Page 18

T he conversation with Blackwood had dragged on interminably. The old demon was always fishing for information, trying to uncover my plans, my territorial claims. Behind his polite facade lurked the mind of a schemer who'd been playing demonic politics since the Dark Ages.

"Just a friendly warning," he'd swirled his bourbon. "The Council has taken notice of your recent activities."

I kept my expression neutral, though inside, my jaw clenched. "Is that so?"

"Indeed. First, you vanish from your usual haunts for months, letting Timothy handle your businesses, then suddenly you reappear here with a human woman?" His eyes gleamed with predatory interest. "One might wonder if she's more than she appears."

I merely smiled, revealing nothing. "One might wonder many things, old friend."

But even as I maintained this tedious chess match of words, something tugged at me, a sensation like a thread pulled taut in my chest. I'd felt this connection growing stronger since the moment I'd touched Rosie, a mating bond I still hadn't revealed to her.

At first, it was just awareness, a gentle hum of her presence at the edge of my consciousness.

Now that awareness flared violently with a sharp stab of panic that wasn't mine.

Fear. Her fear.

Something inside me snapped.

All pretense of civility evaporated. Blackwood's voice faded to meaningless noise as every cell in my body screamed one word: Mine.

I didn't excuse myself. Didn't explain. One moment I was standing beside Blackwood, the next I was simply gone, moving across the party at a speed no human could track, half-teleporting through the gaps between guests who would only register a sudden cold rush of air.

With each step, my control fractured further. Glass cracked in nearby champagne glasses. The fairy lights strung overhead flickered and dimmed. A cold wind swept across the lawn from nowhere, sending napkins flying and causing confused murmurs to ripple through the crowd.

I felt my glamour slipping, the carefully constructed human facade crumbling at the edges. Heat spread across my skin as patches of magenta began to show through. My teeth sharpened, my vision narrowed to predatory focus, and I sensed the shadow of my horns beginning to manifest.

And then I saw them.

Roger's hand on Rosie's arm, his fingers digging cruelly into her flesh. Her back against the hedge, cornered. The fear in her eyes mingled with defiance.

My vision went red.

"I believe," I barely recognized the sound that emerged, my voice had dropped two octaves, layered with harmonics no human vocal cords could produce, "that the lady told you to remove your hands."

Roger turned, his drunk belligerence faltering when he saw me. Whatever he saw in my face drained the color from his. His hand dropped from Rosie's arm.

"We were just talking," he slurred, taking a step back.

I moved closer, aware that the ground under my feet was scorching, the grass turning black with each step. The air around me crackled with energy that wasn't remotely human.

"Touch her again," I promised, letting just enough of my true nature bleed through that he would taste the sulfurous truth of it, "and you will wish you had never been born."

Roger stumbled backward, his eyes wide with instinctive terror, the fear prey recognizes in the presence of an apex predator. Some primitive part of his brain understood what his conscious mind could not. He was standing before something ancient and lethal.

I felt my control slipping further. Centuries of discipline evaporated with the need to protect what was mine. To punish the one who dared threaten her. My fingernails lengthened into claws. The air around me darkened, as if light itself shrank away.

Then warm fingers wrapped around my wrist. Rosie's touch, anchoring me.

"Aldaine," her voice soft, and my name in her voice was like a lifeline thrown to a drowning man. "I'm fine. Please."

I looked down, seeing the concern in her green eyes—concern not for herself, but for me. Her hand squeezed mine, grounding me, pulling me back from the precipice of transformation.

The fog of rage began to dissipate. I became aware of our surroundings once more.

Stunned silence had fallen over this corner of the party.

Nearby guests stood frozen, drinks halfway to their lips, eyes wide with shock and unease.

Some had backed away. Others were pulling out phones, no doubt recording.

Jan stood near the dessert table, her hand covering her mouth. And Stephany had emerged from wherever she'd been hiding, her face a complex study in emotions: fear, yes, but also calculation, fascination, as if she were mentally reassessing everything she thought she knew.

"Rosalind?" My father's concerned voice cut through the tension as he pushed his way through the gathering crowd. "What's happening here?"

I felt Rosie's fingers tighten around mine. I listened to the murmurs spreading through the crowd like ripples in a pond:

"Did you see that? He looked ready to pummel Roger."

"His eyes, what was wrong with his eyes?"

"It was just the light, right?"

Full awareness crashed back, and with it, horror. What had I done? In my rage, I'd nearly exposed everything, what I was, worse, it could have exposed Rosie for summoning a demon. I'd risked not just my position but potentially triggered a conflict that would reverberate through both worlds.

All because I couldn't control my reaction to a mating bond I hadn't even acknowledged.

But worse than exposing myself, I'd frightened her. I saw it in the split second before she masked it, that momentary flash of shock when she'd witnessed something not human emerging from beneath my carefully crafted exterior.

I had scared Rosie.

I dropped her hand as if burned, taking a deliberate step back from her.

The cold logic I'd honed over centuries reasserted itself, dropping like a wall between us.

I could feel her confusion, her hurt at my sudden withdrawal, but I blocked it out.

This was necessary. This was safer, safer for both of us .

"I told you before," my voice now perfectly controlled, perfectly human, perfectly empty. "I'm not good."

I turned and walked away, not looking back at her hurt expression, not acknowledging the stares and whispers that followed me through the crowd.

The fairy lights swayed gently overhead in the evening breeze, casting ever-shifting shadows across the manicured lawn.

Behind me, I heard the sound of a champagne glass toppling, liquid splashing onto the grass.

I kept walking.