Seeing his townsfolk celebrate at the sight of his darkness swirling in the fire made his chest swell. He loved the home they had made. A realm safe for people who were persecuted in other realms if found out: demons, shifters, and even some human families… over the years, more and more humans had made their way underground through the shadows to find refuge here, spending their last dimes just to find a place where they were welcome. Even witches, no matter how much he didn’t trust them, had found a home in Shadowmyer.
A place for the haunted misfits, as Millie had dubbed it.
He took another hit of his smoke and sip of whiskey before heading back to the makeshift bar in the park. A glimpse of Rolfe and Millie flirting with innocents caught his eye by the oak trees. He shook his head, knowing he might have to take himself home that night as Rolfe looked like he needed a night to blow off some steam.
Sam would be hearing the girls beg for death by the morning. A different kind of begging than the kind that generally haunted his nights. This beg would result in a release far more euphoric than the darkness by Rolfe’s hand.
Headlights lit up the street. His attention averted to the haze, to the illumination from the lights basking through the whirling smoke. It cast shadows upon the people with their backs turned. The children running. The couples dancing. Those throwing things into the fire.
But what emerged out of the smoke nearly sent him to his knees.
And suddenly, the ravens and crows falling made sense.
CHAPTER THREE
SHE APPEARED IN a breath of smoke.
Her long heels ticked with each calculated step. Light caught in the gleam of the intricate silver claw on her finger. She held her chin high as she stalked through the crowd, and the people unknowingly parted ways. As though she were bending them to her silent will.
He knew her.
Or at least… he knew of her.
Her name was Deianira. Deianira Bronfell.
This was the woman who had toppled the other four monarchies already, and he knew his own was next on her list.
This wasThe Tower… the name was a play on the tarot card, of course. But she’d lived up to it, to the chaos, destruction, and unsuspecting change that the card signified. He’d heard stories of her beauty and aura—how she could enter a room and command its attention. The only pictures of her had been her hair and that claw, but even those had not been released to the public. He’d only seen them through his channels underground, his spies and demons.
But nothing…Nothing… compared to the woman he was looking at now.
That scarlet satin dress hugged every inch of her voluptuous curves and soft figure. The high slit exposed her thick thigh with her steps. Pillowed breasts spilled over the crest of the loose scoop neckline, showcasing the flower sternum tattoo embedded between them. Her black ringlet curls cascaded down over her shoulders all the way to her elbows, a few falling and framing her face over and around her brows. Light pooled over her light brown skin, her flesh soaking it in and appearing to plan to use it as some sort of trap to ensnare unexpecting souls.
He chuckled at that. Those poor, fucking men…
It was no wonder kings had fallen at her feet so many times before. He wondered how many of them willingly offered up their throats to slit. Perhaps begged her to stomp on their neck and hold them down, as he was sure she’d pressed those heels onto someone before.
She was a siren in the moonlight.
An enchantress of desirous evils.
To fall under her spell would mean to kneel before her.
The corner of his lips twitched at the thought. He would kneel… Heknewhe would.
But she’d have to beg him first.
It was the first rule he gave himself before formulating his plan.
He didn’t move as she stalked to the same bar he leaned against, and when her gaze landed on him, he didn’t bother turning away.
She looked at him like he was a disease. A disease that were she to allow herself to delve in would shrivel her existence within the smoke that surrounded her. An intriguing disease he knew she was contemplating giving in to. Of whether she should allow herself to fall into his poison and consort with someone whom she assumed to be a no one.
He smiled inwardly.
She had no idea who he was.
Perfect, he thought.
