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“Shower and change. I’ll pick you up in a half hour.” He pulled me forward but didn’t move away.

Pressed flush to his body, I looked up into his eyes, unable to break away from the swirling darkness there.

He must have felt it too, because he didn’t even flinch. Heat licked my veins, and a needy little ache formed in the most inconvenient place.

“Run away, little prinkípissa,” he growled.

I broke free and fled.

***

I am not attracted to my host.“That is what they call Stockholm Syndrome, Serena,” I scolded my reflection.

Between the stern lecture and the cold shower, my senses were mostly returned to normal.

Emerging from the bathroom, I nearly jumped out of my skin. A stifled scream squeaked past my lips.

“Do you always talk to yourself in the shower?” Markos murmured, a smirk etched in his unearthly face.

He would have been devilishly handsome if it wasn’t for the scar. But, if I was being honest, I barely noticed the marks. The more I was around him, the more I noticed one thing: How attractive he was.

“Amongst other things,” I said to answer his question.

He tipped his head. “Like what?”

The slow, deliberate way his gaze slid down my body sent a rush of heat sizzling through my veins.

“Oh, good grief! Is that the only thing you men are capable of thinking about?” I snapped, brushing past him on my way into the bedroom where the comb sat on the vanity.

“Tell me you don’t think about the opposite sex in the shower,” he dared.

I slapped my palm against the furniture’s wooden top. “Maybe I’m into chicks? Ever thought of that?”

The comment had him faltering.

Yeah, take that!I hid my satisfied smirk. Served him right for assuming my preferences in sexual partners!

“See, I doubt that.” He leaned against the doorframe, studying me as I picked the comb back up and began to work the snarls from the ridiculously long lengths.

“Oh? And what makes you say that?” I tugged violently on the strands.Ouch!I thought about cutting my long hair, now more so than ever. It was curly in this heat, but the manual labor made it knot no matter how I secured it—braids or ponies, even a bun, it didn’t matter. The effect was the same: A bloody mess.

“You would have jumped my cousin if you liked chicks,” he insisted.

I glared at him through the mirror. “What if Evangelia isn’t my type?”

“She’s everyone’s type. Cute, spunky, and easily dominated. If you took a lover, you’d try to be the master in the bedroom, which is why you need a man.”

What a load of bull!I could not believe we were having this conversation.

“Fine, you win,” I dismissed him. “I’m not attracted to women. Can we drop it?”

“I’m supposed to find you a husband.”

Those words were a blast of cold water. The strength sapped from my fingers.

“There might be an alternative,” he said softly, stepping forward.

Unable to form a coherent sentence, I watched him approach. He took the comb from my numb hand and began to work the tangles. His touch was gentle, and...he wasgoodat this.