Enter an addictive world of sizzlingly hot paranormal romance . . .
'Wicked banter and smexy scenes galore' ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐
reader review onHunted .........................
The epic final instalment in the delicious DARK IN YOU series.
She calls to the demons inside him and there's no keeping them away . . .
Being a siren, Naomi has attracted attention all her life, but when working as a ghost artist, she can at least maintain some anonymity. She's never felt anything pull at her inner demon, until a certain crime boss locks eyes with her. He watches her like he's hunting her, and it's only a matter of time till he catches her . . .
Luka, leader of an underground demonic crime syndicate, is known for running a tight ship. He lives by a twisted code that can change by the minute. So, when danger threatens the women he loves, there's no stopping his inner demons. He's waited and bided his time, and now that he's finally got her, he'll do anything to keep her.
When foes creep up on them, Luka and Naomi will do whatever it takes to keep each other safe, even if it means unleashing the demons that live within them . . .
.........................
What readers are saying about Suzanne Wright:
'The chemistry sizzles off the page' Netgalley review
'Hot as hell . . . explosive' Netgalley review
'It's been two minutes since my last fix and I need Suzanne Wright to give me more' Edgy Reviews
'No words to describe how much I ADORE this extraordinary and magical read!!!' Gi's Spot Reviews on Burn
'Sarcastic banter, a sexy alpha demon and his smart-mouthed heroine, an intense, highly passionate romance . . . I devoured this book from start to finish!' The Escapist Book Blog on Burn
'Unique, original and very entertaining' Ramblings from this Chick
......................... If you love this book, make sure you check out the rest of The Dark In You series - discover how this sizzling hot story began . . .
Turning away from the canvas propped up against the breakroom wall, Tobe smiled at her, his blue eyes twinkling. “It’s amazing. Moody. Striking. An absolutely perfect replica. Take a fucking bow.”
Naomi Chamberlain felt her lips curve up. “I already did. Twice.” She shrugged at the three imps in front of her, adding, “I’m humble that way.”
Chugging down more of her coffee, she cast the landscape painting a quick look. The artist of the original was on the level of Monet and Picasso, but Naomi had always had a knack for re-creating any drawing or painting she laid eyes on—even as a child.
“No art appraiser would ever guess that this wasn’t an original,” Ciaran declared. “Not that any will ever see it. This is for a client’s personal collection.”
“I don’t know why he collects fakes,” said Lachlan, scratching at his salt-and-pepper hair. “Most people hire us to steal originals.”
“He has no genuine art in his collection, only fakes,” Tobe told the older imp. “He keeps it all in a vault in his basement.”
Alarm bells going off in her head, Naomi tipped it to the side. “And how would you know?”
Lachlan leaned into Tobe, his tall figure towering over him by a few inches. “Don’t answer that,” he muttered.
She narrowed her eyes. “You didn’t break into it, did you?”
“Don’t answer that either,” Lachlan told him.
Tobe shot her a disbelieving look, managing to appear offended by her question. He folded his toned arms over his equally defined chest. “Do you honestly think that I’d consider breaking into not only the home but the vault of a human honest-to-God mobster?”
“Yep, totally,” she replied, under no illusions about him.
Tobe could be described as many things—including a thief, liar, card shark, embezzler, seller of counterfeit art, and master of breaking and entering . . . which didn’t make him much different from most imps in their lair.
“Tell me you at least didn’t steal anything from the guy,” she pressed.
Lachlan leaned into Tobe again. “Definitely don’t answer that.”
Naomi sighed, and her inner demon rolled its eyes. Honestly, having imps in your life could give anyone an ulcer. She was a siren like her mother, but most of their lair were imps. They tended to disregard all laws, not to mention their own safety. The latter particularly drove her crazy when it came to Tobe—as psi-mates, they were very close.
All their kind had a predestined psi-mate. An anchor in the storm that was a demon’s existence due to their struggle to maintain supremacy over their psychopathic inner entity. Forming a mental link with your anchor ended that struggle, though a person’s inner entity still surfaced as and when it pleased for what were usually brief pockets of time.
“Once the client coughs up the cash, I’ll get it to you,” Tobe said to her.
She nodded and took another mouthful of her coffee. As the aforementioned client was a repeat customer, she wasn’t worried that the deal would go bad—they’d always gone smoothly in the past.
“I’ll be doing the handover on the same day I take the abstract painting to that annoying harbinger who keeps pushing to meet his artist. Like you’re his own personal pet painter,” Tobe added, scraping an agitated hand through his deep-brown hair.
The harbinger was truly becoming a pain in the padded ass. “If he does it again, tell him I’m done and that he’ll need to find another painter.” Naomi preferred to remain anonymous. Stefan Brandt wasn’t the first client to request that she meet them face to face, but unlike him, the others had accepted her refusal with grace.
Imps came in handy if you needed to operate in the shadows. Take Tobe, for example. He acted as a middleman for people looking for commissioned art from ghost artists. Kind of like a ghost writer, Naomi produced and sold work that others could take personal credit for. Then there were clients who wanted replicas of classic pieces, or fake “lost paintings” by famous artists that then often ended up in art galleries and museums.
She also acted as hostess part-time here at her stepfather’s pizzeria. It meant people didn’t question how she made money, because she’d only trusted a few with the knowledge that she was a ghost artist.
Naomi wasn’t a fan of the spotlight. Being a siren, she was a sexual magnet of sorts, and had attracted attention all her life. So much whistling, ogling, staring, and heckling. She was constantly hit on, constantly oversexualized, constantly underestimated.
People outside her lair often assumed that she was dumb, superficial, and up for a good time. They didn’t expect her to have talents, or be a hard worker, or have any real substance. And there seemed to be this societal attitude that since she was beautiful, she had no right to complain about anything. It rankled with her inner entity something fierce.
“Naomi?”
She blinked, refocusing on Tobe. “What?”
“I lost you again, huh?”
It would be fair to say that she had a habit of mentally drifting. Her brain would follow rabbit trails, and she’d end up zoning out. “What did I miss?”
“I asked what time Belinsky’s supposed to show up for his sit-down with Jolene.”
The mention of the male Prime made her pulse stutter. Luka Belinsky might be the boss of an underground demonic crime syndicate, but he was also sex on a stick. “Any minute now, unless he plans on being fashionably late.”
“Do we think he’ll step in and help with the Iain situation?” asked Ciaran, setting his hands on his trim hips.
Naomi shrugged. She didn’t know the guy; had only met him on the three occasions he’d eaten at the pizzeria over the past couple of months. Each time, he’d watched her in a way that made her feel hunted—the sheer boldness of it intrigued her entity. But despite the sparks of sexual tension that bounced between them, he’d never made a move on her or given her any indication that he would.
Lachlan rubbed at his bristly jaw. “It’s hard to say. Belinsky is a cold son of a bitch. Mean as a snake and as ruthless as they come.” Respect coated every word.
“So I’ve heard.” Luka’s reputation certainly proceeded him. “But you don’t successfully manage a lair that doubles as an overly large crime family by being ‘nice’,” Naomi pointed out.
The criminal underworld was a dark place. The demonic criminal underbelly was a thousand times uglier. Nonetheless, Luka kept his alliances strong, ensured his businesses thrived, persistently held back enemies, and maintained peace with other lairs. That would require a certain mercilessness.
“I know his anchor a little,” said Ciaran. “Ella spoke to me about him a couple of times; said that though he has a twisted kind of code that can change by the minute—a code he won’t always listen to—he’s not a bad guy. Don’t know how accurate that is, but I know he’s very protective of her and her daughter.”
“It’s well known that he runs a tight ship and doesn’t let his demons get away with any bullshit,” Tobe added, “so my gut says he’s unlikely to ignore the fact that Iain won’t leave you alone. Hopefully he’ll have a word with him and that’ll be that.”
Lachlan pulled a face, doubt gleaming in his dark-blue gaze. “I’m not sure it’ll be that simple for Iain to let go. He’s in the firm grip of a full-on obsession.”
Which could be blamed on the good ole siren song. Its notes weren’t audible; they were more like predatory vibes that sought to bewitch their prey. Naomi had no control over that. It was just as much a part of her as the blood in her veins.
When it came to dating, she was careful to choose men who were mentally tough and had their shit together. They were less likely to fall victim to a siren song. But it wasn’t always a guarantee—case in point.
“You know, we could just kill Iain,” Lachlan threw out with a casual shrug. “I’d make it quick.”
Tobe gave a mocking snort. “No you wouldn’t.”
“No, I wouldn’t.” Lachlan pursed his lips, his brows sliding together. “Don’t know why I even said that.”
“I do,” claimed Tobe. “You’re a fucking liar.”
Lachlan looked appropriately offended. “I resent that implication.”
“It was a statement, not an implication.”
“I only edit the truth when it’s necessary.”
Tobe frowned. “How was it necessary to tell me that you only edit the truth when it’s necessary? Because that was a lie, too.”
Lachlan turned to fully face him, studying him closely. “You’re not really bothered about that, are you? You’re still mad at me for stealing your uncle’s watch. That’s what this is about.”
Tobe’s mouth tightened. “Well, it was disrespectful.”
“How? He’s dead, what could he possibly do with it?”
“My aunt wanted him to be buried with it. You took it off his wrist while he was in his damn casket. A casket you dug up. You also took his shoes.”
“My own were muddy from all the digging.”
Unable to bite back a smile, Naomi exchanged an amused look with Ciaran . . . which was right when her stepfather’s mind bumped against hers. A black town car just pulled up outside, Alfie telepathed. Pretty sure it’s Belinsky.
Her belly did a slow roll. Knowing that Jolene wanted her to greet him at the hostess station, she replied, I’ll be right out.
Refocusing on the imps in front of her, she said, “Luka seems to have arrived, so I’m gonna get moving. I’ll leave you three to get the painting ready to be transported.”
After rinsing her empty cup, Naomi placed it on the drainer and then exited the breakroom. By nature, she wasn’t a person who was easily rattled—especially by something as simple as sexual tension. But there wasn’t anything simple about the tension that existed between her and Luka. It was too visceral, too oppressive. Hence the butterflies in her stomach.
Doing her best to quash said butterflies, she strode down the narrow hallway. On reaching the dark wooden door that led to the dimly lit main eating area, she pushed it open. Immediately, the scents of spices, tomatoes, cheese, peppers, and garlic swirled around her.
The place was full, but not rowdy. Its color palette of taupe, yellow, and burgundy complemented the informal Italian feel to the place. The murmuring of voices, sizzling of food, and scraping of cutlery on plates overlaid the soft background music.
She gave a quick wave to her stepfather, Alfie, who was prepping food in the open kitchen along with several other chefs. Waiters went back and forth carrying trays or electronic notepads. Some patrons sat at the ornate tables. Others were tucked into booths or stood at the bar.
Weaving her way through the tables, Naomi plucked a bit of lint from her black dress. It was elegant, but enhanced “the girls”, clung to her curves, and stopped just above her knees.
Arriving at the hostess station, she smiled at the petite red-headed waitress there. “Thanks for covering for me.”
“No problem,” said Donna absently, her attention on the window – or whatever lay beyond it.
Naomi tracked her gaze . . . and saw a veritable sexual cocktail of supreme masculinity striding toward the pizzeria. Luka moved with the fluid, powerful grace of a tiger, carrying an unmistakable air of nobility; of a person who was to be obeyed, served, and feared. Like he owned the freaking world.
Donna swiftly scarpered. Unsurprising. By virtue of being a legion—a rare breed of demon that hosted three inner entities—he naturally unnerved people. What amped up their fear was that the guy radiated an unchecked danger that seeped out like ooze, touching even those at a fair distance from him.
One of his bodyguards shoved open the door, briefly scanned the venue, and then nodded at Luka. The Prime breezed inside, his default stony expression firmly in place. Naomi’s inner demon went ahead and eye-banged him.
Who wouldn’t?
Naomi was average height, but Luka was so tall that he made her feel petite. He was also lean and broad-shouldered. His piercing eyes—a striking velvety black—were as dark as his short hair and layer of stubble.
In his tailored suit, not a wrinkle in sight or a hair out of place, he looked groomed, elegant, and—despite his distinct reptilian coldness—oh so very fuckable.
There was something almost scandalizing about possessing such staggeringly lethal sex appeal. It was indecent. An outrage. Totally unfair. It crawled over your defenses and seeped into any fracture it could find.
Luka’s gaze fixed on Naomi, and yeah, her pulse lost its shit. He prowled toward her, his focus holding a rapacious edge. The faintest shimmer of power steamed the air around him—a drugging thing for her demon.
The first time they’d come face to face, her primitive hindbrain had woken up and warned, Careful. Nonetheless, her hormones had become ridiculously light-headed. They were doing the same thing right now.
Luka came to a stop in front of her station, his eyes still locked on her face. A very familiar static awareness laced with sexual chemistry buzzed to life and pricked at her skin like blunt needles.
How annoying. She flashed him her courteous hostess smile. “Mr. Belinsky,” she greeted. “Welcome back to Sizzle and Slice Pizzeria.”
“Luka,” he corrected with the bare hint of a Russian accent. “I’m scheduled to meet Jolene here.” There was a distinct sexy roughness to his voice, as though his vocal cords had once been damaged.
“She let me know you’d be coming.” Naomi flicked a look at his guards—two identical rough-looking muscle-bound brothers with buzz cuts and sharp gray gazes. “Will all three of you be eating?”
“No. Just myself.”
She nabbed two menus. “Follow me, I’ll take you to Jolene. She’s waiting for you in the private dining room.”
Luka trailed behind the waitress, still recovering from a brutal punch of need to his gut. Each time he laid eyes on the creature in front of him, sheer want ripped through him. A visceral reaction he had no way of fighting. Partly because she was a siren, but also because she was a fucking vision.
Long, thick lashes framed her hooded gray-green eyes. Blonde streaks ran through the silky cinnamon-brown hair she’d loosely curled at the ends. She was slender but curvy. Her breasts were high and round, her legs long and shapely. She smelled like pure sexual heaven, and her voice—all smoke and sin—was an enticement all on its own.
Sensuality seemed woven into her very being. It could be seen in her eyes, her smile, the sinuous way she moved.
She hadn’t only snagged Luka’s interest, she’d snagged that of his entities. The trio were as conscienceless, remorseless, and malevolent as all inner demons. That said, they were each different in their own way and had named themselves when Luka was an infant.
Chronically broody, Dagon was a skilled liar and manipulator. The ever-narcissistic Abraxas was preoccupied with beauty and sought to charm women. Belial was probably a little insane, really—the only joy the mercurial sadist found in life came from hurting, degrading, and shaming others.
And currently, they were all focused on the woman in front of them.
It was a typical scenario around Little Miss Naomi Chamberlain—he’d learned her name from the background check he’d done on her. It had revealed nothing of note. She lived a simple, quiet life. She spent most of her free time alone at home, only venturing out when going to work, shopping, visiting her parents, or meeting up with her psi-mate.
If Luka didn’t know any better, he’d think it all bullshit. The picture the dossier painted was just a little too pretty for a demon—especially one who’d grown up around imps.
“The place is as busy as ever,” he observed aloud.
She glanced at him over her shoulder before pushing open a door. “It’s fast become a staple in this area of Vegas. Not a shocker. As I told you once before, you won’t find better pizza elsewhere.”
She had told him that, Luka recalled as he followed her through the door and along a hallway. ‘That’s a bold claim,’ he’d replied back then, to which she’d said, ‘And a fact. I’ll be surprised if you don’t become a return customer. It’s rare that people don’t come again.’
He’d returned twice, but it wasn’t merely for the good food. It was for her. He would have made a move on first meeting her, but he’d not long ago walked away from a fling. He liked to leave a short period between such arrangements. So he’d waited. Watched her. Bided his time.
Arriving at another door, she paused. “Here we are.”
Reaching out to the twins on their telepathic channel, Luka said, Wait here. They only nodded in response.
He didn’t anticipate any issues cropping up. Jolene Wallis was unpredictable with a splash of crazy, but they had a tentative alliance—one they’d formed when his anchor and her daughter began spending time with several of Jolene’s imps, including the woman’s granddaughters.
He followed Naomi into the private dining room. It was cozy and stylish, featuring only a table and six chairs.
Decked out in a simple blouse, pencil skirt, and high heels, Jolene rose from the table, a smile on her face that somehow seemed both welcoming and shrewd. “Luka, always a pleasure.”
“Jolene,” he greeted smoothly as Dagon observed her intently, always recognizing a fellow master manipulator.
Jolene waved Luka into the chair opposite her own as she lowered herself back into it.
“Your waitress will be with you in a few moments to take your orders,” Naomi announced, laying the two menus in the center of the table.
Jolene cast her a smile. “Thank you, Naomi.”
“Enjoy your meal,” Naomi said before breezing out of the room.
Luka’s entities all grumbled their annoyance, only placated by the knowledge that he would speak to her again before he left the pizzeria.
His skin still tingled slightly from how the notes of her song had played over him, searching and exploring; looking for some weakness to exploit so it could drag him under its spell. It had failed, but that wasn’t to say he didn’t still intend to have her in his bed.
He skimmed his gaze around the room. “Just how many hidden bugs and cameras are in here?”
“Maybe none. Maybe many.” Jolene waved away his concern and nabbed a menu. “I don’t plan on asking personal questions. I only hope for us to come to an agreement about something.”
Luka felt his eyes narrow. “If you’re intending to request that I grant your lair admittance to Infernal, my answer will be a resounding no.” Imps as a species were barred from his illegal gambling club due to their habit of cheating and stealing.
“Nothing like that,” she assured him. “I seek only your cooperation.”
He grabbed the other menu. “Cooperation on what, exactly?”
At that moment, a young waitress entered the room. Luka and Jolene gave their orders for drinks and food, and the girl left.
He snapped his menu shut and lowered it to the table. “So?” he prompted, ignoring Abraxas’ put-out sigh—it didn’t want to talk to Jolene, it wanted to track down the pretty siren.
“Iain Forrester,” Jolene threw out. “He’s one of your demons, correct?”
It hadn’t really been a question. “You know he is.”
“He’s also being a major pain in the ass. It can’t be allowed to continue.”
Luka fought a frown. “Expand on that.”
“He dated one of my demons. They were together a little over four weeks—nothing serious, just light and fun. Although it’s been three months since they parted ways, he won’t let it go. Won’t let her go. He bombards her with texts, turns up at her house, and sends her gifts.”
Luka couldn’t wrestle back a frown this time, because that didn’t sound like Iain.
“She’s tried different ways to make him admit defeat and leave her be. She’s yelled at him. Ignored him. Threatened him. Even set his hair on fire at one point. He just keeps coming back. Like the clap.”
“You want me to intervene,” Luka guessed.
“Actually, I want to fish out his gullet with a rusty spoon, but I’m pretty sure you’d have an issue with that. I’d prefer that we weren’t at odds. So yes, Luka, I’m going to need you to intervene. As a psi-demon, he can feed from people’s emotions and drain them dry; I won’t risk him turning that gift on her. You make a bad enemy, but so do I,” Jolene warned, her face hardening. “If there’s one thing imps are good at, it’s making themselves a problem for others.”
Understatement of the century.
“I can see that Iain’s behavior has surprised you. He might not have been stalkerish in the past, but I’ll bet he has a history of being clingy and overly possessive when in relationships.”
Some of the whispers he’d heard about the demon in question flitted to the forefront of Luka’s mind. “I might have heard something to that effect.”
“Traits like that can often be problematic for male demons who get involved with sirens—their allure draws out the intensity of those characteristics.”
That was when the penny dropped. “Naomi. She’s his ex.”
“Yes.”
Agitation spiked through Luka and his demons. He straightened in his seat. “Why wasn’t I informed of Iain’s behavior before now?”
“Naomi didn’t report it to me initially because she kept expecting his obsession to wear off. But it hasn’t, and none of her attempts made him back off. Just about done with his shit, she finally came to me. And now I’m coming to you. There’s little point in us having an alliance if we can’t count on each other at such times.”
Luka gritted his teeth. If you were around a particular siren often enough, you could become desensitized to their song . . . unless you fell victim to it. He wouldn’t have expected Iain to do the latter. “I want to talk to her.”
“I suspected you would, which is why I asked you to meet me at her place of work.” Jolene’s eyes went out of focus—a telltale sign that she was using telepathy. Moments later, her gaze sharpened on him once more. “She’ll be with us soon.”
The waitress arrived first. She set drinks on their table and assured them that their food would soon follow. It was as she was leaving the room that Naomi returned. Her gaze found Luka’s, and, that easily, lust smoothed its way up his spine.
Abraxas grinned, pleased she was back. It adored women. Well, it adored the validation of their attention.
“What d’ya need?” she asked, her gaze bouncing from Luka to her Prime.
“To talk to you,” he told her. “Alone.”
Jolene stilled. “I called you here—”
“And we spoke. Now I want to talk to Naomi.”
“You can do that while I’m present.”
“You know I won’t hurt her, so there’s no need for you to object to my speaking with her alone.”
“Why request that?”
“There may be things she’d prefer not to mention in front of you—mostly because it’s well known that you blow up entire buildings when in a rage. I want all the facts. She can always call out to you telepathically if she feels the need to.”
Sensing that Jolene might argue regardless, Naomi smoothly edged forward and said, “It’s fine. I don’t mind talking to him alone.”
Her lips thinning, Jolene stared at Luka thoughtfully for long moments. “All right,” she said eventually. “If you’re sure, Naomi.”
“I’m sure.” Naomi found Luka intimidating, yes, but she didn’t fear him. Nor did her demon. The fact was that she was no easy target. Her Prime knew that well.
Jolene rose from her seat, shot Luka a look of warning, and then swanned out of the room.
Naomi took the seat she had vacated and met his gaze steadily. He was still, but not the slightest bit tense. On the contrary, he was at ease, comfortable. And so very watchful. His eyes were fixed on her face, unwaveringly intense, as if intent on not missing a thing. It rubbed at her nerves, because Naomi didn’t like scrutiny as a rule.
She waited for him to speak, entirely too conscious of the chemistry buzzing in the air between them. It only added to her discomfort.
“You don’t need to fear me,” he assured her, clearly mistaking the source of her unease.
“Hmm, pretty sure I’d be a fool not to.”
His lips twitched minutely. “I mean you no harm. I’d just like for us to talk.” Leaning back in his seat, as if to seem no threat, he went on, “I want specifics regarding Iain. How often does he contact you?”
“Daily. Usually by text, though he sends them via spoofing websites using different phone numbers.”
“And what do those messages say?”
“The classics, really. ‘I miss you’, ‘I love you’, ‘We’re not over’, ‘You’re meant to be mine.’ That sort of thing.” It was beyond tiring.
“Jolene said he comes by your house.”
“At least once a week.” It pissed off her demon something fierce. “In the beginning, I would open the door and tell him to leave. Now I just ignore that he’s there.”
“He also sends you gifts, yes?”
She nodded. “Mostly flowers. Sometimes chocolates. The occasional plush bear. Clichéd stuff. He leaves them on my doorstep while I’m at work.”
Something dark moved behind Luka’s eyes. “How often?”
“Two or three times a month. In sum, he’s been a busy boy.”
“And this has been going on for three months now?” he double-checked.
“Yup.”
“And yet he hasn’t been beaten to a pulp by any of your relatives. Odd. Imps aren’t the type to overlook such things.”
No, they definitely weren’t. “I managed to convince them to stay out of this.”
“Really?” Luka asked, skepticism coloring his words.
“Okay, correction, I managed to talk them out of attacking him. But they’ve retaliated in other ways, as have I.” Messed with his finances, slashed his tires, had him declared dead in several states. “Nothing helped.”
Luka drummed his fingers on the table. “I wouldn’t have pegged him for someone who would be swept under by a siren song.”
“Me neither, or I wouldn’t have agreed to date him.” Sometimes people who came across as tough and confident were hiding a fragile ego—even from themselves. Not the demon in front of her, though. Luka Belinsky was not a guy who’d get caught up in a siren song. Too powerful. Too steady. Too much his own man.
“Look, I know it’s not his fault that he’s in the throes of a siren-induced obsession,” she continued. “But much as he can’t control how it’s messing with his mind, he can control how he reacts to that. An obsession doesn’t steal your will or dictate your actions. He could stop if he wanted. He just won’t.”
“Has he at any point threatened you?”
Naomi’s nape tingled at the overly casual question—a hint of danger was threaded through it. “No, but I can sense he’s becoming impatient with me. He truly feels that I’m being unreasonable. It only seems like a matter of time before this gets ugly.”
Luka’s eyelids lowered slightly. “You sound as though you have experience with things becoming ugly. Other men in your past were violent?”
Her skin pebbled at his dark tone. Her demon, on the other hand, wanted to roll around in all that menace. It had a weakness for danger and power. Oh, and diamonds. “There were threats. Only one guy followed through with it—he tried to scar my cheeks and forehead with a knife so that I’d forever be marked as his.”
Luka muttered a Russian curse. Asshole, she knew—one of her demonic abilities was to understand and speak every possible language. “What happened to him?” he asked.
“Many things,” she replied vaguely. “He did apologize after the obsession lost its hold on him. He was in fact deeply ashamed of his words and actions. Iain may feel equally ashamed when he’s back to his usual self. The sooner that happens, the better, because things can escalate to a point where someone gets hurt.” And that someone would never be her.
Right. . .
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