Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
Selena
Someone knocked on the door. “The spell’s almost ready,” Valentin said from the other side.
Balthazar would be here soon.
I stiffened, my body going rigid against Rocco’s chest. Every ounce of warmth and safety I’d felt in his arms evaporated in an instant, replaced by something cold and sharp that coiled tight in my stomach.
Not what I wanted to hear. Not now. Not when I’d just had the first taste of what it felt like to be his.
Rocco must have felt the change in me because his arms tightened, pulling me closer. His lips brushed my temple. “I promise I won’t let him hurt you.”
I nodded against his chest, wanting to believe him.
But Balthazar wasn’t some low-level demon who could be intimidated or outmaneuvered.
I’d seen what Balthazar could do firsthand.
I was there that afternoon at the palace—the afternoon Rocco was possessed.
Even Angelo Santi, a man who made kings flinch, had barely survived the encounter.
And now we were summoning the demon on purpose.
Promises meant nothing against that kind of power.
We untangled ourselves from each other slowly, reluctantly—his arm sliding from my waist, my fingers trailing across his chest before letting go. The comforter was warm where our bodies had been, and leaving them felt like stepping out of the only safe place left in the world.
I climbed out of bed and winced. My thighs ached—a deep, delicious soreness that sent heat rushing to my cheeks. Evidence of everything we’d just done. Everything he’d just given me.
I caught a glimpse of myself in the dresser mirror and almost laughed. My hair was a wild tangle, my lips swollen, my skin flushed and marked with the faint red trails of his stubble. I was a mess. Not just from our lovemaking but from the running, the blood, all of it.
“I just need to clean up.”
“Go ahead.” Rocco propped himself up on one elbow, his dark eyes tracing over me with a lazy heat that made my stomach flip. “But you look beautiful to me.”
Heat crept up my neck and spread across my cheeks, warm enough that I was sure he could see it. I hadn’t blushed like this in years. Damn him.
I headed into the bathroom and turned on the shower, stepping under the spray and letting the hot water sluice over my aching muscles. I closed my eyes, tipped my head back, and for just a few stolen seconds, let myself feel nothing but the warmth.
Then Balthazar’s name crept back into my mind, and the warmth wasn’t enough anymore.
I needed Rocco beside me. The thought surfaced before I could stop it—raw, honest, and a little terrifying. Twenty-four hours ago, I’d been his prisoner. Now I couldn’t stand being one room away from him.
What the hell had he done to me?
I stepped out of the shower, grabbed a towel, and wrapped it around myself.
When I looked up, Rocco was standing in the bathroom doorway.
Still naked. Completely unbothered by it.
He leaned against the frame, holding a stack of clean clothes, his dark hair damp with sweat and falling loose around his jaw.
My eyes betrayed me, traveling the length of him before I could rein them in. Every sculpted line, every scar, every inch of tanned skin I’d just had my hands all over.
Focus.
“I brought these for you.” He held out the clothes, a hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He’d caught me looking. Of course he had.
I snatched the clothes from his hands and wrapped the towel tighter around myself with as much dignity as I could manage. “Are you going to get dressed, or are you planning to greet Balthazar in your birthday suit?”
His smirk widened into a grin—a real one, the kind that crinkled the corners of his eyes and made my traitorous heart skip. He stepped closer, cupped the back of my neck, and kissed me. Slow. Warm. The kind of kiss that promised more.
“Just wanted to rinse off too.” His voice dropped, his thumb tracing circles against my nape. “But you’d better get out of here before I drag you into the shower with me.”
The heat in his eyes told me he wasn’t joking.
I pressed my palm flat against his chest and pushed—gently, because if I lingered even a second longer, I was going to let him. “Balthazar, Rocco. Demon. Summoning. Remember?”
He caught my hand before I could pull away, pressed a kiss to my knuckles, and let me go.
“Two minutes,” he said, stepping past me into the shower.
I grabbed my clothes and slipped out of the bathroom, closing the door behind me and leaning against it. Steam curled around my bare ankles. My heart was hammering. My skin was still tingling where he’d touched me.
A demon was about to be summoned in the next room, and all I could think about was the way Rocco Palazzo smiled when he meant it.
I was in so much trouble.
Cool air prickled against my damp skin. I set the clothes down on the bed and dropped the towel, using it to squeeze the water from my hair. I dragged my fingers through the tangled mess and sighed. Should have grabbed a comb. I probably looked like a drowned cat.
I reached for the undergarments and paused. Black lace. Of course Rose would pack black lace. I shook my head and slipped them on—the bra and matching underwear fitting like they’d been made for me.
The bathroom door opened behind me.
I turned, and my mouth went dry.
Rocco stood in the doorway, wearing nothing but a towel slung low on his hips and a smile that should have been illegal.
His long wet hair was plastered to his shoulders, and droplets of water traced lazy paths down his chest, following the lines of muscle like they had all the time in the world.
One clung to the ridge of his collarbone before sliding lower, disappearing beneath the towel’s edge.
I tracked that droplet like my life depended on it.
Every rational thought I’d just gathered in the shower—Balthazar, the shard, the summoning—scattered like startled birds. All I wanted was to close the distance between us, yank that towel away, and drag him back to bed.
His gaze moved over me—slow, deliberate, taking in the black lace and bare skin with an appreciation that made heat pool low in my stomach. A wicked smile curved across his mouth.
“Such a temptress.”
The low rasp of his voice sent a shiver straight down my spine. Heat swelled over my cheeks, and I marveled at how easily he could do this to me. One look. One word. And I was blushing like I hadn’t just spent the last two hours tangled up in him.
Why did he keep doing this to me?
“Get dressed,” I said, my voice coming out far less authoritative than I intended. I turned away and tugged on the jeans before I did something reckless.
They fit perfectly. I frowned, running my hands down the denim. Rose and I were close in size, but not this close. She must have enchanted the clothes and boots to fit. I made a mental note to thank her later—and to ask her why she’d packed lingerie for a demon summoning.
Rocco dropped the towel and winked at me.
No shame. No hesitation. Just that infuriating confidence that somehow looked different now—lighter, easier, like the weight he’d been carrying for two years had loosened its grip.
The tension that had been carved into every line of his body since the moment he’d walked into that café seemed to have washed away.
Could I have that much of an effect on him? Could one night—one claiming, one consummation of a bond he’d denied for so long—really strip away that much armor?
Or was that just wishful thinking from a woman who’d spent too long wanting to be enough for him?
He grabbed a pair of jeans and pulled them on, then yanked a black T-shirt from the closet and tugged it over his head. It stretched across his shoulders in a way that made me want to peel it right back off.
“I have a feeling magic was used so we’d fit in these clothes.” He smoothed the shirt down, flexing experimentally.
“Probably,” I said, already crossing the room before my brain could talk me out of it. I couldn’t resist. I didn’t want to resist. I reached up, grabbed the front of that perfectly fitted T-shirt, and kissed him.
He responded instantly—his arms wrapping around me, pulling me flush against his chest, his mouth moving over mine with a hunger that stole the air from my lungs.
But there was something else beneath the heat.
Something frantic. His hands gripped me too tight.
His breath came too fast. He kissed me like a man standing at the edge of a cliff, terrified of the fall.
This was the kiss of a desperate man. A man afraid he was going to lose me.
I pulled back just enough to press my forehead against his. His eyes were closed, his breath unsteady against my lips.
He’d spent two years pushing me away. And now that he’d finally let me in, he was terrified it would all be ripped away before he could hold on.
I cupped his face in my hands. “I’m right here, Rocco.”
His eyes opened. Dark. Vulnerable. Searching mine for a promise I wasn’t sure either of us could keep—not with Balthazar coming, not with Angelo hunting us, not with everything stacked against us.
But I gave it to him anyway.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Something in his expression cracked—just for a second—and I caught a glimpse of the man beneath all the guilt and bravado. The man who needed someone to stay. Who’d never believed anyone would.
He pressed his lips to my forehead. Held them there. Said nothing.
He didn’t need to.
Another knock broke the moment. Rocco exhaled against my forehead, and I felt the shift in him—the softness retreating, the walls sliding back into place like armor being strapped on piece by piece.
He clasped my hand. “Come on.”
He led me out of our room—our sanctuary, the only place in the world where we’d been just Rocco and Selena, no demons, no wars, no death warrants—and back into cold reality.
The living room had been transformed. Rose knelt in the center of the floor surrounded by a circle of symbols drawn in what looked like blood and ash.
Candles flickered at five points around her, their flames burning an unnatural blue.
The ancient book lay open beside her, its pages rippling despite the still air.
The smell hit me first—sulfur and something older, something that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
Valentin leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, his expression carved from stone. His gaze locked onto Rocco the moment we stepped into the room, flicking briefly to our joined hands before snapping back to Rocco’s face.
He gave him a hard look. “Better get your head in the game, Palazzo.”
“Shut up,” Rocco said, but there was no real bite in it. His hand tightened around mine.
But I wasn’t listening to the testosterone standoff anymore and turned to look at Rose.
She raised her eyes from the circle, her blue eyes meeting mine, and the expression on her face stopped me in my tracks. Not fear—she didn’t scare easily. But gravity. What she was about to do pressed into every line of her face.
Oh, shit. This was really going to happen.
She put ingredients into a ceramic bowl—herbs, what looked like bone dust, and something dark and viscous that I didn’t want to identify. She had drawn a pentagram on the hardwood floor with red chalk. The lines were precise, practiced. She’d done this before.
I swallowed the fear bubbling up my throat. The room felt colder somehow. Darker. Like the shadows themselves knew what was coming.
She glanced up at us. “Everything is set for the spell. Be prepared for anything.” Her blue eyes held mine. “Are you ready?”
“No,” I admitted. “Not at all.”
Rocco clasped my trembling hand. His grip was strong, steady—the only thing keeping me anchored. “Stay strong.”
Easy for him to say. I saw what Balthazar had done to Angelo Santi at the palace. He hadn’t paid attention to me, and I never wanted him to. And now he was going to be focused not only on me, but all of us.
Valentin stood beside Rose, his jaw tight, his body coiled like he was ready to fight. Rose pulled out a lighter and lit the ingredients. They sizzled and hissed, sending up a plume of acrid smoke that made my eyes water.
The flames turned black.
Rose raised her hands over the bowl, her voice dropping into something ancient and commanding.
“Balthazar, daemon antiquus, te voco.”
The candle flames surged upward, doubling in height, their light turning from gold to an unnatural blue.
“Per sanguinem et ignem, per umbram et os...”
The temperature plummeted. My breath came out in visible puffs. Rocco’s grip on my hand tightened until it was almost painful.
“Audi me et transi velum.”
The flames in the bowl shot toward the ceiling, and the pentagram on the floor began to glow blood-red.
I stopped breathing.
Something was coming.