She was in my grasp, her pulse racing as I pressed my lips to her throat. I couldn’t help myself. Which was strange. I hadn’t felt such lust for over a thousand years. Not since I was a newly made immortal, supremely interested in the delights of the flesh.

Back then, I had relished the darkness inside me, sharing in its pleasures and indulging it in its every whim. For centuries, I dallied with all manner of immortals, satisfying their darkest desires while sating the burning needs of the demon that lurked inside me. I did so willingly, savoring every female, though never sleeping with the same one twice.

Each release was a revelation. I reveled in my gift, sharing it with all my willing victims. And they certainly were willing. Some even returned and begged me for more. But I was already on to the next conquest. Never looking back. Never caring about what happened to my former lovers.

Now, of course, I realized feeding the demon with love of the flesh wasn’t a release, and it wasn’t a gift. It was a curse. What I kept inside me needed sexual energy to survive, thrived on it as if it were manna from heaven. And I was damned to give in to its needs.

The lovers only fed its lust until it wanted more and more, and I was helpless not to give it what it wanted. Though I knew I was kidding myself. There was no it. I’d known for quite some time. Knew that its deeds were my deeds, and just like the demon, I was damned. The darkness and I were one and the same, and so it would be until someone ended my immortality. I knew all too well that the price of disobedience to the beast within was too high, as I’d learned so many years ago.

Despite being shackled to the wheel that crushed me every night on a bed of pleasure and pain, I continued the charade—bedding women to sate my needs and keep my sanity. It was the only existence I’d ever known since that cold night under the stars so long ago.

Lilah’s scent, like night-blooming jasmine, caught on the air and added to my confusion. I realized I wasn’t interested in just any flesh. I wanted her flesh. I couldn’t see her as she walked behind me, though I’d watched her enough to know her hips were swaying erotically, especially in those boots with the heels that had to be at least five inches high. I thought of stripping each boot off and licking up her thighs to that warm crevice. I could sense something in her responded to me. She was fighting it.

I wanted to rub the silky fabric of her thong between my thumb and forefinger. I’d snapped them up when she wasn’t looking and stuffed them into my pocket. I didn’t plan on sticking around, so having a little memento couldn’t hurt. But now, I’d lost control.

I hadn’t meant to overpower her. The last thing I wanted to do was frighten her after what the feral mongrel had done to her. But she was too lush, too inviting. And I knew she desired me. Could smell her arousal. Just a taste, and then I’ll let her go.

She hitched in a breath as I whisked her into the dark overhang of a Gothic cathedral on the banks of the Seine. No one, save the gargoyles that sneered down from the weathered columns, could see us as we melded into the shadows. The peaks of the buttresses loomed up into the night, ever reaching for the stars. I was more concerned with what stood before me here on the ground.

I inspected the marks left by the cur on her delicate neck and cursed myself for not killing the bastard. But angering the wolf clans wasn’t a wise thing to do, and I had enough enemies already.

I released her from my grasp but not my gaze. I was so close I could feel her heart beating wildly, like the flapping of butterfly wings. She didn’t try to leave, only fixed me with a defiant glare. Unfazed, I leaned in and grazed her neck with my lips.

“I won’t hurt you, carissima,” I whispered against her ear as I stroked my fingertips down her collarbone. The endearment from my native Latin somehow fit her; she was beloved, though undeniably deadly.

“I can’t make you the same promise.” Although the words were a threat, her breathy voice told me another story. Her dialect had a certain lilt to it. It became more pronounced whenever she was going through a strong emotion, like now.

I laughed against her skin, making her heart beat even faster. She had already positioned her blade hand along my side, near my heart. I didn’t care. The scent of her arousal taunted me, and my cock answered with a thorough, hard ache.

She was at war with herself. Enjoying my touch, but not giving herself over to her desires. Something told me that her allowing me to touch her, ever so slightly, was a feat. A glint along the blue vein of her throat caught my eye.

“Who has marked you, carissima?” I cocked my head to get a better look. The runes were silver and seemed to pulse with each of Lilah’s fluttering heartbeats. They were in an ancient language no one had written for thousands of years. I recognized them all the same. A warning. One I would heed, though I cursed the gods.

I slipped my hand farther down her chest and stroked the upper swells of her breast beneath her stole. “Tell me, in whose service are you?”

She stiffened against me, no longer under my spell, and pressed the blade into my side. I pulled her close, ignoring the pain in my ribs, searching her blue-gray eyes. My anger warred with the erotic feel of her budded nipples pressing against my hard chest. “You seem an unlikely assassin. I suppose that’s why they chose you. Knew I couldn’t resist. Wise of them.” I let the anger and the desire mix in my voice.

I should have known this was just another trick. I was used to it, but this time it angered me. There was something about this female. Something I wanted to believe was real, true. It couldn’t be, not with those runes on her neck.

She twisted away from me and darted into the street. “All the same, aren’t you? Always trying to take advantage, no matter what, just like the wolf.” Bitterness marred the melodic tone of her voice.

That stung. “The same as that dog? Never.”

“Then why did you attack me?” She still held the blade as I approached.

I towered over her, my voice dropping low. “That wasn’t an attack, carissima. If it were, you’d be dead.”