After a quick dinner, full of cryptic answers from Roth about where we were going, we readied for the trip. I surveyed Roth’s two-seater convertible. At least it wasn’t a motorcycle—I would have loosed one of my arrows on him if he’d dared suggest it. But, to my relief, Bart had driven the black sports car into the courtyard. I realized the top had to be down or Roth would never have fit into it, his commanding height easily overpowering the vehicle.

The air was still full of moisture from a passing shower, making my hair slink into loose waves instead of straightened like I preferred. But the night was so lovely I didn’t mind, and enjoyed the thought of whipping through the streets with the top down. I sank into the seat, feeling the smooth leather and the purr of the engine. I had never been much of a car person, but a gal could get used to rides like this.

Roth placed his hand on my knee. “Ready?”

A jolt of heat shot straight up my thigh, but I quickly removed his hand and placed it on the stick shift. “The bow may be hidden”—I whipped out my blade in a flash—“but I’m still packing.”

“You never told me how you liked my little gifts.” I maneuvered out onto the Paris streets.

“The blades? I thought Bart picked them out,” I lied, feeling strangely embarrassed for not having thanked Roth. I may have been conceived in a barn, but I wasn’t raised in one, after all.

“He certainly has good taste, but I had those specially made for you, carissima.”

Unsure of what to do, I gave him a small pat on the hand. “Thank you. They are lovely, really.”

“You can pet me elsewhere if you like.” His sly smile pulled a laugh from me.

“Incorrigible.” I hated to admit it, but Roth was getting to me. I couldn’t let him—had to put a stop to this as soon as possible or I’d suffer a fate worse than death at the hands of Ares. The memory of my dream made me shift uncomfortably in my seat. The healed marks on my back stung as if they were freshly made.

I shook my head imperceptibly at the feeling of dread that threatened to drown me, unable to fight the chill that settled over me like a funeral shroud.

To get my mind off Ares, I studied Roth in the moonlight as he easily made his way through the crowds of people clogging the streets. His dark hair flowed away from his face, which was undeniably handsome. He must have been using his incubus charms on me. He’d dredged up all these emotions churning around inside me by letting his demon work its dark magic on me. Had to be it. He was rakish and winsome at intervals, but there was something I always felt when I was with him. It was the same sort of hum the moon gave me when it rose in the sky, full and brilliant. It was on the tip of my tongue…

It was then that the dark cloud lifted. Here, in this car, going at a breakneck pace with a demon at the wheel—with Roth—was the one place I felt safe. I knew I could take care of myself, had done it all my life, but Roth was the only male who’d ever made me feel like being wrapped in his arms was where I belonged.

I continued to study his profile, past his chiseled jaw to the broad expanse of his chest. My gaze strayed even lower, enjoying the strong lines of his body—built like a predator—and I licked my lips. I forced myself to look elsewhere, anywhere but at him, so I turned instead to the moon. Yellow in its orb as it watched the City of Light from high above.

Before long, Roth pulled up in front of a once grand apartment building—its ornate plaster embellishments long since decayed and fallen apart and the front door hanging askew, giving it an air of utter abandonment. The only remaining piece of artistry that clung to the failing structure was a wrought-iron bust of a woman, positioned above the door.

Something urged me to leave this place with Roth and never look back, never ask what drew him here. Sadness had written its tale all over the building, using the walls like parchment that soaked up the ink. Vines climbed the facade and trash littered the front courtyard.

Roth never even looked at the building but sighed, a sound full of mourning and a depth of sorrow I hadn’t thought possible in a male like him—strong, proud, confident. He was a lion, but something about this place was a thorn in his paw.

I didn’t speak, only watched as a slight breeze played with the strands of hair that fell in his face. He kept his eyes focused on the road ahead, as if looking at the crumbling edifice would hurt him somehow. I longed to reach out and comfort him, though I didn’t know what caused the wave of grief that had gripped him so suddenly. Instead, I gave him time to tell his story. After a long while, he began haltingly.