I glanced at the clock, noting the early morning hour. Or late night hour, depending on one’s definition.
Regardless, I should still be asleep. But something felt…off. Like a tingling that shouldn’t be there.
It shimmered along my limbs, my instincts flaring to life. My nose twitched, searching for a scent that didn’t belong, while my succubus nature hunted for any auras that shouldn’t be here.
Is that magic?I wondered, the hairs along my arms standing on end as a fresh wave of static electricity roamed over me.What’s happening?
I lifted my hand to my face, needing to rub my eyes, except I froze part way, my gaze widening at thetan skinof my palm.
What the hell?
I sat up, alarmed.
My arms were tan, too. As were my legs.Uh… am I still dreaming?I wondered.Hallucinating?Had Lord Zebulon marked me with his power somehow? Maybe I’d absorbed too much, branding my skin to a sun-kissed gold?
Is that even possible?
I had no idea. Zebulon was the first Demonic Lord to grace my bed.
Frowning, I let my hand fall back to the blankets and glanced at Zane and Lord Zebulon. Both were sound asleep and oblivious to my plight. I debated waking them up, or simply trying to slip out of bed without awakening them to go to the bathroom. I wanted to see how far this tan spread, because it seemed to be all over my body. However, it was dark in here. So maybe—
Lord Zebulon shifted beside me, his power coming alive and brushing my senses.
Does he feel it, too?I wondered, laying down beside him again.
His dark eyes opened, his long lashes fluttering as he surfaced from sleep. He locked eyes with me, and I smiled shyly, an apology forming naturally on my lips. I hadn’t meant to wake him, but I was glad to see him. Mostly because I wanted to ask if I looked tan to him, too. “Sorry if I—”
Rage burst to life between us. It poured off him in waves. The emotion was all-consuming, filling the space between us, the bedroom, the entire world, and drowning me in an intoxicating wave of energy that cut off my air flow.
Words died in my throat, and my body turned to ice.
Then I realized it wasn’t his emotion that kept me from breathing, but hishands. They were locked tightly around my throat, suffocating me.
I jolted in shock, my fingers encircling his wrists as I tried to make sense of his reaction.
Is he still asleep? AmIstill asleep? Is this a nightmare?
He went to his knees, applying even more pressure to my windpipe, and causing my heart to stutter in my chest. A crazed glimmer entered his black eyes, erasing the Demonic Lord I knew and adored. “Where’s Guinevere?” he demanded on a snarl.
I opened my mouth to reply, to tell himI’m right here, but the pressure on my neck was too much for even a single sound to come out. I couldn’t breathe, could hardly move beneath his grip. I attempted to struggle, just to speak, and he pinned me with his knee, my thighs smarting from the harsh treatment.
What the hell is happening?Had Lord Zebulon lost his mind?
“Where is she, Amarella?” he roared, giving me a shake.
“How did Amarella even get here?” Zane demanded.
“She probably pretended to be Guinevere,” Zebulon snarled.
Wait… what? I’m not… What?Tears sprang into my eyes, and I tried to look to Zane for help. He had to see me, to know it was me. But he sat beside us, glowering at me with such hatred, my chest ached.
This is worse than him calling me a child, I realized.That look… on him… directed at me…
I tried to swallow.
I couldn’t.
I tried to breathe.
