Chapter 13
THIRTEEN
Darkness wraps around me, thick and endless, like I’ve been swallowed whole.
I’m not falling so much as sinking—drawn down into something deep and ancient.
There’s no ground beneath me, no edges, only the slow, crushing weight of invisible water pressing in from every direction.
My limbs twitch but don’t obey. It’s like being trapped in my own body, forced to watch from behind my eyes as something else moves me.
A flicker interrupts the void. Firelight.
Two figures stand beside the flames as though they’ve been waiting for me.
A man and a woman. They seem both familiar and impossible.
The woman’s hair spills in molten waves of copper over her shoulders, catching the fire like strands of living metal.
The man’s is raven-black, falling loose around a face carved in shadow.
Their violet eyes burn into me, twin brands against the dark.
I open my mouth, my voice thin. “Who—”
The woman lifts a hand and the sound dies in my throat. “There’s not much time. You’re changing.”
The moment she speaks, something inside me tightens. A low, molten coil unspooling in my gut. It moves like a predator waking, like hunger wearing a heartbeat. Heat spreads under my skin, invasive, too strong to contain.
The man steps closer. Urgency flickers across his face. “Don’t give in to the hunger. Not yet. He’s watching. He’s waiting. If you surrender now, it will help him find you.”
The hunger burns anyway. It crawls up my throat, hot and metallic. I taste it on the back of my tongue, feel it pulsing in my veins. Not sweet. Not seductive. Starving.
“Who are you?” The whisper cracks out of me. “Why do I feel like I’ve seen you before?”
The woman cups my cheek. Her hand is warm, and with that warmth comes a rush of memory that isn’t a memory—just an ache. “We hid you for a reason,” she says softly. “Resist the hunger. Don’t let it control you.”
But it’s already inside me. A low, wet snarl rattles up from my chest. I don’t even know if the sound is mine.
The man’s eyes narrow. “You don’t understand what you are… what he wants from you.”
Then his gaze flicks over my shoulder. His body goes rigid. The air sharpens, turns electric. Something stands behind me. I don’t have to turn to know who it is.
Him.
The golden-eyed man from my dreams.
I feel him before I see him. His power slides over my skin like oil—clinging, smothering. My stomach knots. My voice splinters. “Who is he?”
But when I look back, the two figures are gone.
And now I’m alone with him.
He steps from the shadows as if he’s made of them, carved from darkness and sin. His lips curl into a slow, knowing smirk. “There you are.” His voice is velvet dragged across a blade—low, seductive, final.
He moves closer. “I’m coming for you.” Another step. “You will be mine.”
Something cold slithers behind my ribs. Then agony. A searing, blinding pain rips through my chest. I scream—
And wake up.
The room is cold. Stone beneath me. Candlelight flickers overhead. My throat is raw. My body heavy. I try to move and chains rattle. My wrists are bound in thick iron, secured to the slab beneath me. Panic surges.
What the fuck?
I twist hard. Something snaps. The chain breaks like twine beneath my hands. I freeze, chest heaving. That’s not possible.
I sit up slowly, arms trembling. My senses are sharper than they’ve ever been. Candlelight flares too bright. The air tastes sweet and heavy. The metal that should be cold burns against my skin, as though it knows me, as though it’s warning me.
And beneath it all—
The hunger.
It coils low in my belly, not just arousal but need. Wild, gnawing, animal. A living parasite howling inside me, demanding to be fed, uncaring what it destroys in the process. And it’s mine.
I stand, legs steady, stronger than they should be. My body feels… different. More. Naked but not cold. My nipples tighten, not from chill but from something deeper.
I look down. There’s blood on the stone, dark and dried. My blood. The knife. The pain. Deimos. That fucker stabbed me.
And I’m alive.
No. Not alive. Not the same.
I grab a candle from the table and move to the door, the flame dancing wildly with every step. The house is silent, shadows curling thick in the corners. The hall opens into a world of polished wood, velvet curtains, walls lined with mirrors and books. Luxurious, beautiful. But I don’t stop.
There’s a pull in my chest. A thread tightening, leading me upstairs. It guides me like a tether until I find it. His room. The door cracked open.
Inside, he lies on his back, one arm flung over his head. Bare-chested. Peaceful. As if he didn’t murder me hours ago.
A low, wicked heat pulses through me.
I step inside and set the candle on his nightstand. The knife is there. Of course it is. I pick it up. Then I climb onto the bed.
I straddle his waist. My bare thighs press against his skin and the moment we connect, something shudders between us.
And somewhere, deep in the back of my mind, a voice curls like smoke.
“Yes… that’s it, little succubus. Claim what’s yours. Spill his blood for me.”
Deimos’ eyes snap open. Violet. Glowing. Knowing.
A slow, sinful grin spreads across his lips. “Lustling.” The nickname rolls off his tongue like a claim.
I grin right back.
And plunge the knife into his chest. Right where he stabbed me.