, I toweled off and slipped into sweatpants and a tank top. After blow-drying my hair and walking back into my bedroom, I realized how chilly the apartment was. Apparently, the cool front the meteorologists had been promising us had finally arrived.

I padded down the hall and switched on the thermostat to the heater for the first time this season. I brought Mindy a glass of water and two Advil, setting them on her nightstand, but she was out cold. Blonde waves pooled on her pillow and lips pursed like an infant, making a soft wheezing sound as she always did in deep sleep.

I unfolded the quilt at the foot of the bed, draped it over her, then quickly shuffled back to my room and crawled into my own bed.

"Brrrrr."

The heater had kicked on, stirring the cool air. I tucked into my goose-down comforter up to the chin and rubbed my cold feet back and forth to get the circulation flowing. Again, I drifted through the night's trials, landing on the man whose lips made me melt and arms made me feel safe as the edge of sleep took me to another place.

Or so I thought.

At first, I thought I was in a dream. Shrouded in darkness, I stood in the middle of a lifeless forest. No insects chirping, no small rodents scrambling to nests, no night birds echoing calls.

Leafless trees with craggy branches and trunks of gray encircled me. I stepped with bare feet to the nearest one, touching the tip of one finger to the trunk. The sooty form instantly crumbled, evaporating into an unseen wind, whisking away the ashes. The brush of wind felt like a whisper, an echo, not the strong gust I've felt before a storm.

A curling gray mist wreathed my ankles. A silken black nightgown with thin straps clung to my body and fell just above the knee. I watched in tranquilized fascination as tendrils of thick mist crawled upward along my pale skin.

Cool fingers of vapor caressed the lean muscle of my calf, dipped behind bare knees, smoothed over my thighs, hips, waist, whispered over my ribcage, cupped my breasts, lingered there and finally curved over my shoulders. The intimate sensation made me gasp in surprised pleasure, despite a gnawing feeling that I shouldn't be here, that I didn't want to be here. The conflicting emotions frightened me.

Mist wrapped around my wrists, tugging me along a path out of the dead woodland. From the line of ghostly trees, my bare feet touched black sand. This was no dream. My soul had sifted to this place.

Whereas my senses were slightly dulled without my physical body, my emotions were heightened, feeling everything pass through me, leaving a mark within. I'd felt this sensation before. Fear flooded my veins.

Before I even saw the black fortress, I knew it was there. Danté had beckoned, and my soul had obeyed—my own blood betraying me through his will. The mist had vanished, but there was no need for a guide. I knew where to go.

A slow-burning dread whispered through me as I stepped to the gate, spikes of iron jutting sharply upward. I didn't look up, knowing there was nothing but a murky void hovering above the castle.

The guardian crouched in the cliff face near the gate—a skeletal creature with white-watching orbs and decayed flesh pocked with gaping wounds where red spiders crept to and fro. He motioned to the gate. I knew what to do.

My mind struggled against the pull, yet the compulsion to move forward was too strong. I touched the cold black iron. It obeyed and swung open.

I walked across smooth black stones toward the Gothic arch framing the door. Yellow-eyed shapes watched from the battlements. Who were these creatures? I wondered for only an instant before some force pulled me onward.

Crossing under the archway of stone demons carved in every niche and shadow, I placed my palm upon the gargantuan black door. It creaked open at my touch.

The familiar golden interior beamed before me. Crackling fire in a large fireplace cast golden light on the black velvet sofa and chaise lounge. Crystal chandeliers sparkled among the grand room, filling the chamber with a pleasant glow. A whisper in the air or in my head called me forward.

My name echoed from deeper in the castle. The cold prince called me. A skitter of raw fear ran down my spine.

"Genevieve."

I lifted a silver candlestick from a sable-wooded table and walked back into the foyer with a nonexistent ceiling. The black-stoned stairs spiraled up and up and up into nothingness. My name rode the wind again. I followed, unable to do anything else.

Winding up the staircase, I stopped on the second floor, which had only one door—a mirror of the arched Gothic entry of this place. With no door handle, I flattened my palm to the wood. It opened without hesitation.

Crossing the threshold felt akin to stepping into a lion's den, where the predator lurks in shadows. Though hidden, I knew he was there. Watching. Stalking.

Beyond the deep foreboding, an irresistible lure drew me farther in. I marveled at the bedchamber with its four-poster, king-size bed covered in white silk sheets fitted against the far wall to the right. Gold satin pillows piled high against the black lacquer headboard. Luxurious softness welcomed me, making me want to edge closer.

A fireplace equally as large as the one downstairs in the great hall breathed warmth with popping, lively flames tipped an unnatural blue.

A burgundy mantel framed the fireplace in an amorphous pattern, appearing to me like many-shaped eyes watching me. I stepped closer, feeling something tickle beneath my bare feet. A white fur carpet of some kind spread in front of the hearth.

I set my candlestick on the mantel, realizing I must've been mistaken, because the ornate design appeared only to be uniquely made in odd shapes. There were no eyes. Everything had a dreamlike quality, or rather like a nightmare, though I knew this was neither.

Standing in its own cozy niche, illuminated by varying-size candelabras, was a dining table. Fine white china, shining silverware and a pair of polished goblets were set for two in perfect alignment at the head of the long table. Lifting a silver goblet, I stared into the smooth surface seemingly too perfect to be real. My own reflection frowned back at me, a pale mirror of myself.

The ghostly vapor returned, wrapping me in a cold embrace. Misty coils materialized into bronzed, masculine arms wrapped around my waist. The solid form of a man pressed against me from behind. His head bent into my hair, his voice more concrete against my ear. Not an echo but so close I startled in surprise.

"Genevieve, you look so beautiful for me."

My heart raced from fear, though my head tipped back, offering the vulnerable column of my throat.

Why did I do this? I didn't want this.

"Oh yes, my sweet."

A mouth that scorched like frost-burn sucked at the pulse in my neck. Cold fire lit me up inside. All the same, sensual pleasure doused the pain from second to second. One of his hands smoothed over the black silk, across my abdomen and pelvic bone, sliding down the side of my thigh, fingers inching up the fabric.

I tried to speak, to scream, but nothing happened. Thoughts of protest flitted from my mind, chased away by an icy wind. Why couldn't I focus? I wanted him to stop.

"Skin like milk," he whispered against my shoulder, sliding down the thin strap of my gown, planting another burning kiss.

Silky-smooth fingers found naked flesh under my hem, sliding across the curve of my upper thigh, sloping down. Something screamed inside.

"St-Stop!"

I whirled, panting heavily, skirting around the table to put something between us. A sharp pain stabbed me for that second of rebellion against his will.

He was so beautiful—a golden god with rainstorm eyes. In a crisp white button-down and black tailored slacks, with tousled hair, he seemed like a rich playboy, not a demon prince. He smiled crookedly as I lifted the strap back onto my shoulder, sidling closer to one of the place settings.

"You're right, of course. Dinner before dessert. Come," he said, gesturing to the place setting before him. "Sit."

I shook my head, trying to keep my feet from moving, willing them to stay in place. For a moment, they did. His cold gaze fixed on me.

"Come," he commanded. I gasped, for my body moved without my consent toward the chair he'd drawn out for me. "Sit." And so I did, like a robot on remote command.

He seated himself at the head of the table to my left, smiling genially. "Now then. That's better. Let us get better acquainted."

He snapped open a white napkin and placed it on his lap. From a shadowed corner, a creature appeared I had not seen when I came into the room. I jumped in my seat.

"Don't mind Claudius. He's simply here to serve."

Dressed in the livery of a Victorian footman, the gargantuan zombie-like creature poured red wine into silver goblets. I leaned away from him, feeling unexplainably terrified of the lumbering thing. His ashen skin caved in around the eyes and sagged in hollow grooves underneath the cheekbones.

I shuddered when his eyes fixed on me—pale yellow and full of misery like a hopeless caged animal. He set the bottle on the table, then slunk from the room.

"There now. Drink."

Danté lifted his glass, took a swallow, and gestured for me to do the same. I still couldn't find my voice, but I was able to shake my head.

He angled his head in a curious way. "What is it? Do you think I would poison you?"

"No," I managed to say. "Possibly."

He tossed back his golden head, glossy hair falling away from a lovely lined face, and gave a full throaty laugh.

"Do not fear, my darling. I am not trying to trick you like Persephone with the pomegranate. This is simply"—he gestured wide—"our first date." He winked and sipped from his goblet. "I would certainly never poison my crowning jewel. Besides, your soul cannot be poisoned. Not that way, anyway." He gestured again and commanded, "Drink."

This time, I found that I couldn't resist the compulsion. I lifted the silver cup and took a sip, the liquid burning sweetly down my throat. How could my soul sense things in a physical manner?

"I don't understand," I said, staring at the wine to avoid him. "I'm not really here. How am I tasting this?"

"Oh, you are really here, Genevieve. Your soul is your essence. You can feel sensations with just your soul. However, it is less, shall we say, intense than when the body and soul are one." His voice dipped low and sinister. "All in good time, my sweet."

I glanced at him, wishing I hadn't. His gaze roved over my shoulders and farther down to my breasts. I felt beyond vulnerable in nothing more than a negligee, sitting at Danté's dining table, suffering under his burning gaze. A touch of anger flared inside me.

"Stop calling me that. I am not yours."

Stormy eyes met mine. "You will be, Genevieve. Make no mistake about that. And when you are, I'll be more than happy to teach you what it means to be mine."

The threat, laced with menace, made quite an impact. My hands trembled in my lap. I tried to understand how my soul reacted in physical ways without the body, but there was no time for that.

Right now, I needed to find a way out of here. I closed my eyes, trying to center myself and reach my Vessel power. In a deep, dark tunnel, a pinpoint of light glimmered.

"I had hoped we'd have a pleasant dinner together."

His voice jarred my eyes back open. A flash of crimson when he blinked. I flinched. He blinked again, his eyes returning to cloudy blue. The candlelight flickered, gilding his features to fine gold. The paradox of beauty hiding the beast made me shrink farther away.

"Be a good girl, Genevieve," he warned, ice in his voice.

Claudius entered with a platter, serving slices of rare roast beef and herbed new potatoes onto our plates. This all felt so surreal.

"You eat roast beef and potatoes?" I asked, leaving my hands in my lap. The idea struck me as odd, even ridiculous.

He forked a piece of bloody meat into his mouth, wiping delicately with his napkin.

"I eat whatever I want. I can have whatever I want. And so will you, my dear. Whatever your heart desires will be yours. You need only ask."

"Whatever my heart desires?" I asked, knowing full well my meaning hung heavy in the air. My heart's desires leaned toward the protective steel of a dark demon hunter.

He straightened in his chair and picked up his glass of wine, swirling it in circles. "I know you're infatuated with the hunter. It makes no difference to me. On the contrary, it may serve me quite well."

"How is that?" I asked, feeling more emboldened than before.

Something stirred when I thought of Jude, something strong and fierce. But the glare I received in return cut my breath away. He set his napkin and goblet on the table, holding out his hand to me. A piano began to play a melancholy tune from somewhere beyond the room.

"Shall we dance?"

"No," I said emphatically, shaking my head.

"Oh yes. I think so."

With those words and a flash in his eyes, my body betrayed me again, rising from the seat and joining him in front of the fire.

He pulled me close, holding my right hand out in his left and pressing his other to the small of my back, moving me in a waltzing dance. The perverted fa?ade of civility was revolting. Everywhere his body brushed against mine felt blistering cold. I went rigid in his arms.

"How are you making me do things I don't want to do?"

"Why, Genevieve. You wound me. Here I thought I was being the perfect gentleman. Isn't this what young ladies desire? Dinner by candlelight? Dancing with a devoted suitor?"

I couldn't even laugh at how ludicrous he sounded. "Most women prefer to be asked, not abducted from their beds."

"I didn't abduct you, my sweet. I simply called. And you came."

"I would never come here of my own free will. It's the blood, isn't it? Is that how you control me?"

Unperturbed, he continued leading me in a slow waltz on the fur carpet. His expression remained stoic. Placid and amiable, as if we truly were in some Victorian mansion and I was his willing lady, content in his arms. The reality was disturbingly the opposite.

"It's always been my understanding that women rarely know what they truly want. Their betters, specifically their lords and masters, must gently show them the way, sometimes with a firmer hand. Only then are they content to follow their true destiny."

"My destiny is not tied to you," I said with a shaky breath.

His expression hardened to sharp planes. "There has never been a Vessel without a demon lord, and I will most certainly be yours. Be sure of it."

I shuddered. A masculine whisper, a familiar chant, shivered through the hollow halls, then faded quickly away. Danté smiled as if he hadn't heard the whisper or as if it were perfectly normal to hear hostile voices echoing in this vast, bleak fortress.

"Don't worry, my sweet," he whispered into my hair, "you'll become accustomed to my touch. We have eternity to discover each other in every way."

"Never," I bit out through clenched teeth.

A throaty chuckle as he bit the lobe of my ear. I cried out, unable to pull away.

"So fiery. I like that. It will make things more…interesting. The end will be the same nevertheless."

"You are so sure of yourself," I challenged, doing my damnedest to put a few inches between us. His compulsion to have me against him was so strong the effort to resist caused spine-numbing pain.

"Yes. Once a Vessel has succumbed to me, there is no going back."

"But I will never succumb to you," I said, trying to thrust out of my mind the fact that he'd had Vessels before. What happened to them? "And Jude will never let that happen."

"Ah, but see, that's where you're wrong." His chilling gaze froze me in place. He stopped swaying to the music, coiling me tightly in his arms, his touch like a cold-blooded serpent constricting its prey. "Your hunter will deliver you to me on a silver platter. He can't help himself. So tempting, vixen that you are."

His face was a hairsbreadth away, smiling at some secret of his own. A loud banging reverberated throughout the castle. Danté's eyes slid sideways to the hallway, a sinister smile spreading wide.

"I hear you knocking, but you can't come in," he said in a singsong way that raised gooseflesh along my skin. "Oh, my sweet, you're cold. I apologize. Perhaps I should get you under the covers."

He started for the bed with a viselike grip around my wrist.

"No!"

The very thought sent me into hysterical panic. I struggled, despite the compulsion threatening to break me in half as I tried to bend away.

Furious pounding echoed from the outer door, growing louder and more violent.

Danté laughed, whether at my vain struggle or at the one who I could guess was banging for entrance to this macabre place, I wasn't sure.

I punched toward his throat while trying to wriggle out of his grip. He slid sideways in a fluid, sinuous motion, tackling me to the white fur rug. His strength far surpassed his demon minions.

Spreading his body on top of mine, he pinned my wrists above my head, leering from blood-red eyes. He smiled, all sharpened teeth and elongated canines. My heartbeat sped in terrified alarm, the rabbit once again caught so easily by the cat. His cold aura scraped against my skin.

"You think I care about the hunter's fixation on you? It's so perfect, it's almost poetic. I'm amused just thinking of it," he said, laughing between serrated teeth. "I know you want him. There's no doubt he wants you. The fallen are forever looking heavenward. It's so obscene."

He paused to run his tongue along my neck. I bucked to push him away. That wicked laugh again before he pierced me with a bloody gaze.

"Please, with my permission, take him to bed. Go for a nice long ride. Then you'll be perfectly ripe for the taking. I don't mind sharing, just that one time. One time is all it will take," he gloated, "and you'll be mine forever."

He bent to kiss me. I twisted away violently, disturbed at his body pressing intimately against mine.

No, not my body. Just my soul.

Just my soul?

I struggled insanely to get free. The pounding ensued downstairs, growing louder and louder. Danté nuzzled my neck in a grotesque action of playfulness. I realized I was crying, petrified and panicked. Then something tingled inside.

I shut my eyes, searching in the dark. There it was, a glimmer of white, sparkling silver deep within. I called to it, praying the words of protection in my mind. A swish of silky blonde hair brushed my cheek in memory. Swathed in my mother's embrace, she cooed soft words from long ago. Shining, beating brighter, a moonbeam pulsed out and out.

The enraged pounding downstairs grew more relentless, rebounding through the castle. Sharp pain in my wrists as Danté repositioned and bound them both in one hand. I battled to regain a hold on my power, but he was too strong, overriding my thoughts with his dominant will and piercing pain.

He gripped my jaw, snapping my face toward him. "Open your eyes, Genevieve!"

The compulsion to obey him tore a streak of pain through me when I refused, a whip licking bare skin. My power was building, growing from that inner place.

He pressed his lips against mine, grinding to try to open my mouth. My scream muffled between our mouths, I wrenched my face away. His free hand roved my body and squeezed as he hissed in my ear.

"I'm not done with you yet. Open your eyes and look at your master."

I couldn't, I couldn't. I'd never get away if I did. Burning pain seared down my spine, the penalty for fighting his will.

"Ahh!"

"It hurts, doesn't it, sweetheart?" His voice had lost every ounce of civility, now only the grating of a monster. "I can make it worse. Much, much worse."

An agonizing sharp stab bowed my back. I screamed. He chuckled.

"Open your eyes." A sultry command, like the voice of a lover.

I did, peering into the blood-red gaze of a true monster. Tears streaked hot from my eyes, slipping into my hairline.

"There now. Relax."

I stopped struggling. The pain ebbed when I obeyed his will.

"That's my girl." He pecked a light kiss on my cheek, pressing his body harder against mine. I stiffened. "No need to fear. We'll wait for our first coupling when your body and soul are one." His grin cut a sinister line across his beautiful face. "Now, as for your soul, I believe I will take a taste."

His lips pressed to mine and pried them open. When his tongue swept in, my mind folded inward. The sensation of being flipped inside out melted over me. I tried to suck in a breath, but no air came, as if I were paralyzed, as if I'd lost all control of myself. Then…

Darkness. Nothing but infinite darkness. I could breathe again. So cold here. But I wasn't alone. He followed me. No. He brought me here. His presence—a web of tangible evil wrapped me in his net. If I moved, he sensed the motion, following with stealth. His cold breath brushed the back of my neck. His voice was a hollow echo in this place.

"Mmm... You're even lovelier on the inside." Panic gripped me hard. He was inside me, his ghastly essence strangling my soul, taking hold of me from within. His voice, a sibilant whisper, breathed close to my ear, "So many delectable memory scars."

A flickering of light, then I stood in my mother's studio. I was nine years old, braids in my hair, eyes wide and staring at the horrifying canvas before me, the paint still wet. In a vast ocean of blue, nude bodies of dead women and children floated on the waves, bloated in death, hungry shadows lurking beneath them. In the sky, a bright golden sun shone in mockery of the floating dead. My mother stepped from her washroom, drying her hands.

"Sweetheart, I didn't hear you come in." She stepped behind me, resting one hand on my shoulder as we both gazed at the horror in oils. She brushed a hand down my back, a soothing gesture of hers. I trembled before her artwork. "Remember, death is always waiting for the innocents. Waiting to reach up and pull us down to the world below."

"Lily! What are you doing?"

I spun, finding my father in the doorway, his expression dark, his posture tight.

"Just showing our daughter my latest work."

He stormed across the studio. "You are never to show her this so-called art of yours."

"Why keep her from the truth? Evil lurks. I want her to be aware."

"Are you crazy!"

I pressed my hands to my ears as the arguing escalated to shouts. I backed to the doorway till I was outside and running from their raging voices.

Darkness again. Coldness seeped through me.

"No," I whispered, still shrouded in night, constricted by ropes of Danté's making.

"There are so many to choose from," he hissed. "How about this one?"

Another fluttering of light, and I stood in the hallway of my middle school, opening my locker. Brenda Blakely hovered a few feet away with a gaggle of girls. I'd beaten Brenda for the last spot on the girls' soccer team the week before. One of her friends whispered something inaudible.

"I don't know," replied Brenda. "Her mom jumped off the Mississippi Bridge. Who could she possibly bring to the Mother/Daughter Tea? She's probably crazy too. Like mother, like daughter."

They giggled. I slammed the locker door and walked away, refusing to let the burning tears fall.

I never did go to the Tea. Never even mentioned it to my dad. One of many events I'd forego because she chose to step off that bridge.

The black enveloped me for a split second before I was once more standing inside a painful memory. "No," I said the second I realized where I was—the cemetery where we'd memorialized my mother with a stone marker. The swirling eddies of the Mississippi had never borne her body up. We were left engraving her name in marble and visiting this empty plot next to where my father would one day lie.

I was sixteen and had come home a day early from a beach vacation with Mindy, knowing how depressed Dad could get near their anniversary. I'd found empty beer bottles and old photograph albums open on the kitchen table. But no Dad. I'd waited for hours, but he'd never come home. I'd called his friends. No luck. Seeing the evidence strewn about the house, I'd finally found him here, stretched out in front of her headstone.

"Dad."

He jerked up, eyes rimmed with red. He burst into tears. Never had he shown such emotion in front of me. Never had I seen my strong father reduced to such despair. I knelt down and hugged him. His shoulders shook with sobs.

"Why wasn't I enough for her?" he cried, heartbreaking anguish in his voice.

"Dad, no. She loved you. She did." Hot tears welled in my eyes.

"But not enough," was the desolate reply.

My soul screamed and ran from the memory, remembering that I'd also felt I was never enough. She chose death over us.

"No more," I whispered into the pitch black. Malevolence skated along my skin, petting me. "Please. No more."

Invisible arms wrapped me in an embrace. I held still, unable to fight or struggle, wanting only the peace of mindless oblivion.

The sensation of folding inward again and falling fast through an even darker hole made me nauseous. I gagged as if someone were choking me, the stranglehold of Danté releasing my soul then…candlelight.

I lay beneath him as before. He still had my wrists pinned with one hand, laughing down with undisguised mirth. "Your fear is a powerful aphrodisiac." His other hand roamed down my ribcage. "Just imagine when you are good and mine, the pleasure we'll share." The painting of the floating dead flashed to mind, and I realized what it would mean to be a Vessel for a demon prince. Not only would I be forced to commit his atrocities, I'd be corrupted into relishing the evil deeds.

"No," I said, jerking my arms, testing his hold.

"No?" He stilled, his fangs elongating. "I grow rather weary of that word." Hard lust glinted in his eyes. His hand clasped the top of my gown and ripped, tearing it down the middle.

"No!" I screamed, wrenching one hand free and grappling to push him away. He was too strong.

A flash of sharp fangs. His teeth sank into the tender hollow of my neck below my jaw, penetrating me with frost-numbing pain. He groaned with sick pleasure, sucking at my neck viciously. A strangled scream reverberated against the walls. My own.

The pounding on the outer door snapped me away from the brink of insanity. Danté had violated my mind, my soul. He'd take no more.

Amid the cesspool of potent fear and pain I was drowning in, a flicker of light, a tattered thought, buoyed its way to the surface, up to the moon-brightness.

He would not take all of me. He would not take all of me. Righteous fury flared into a building burn as my lips said the words.

"Flamma intus."

With a blinding flash, my Vessel power exploded in a burst of silver white. Danté flew off me and crashed half across the dining table. China shattered, silver scattered, and a candelabrum knocked to the floor, snuffing out the candles. He stared with wide, gray eyes, half-dazed, bewilderment plastered on his face. His fierce expression, hard and dangerous, jarred me into action.

I leaped to my feet and sprinted out the door, not caring that the torn gown fell half off my body and flew behind me in torn strips.

Practically stumbling down the steps, I scraped bare feet and toes on the cold stone. I followed the hammering echoes—down, down, down. It was only one flight of stairs, but a chill wind brushed my back. No!

Leaping the last few steps in one bound, I made it to the giant black door, which swung backward at my touch.

There on bended knees was Jude. Fists tightly clenched and so, so bloody. His head snapped up, black gaze tormented with despair and helpless rage.

Bursting onto his feet, he took in my state of undress as I teetered on the threshold of the door, dazed and terror-stricken. He grabbed me by the shoulders, gaze flicking behind me, and yanked me roughly into his arms, holding me close.

A gust of cool wind slammed the massive black door with a resounding boom, but not before I heard the distinct, smug sound of lilting laughter.