Bronze light slanted through the street, washing over the fading graffiti. I walked along the ruins of Whitechapel High Street, dressed in a form-fitting satin dress—garnet in color, to match my lips. The outfit was completely unsuitable for winter, but I did my best to keep my teeth from chattering.

Hidden safely behind the walls of the Tower, I’d prepared myself for my appearance on London’s streets. With Yasmin’s help, I’d raided the contents of an old pharmacy by Liverpool Street for makeup, then a department store.

In crimson high heels, I now strode through the city with a freshly painted face: black eyeliner, mascara, blush on my cheeks. I’d painted my nails to match my dress. Curled into soft waves, my red hair cascaded over my shoulders, and a bit of glitter glinted from my eyelids.

I had the strongest urge to find Katie, Lucy, and Alex, to tell them I was okay, that I had a plan.

Yasmin had been a hard no on that idea.

Trust no one, she said. You’ll only endanger them. Let them think you died.

I’d spent three weeks in the Bloody Tower with Yasmin, gorging on their reserves of food in order to put a bit more meat on my bones. I could glamour a few curves onto myself, but new glamour took mental and physical stamina. The closer I could get to looking like a curvaceous succubus in real life, the better.

As I walked, my glamoured succubus aura snaked through the air. I could hardly see it, just hints of shadows from the corners of my eyes. An angel like Kratos would see the thick, charcoal tendrils undulating from my body. The sight would lure him closer, like a butterfly to nectar.

Once, succubi had been goddesses, queens among demons. And therein lay the fascination. Powerful creatures like Kratos wanted to take something beautiful and crush it in their fists. In fact, the sight of a seductive, powerful succubus striding through this hellscape would inflame his thirst for conquest. He wouldn’t rest until he’d quenched it.

Right there is the reason the world had few succubi left. They’d been hunted out of existence by males terrified of their allure.

But I’d come armed. A bow and bull-skin quiver of arrows hung over my back—not in the fae style. That would give the game away. No, these were the weapons of a demon—a Carthaginian bow, hewn from wood and silver. Arrows carved with the symbols of the Night God. A silver-tipped baton, its hilt made of engraved elephant tusks from thousands of years ago. And of course, the knife of Nyxobian silver strapped to my thigh.

A quiver was a handy thing. Not only did it hold my weapons, but I’d stuffed my makeup and a few handkerchiefs in there.

In the guise of a succubus, I already felt more powerful, as if a thrilling, ancient magic flowed through my blood. That was the thing about disguises. Sometimes you wore them—and sometimes, the disguises wore you.

As Succubus Ruby, I had three tasks. One, gain Kratos’s trust. Two, seduce him until he invites me to his castle. And three, survive the hounds.

Simple, right?

First I had to put on a little show for the sentinels who watched my every move as I strutted through Whitechapel. I had to prove my ruthlessness, that I didn’t care about humans—and I had to do it all without seeming too much of a potential threat to the angels. As far as the sentinels would be concerned, the Great Nightmare had turned me into a great monster.

To prove that point, I needed Dickhead.

Only an idiot would be out at this time of day, with the sun about to set behind the buildings. Lucky for me, Dickhead was an idiot, and one with very predictable patterns. When I reached Brick Lane, I found him traipsing along the sidewalk, carrying a plastic bag stuffed with food. In fact, potatoes were protruding from its surface.

Were those—our potatoes? Oh hell no. He’d found the garden. I’d been gone for weeks, eating proper meals in the Tower, while my old rookery friends were probably starving. A tendril of guilt coiled through my ribs.

Sauntering behind Dickhead, I whistled my favorite pop tune—an old Taylor Swift song. He whirled around.

“Hello, hello, hello.” A grin spread across his features. “Isn’t this my lucky day. First I found the secret garden, and now I’ve found you.”

Oh good. He’s only just found the garden.

He didn’t seem to recognize me at all, but then again, he’d mostly seen me either as a glamoured ogre of a man or as a scrawny waif running through the streets. He’d never seen the glamorous, well-fed succubus before him.

I glanced at the skies, looking for a sentinel. As the sun disappeared to the west, the moon’s glow seemed to brighten. A shiver rippled over my skin.

I can do this. I can handle the night.

But I didn’t see any sentinels. Where were the bastards when you actually needed them? There was no point in engaging in this charade unless they were watching, ready to report what I’d come here to do.

Dickhead licked his lips. “Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve seen a filthy little minx such as yourself?”

At one time, men like Dickhead might have feigned a gentlemanly attitude for at least a few minutes, long enough to try to lure me into a false sense of security. In the world of the Great Nightmare, where there was no one who’d hear me scream, he didn’t even bother with that performance. As far as he was concerned, a filthy little minx such as myself was virtually defenseless here, ready for the taking. Sure, I might have a bow slung over my shoulder, but what were the chances I’d use it?

He waggled his eyebrows. “Why don’t you shuffle over to that alley, darling, pull up that dress of yours? Can’t imagine you’d be showing everything off like that if you didn’t want it, am I right? You’re gagging for it.”

When I glanced at the skies again, my chest tightened. Still no sentinels. How long would I have to endure him?

“Don’t speak much, do you? Last girl I tried to pull was a little freckled thing, not very nice. Had to punch her, but she still got away from me. You’ll be nice to me though, won’t you?”

Rage simmered. Freckled thing. He was talking about Katie. My fingers twitched, desperate to pull one of the weapons from my back. I just needed an audience first.

My gaze darted over his shoulder. There, just behind him, a large-eyed sentinel drifted from behind a street corner. When I glanced at the skies, I found another floating overhead.

Fucking finally.

I pulled the bow off my back, nocking an arrow. When I aimed it at him, he paled.

“I’m not sure I can aim very well,” I lied loud enough that the sentinels could hear me. I had to appear ruthless while also underplaying my actual skills. “I could fire a warning shot, but I’m not quite sure it would miss you. I think the lesson here, my friend, is that you need to keep your hands to yourself.”

“You’re not really going to shoot me with that thing, are you? It’s not my fault women like you walk around, frothing at the gash…”

My arrow hit its mark in his thigh. “Whoops! I was trying to do a warning shot but the thing slipped. How do you even use this…”

I loosed the second, taking out his other thigh. His shrieks rent the air.

“Oh dear.” I frowned at my bow. “They just sort of go where they want, don’t they? I think I’ll use something less confusing.”

The sentinel soared overhead serenely, taking it all in.

I reached into the quiver on my back, pulling out my baton.

As he hunched over screaming, I slammed the baton into the side of his head. Once. Twice. The bag of potatoes fell to the sidewalk.

I needed it to look brutal, bloody. Three times. And Dickhead’s broken nose didn’t disappoint. It was the second time I’d broken it. Blood spewed from his nose, spattering over my arms, and he fell to the pavement, unconscious.

My whole body was shaking, but I slowed my breathing, trying to project calm. I could still see his chest rising and falling.

I swallowed hard, staring down at him. What would happen if I let him recover? He’d keep tormenting my friends, maybe try to assault Katie again. He’d steal their food. He’d probably kill them.

In the world of the Great Nightmare, mercy didn’t make any sense.

There was a time when I’d have considered it a great moral crime to execute an unconscious man. It wasn’t self-defense; he wasn’t attacking. He was simply lying there, bleeding.

But there was nothing to stop him from carrying on in the same way when he woke up. No one was getting put in jail, no one was getting rehabilitated by a team of well-meaning psychologists. In the Great Nightmare, we could kill the monsters or let them kill us.

I slipped the bloodied baton back into my quiver. Then I pulled my knife from its holster. I brought it down hard into his heart. When it pierced his flesh, a thin stream of blood trickled from his lips, and his chest stilled. I swallowed hard.

My first kill.

I stood in the darkening street, and a cold sweat prickled over my body. Calm, Ruby. Stay calm. Neither death nor shadows would rattle a succubus. I was supposed to be a creature of the night.

I stared at the blood pooling below the body. Soon the hounds would arrive.