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Opening it, I pull out the tissue paper. Tucked inside is a piece of clothing so delicate it feels like air. I lift it up, letting the fabric fall over my fingers.

It’s a set of sheer black lace lingerie. A delicate harness top and matching lace thong made of a fabric so fine and dark it looks like liquid smoke, like liquid shadows draped over my skin. It’s clearly made to accommodate the male form.

A hot, sudden wave of arousal slams into me, making my breath hitch sharply and my cock hard. My face burns with deep, frantic heat. Fuck, it’s wicked. And filthy. And undeniably, outrageously sexy.

“You cocky, cocky bastard,” I whisper to the empty room. My fingers tremble as I trace the sheer lace.

I handle the fragile silk like absolute treasure, carefully folding it and placing it deep inside the top drawer of the nightstand.

I change into one of the soft cream sweaters and a pair of loose sleep pants. The fabric feels incredible against my skin, warm and comforting. I climb into the massive bed, pulling the dark, luxurious blankets up to my chin.

The room is quiet, cold rain lashing against the large windows. I look toward the dark corner near the wardrobe, feeling the lingering ache of loneliness that always creeps up on me when the night settles in.

“Hey,” I call out softly into the quiet darkness. “Are you there?”

A massive, liquid shadow detaches itself from the corner. The Devil Dog glides across the floorboards, its phantom claws making no sound, eerie blue eyes glowing softly in the dim light. It leaps effortlessly onto the mattress, its heat radiating against my side as it curls its massive body around my waist, resting its dark head right beside my thigh.

Touching it feels impossible. It’s a surreal thing, pressing my fingers into something woven from warm smoke and shadow. Did it always feel this way, or did it change the moment Vesper pulled it back from death?

I let out a slow, long breath, burying my hand into the ethereal, shadowy warmth of its fur. I murmur my apologies to it, hoping it didn’t understand my words from earlier.

I’m trapped in a demon’s estate, surrounded by dark magic and deadly secrets. But as the hound lets out a quiet vibration of heat against my chest, I close my eyes, feeling safer than I ever did in Gregory’s grasp.

Chapter six

Vesper

Istand on the dark iron balcony of my upper gallery, looking down into the grand foyer. Behind me, morning breaks over Wraith Harbor with a thick wall of gray sea fog that rolls off the Pacific and swallows the forest.

Bellamy is already awake. He creeps down the curved stone staircase. His cautious steps are quiet. He looks around as if he expects the shadows to materialize in front of him and devour him whole.

He’s wearing the oversized cream sweater I left on his bed last night. The soft knit drapes over his frame, slipping slightly off one pale shoulder to expose the smooth curve of his collarbone. The color looks divine against his dark hair and the morning flush on his skin. He’s a damn temptation I’m finding harder to fight.

Seeing him dressed in clothes I bought him, that seem to fit his true style, stirs a dark, possessive swell in my chest. It isn’t like the photos I saw of the rigid, suffocating rags that the pathetic worm, Gregory, forced upon him.

Down in the foyer, Bellamy reaches the oak doors that lead to the lower terrace. Like every other day, he reaches out, hesitating for a fraction of a second, before resting his hand against the brass handle. But this time is different. A promise is a promise.

Shadow tendrils leave my fingers, racing toward its goal. With a magical chime that echoes through the walls, the deadbolt slides back, unlocking the path. Bellamy blinks, the surprise plain on his face. He pulls the door open and steps out into the freezing Fall air.

My Devil Dog paces against my ribs, letting out a low, satisfied rumble through our soul link. He is happy, the beast whispers into my mind. He walks our land.

“Yes,” I murmur. Through the fog, Bellamy walks down the stone steps into the wild rose garden, burying his nose in a dark crimson bloom. “He does.”

For a week now, I’ve kept my damn distance, playing the unseen warden while he healed. But he’s healed now. His skin is clear, there’s a fire in his soul, and his eyes burn with a defiance that makes my blood run hot. It’s time to stop skulking in the dark like a ghost. It’s time to teach my little captive exactly who he made a deal with.

An hour later, I sense him moving through the lower corridors of the estate. Driven by an irresistible, dangerous curiosity. His emotions always seem to roll off him in waves, making it easy for me to read. Bellamy has wandered down into the cold stone depths, searching for a particular room, drawn by the faint hum of dark magic hanging in the air.

I dissolve into the floorboards, sliding through the shadows like liquid smoke until I materialize inside the scorched chamber.

The containment room is cold stone with blackened iron. Carved into the walls are ancient runes that glow with a pulsing crimson light. At the far end, the stone hearth crackles with unnatural blue-and-red flames, throwing dancing shadows across the floor.

Unlike all the other rooms in the estate, this one is minimal. A few necessities and a bare mattress. When the Devil Dog loses control, I’ve learned to not waste money replacing all the things he burns to ash.

I leave the iron door ajar, stepping into the center of the room. Allowing the heavy wolf pelt to slide off my shoulders, it pools onto the cold floor. I don’t need to wear the pelt at all times for the Devil Dog to survive, just like its shadows don’t have to remain attached to me continuously. Holding the physical connection simply makes it easier for both of us to function, though a few days without it is my absolute limit. I roll my white dress shirt sleeves up past my elbows, revealing the intricate black ink tracing down my forearms, my long spade-tipped tail lashing slowly behind my legs.

A moment later, like luring my prey into a trap, a shadow falls across the doorway. Bellamy steps into the threshold.

He stops dead in his tracks, his green eyes widening as they land on me. He takes in the expanse of my broad chest, the deep cerulean blue of my skin, and the sweeping horns curling back into my dark hair. The air in the room instantly shifts, growing thick with the suffocating warmth radiating off my skin.